(This is a Flash Fiction piece that I am releasing to the world…)
No matter what we do, the dog always smells bad. And when I say, “smells bad,” it’s a smell combination of a “wet dog,” and corn nuts. We bathe her with expensive shampoos and conditioners, one’s specifically for serious, industrial grade dog odor. It only holds for a day or two. Then she returns back to her stink. Sometimes with a smile.
We asked the vet about it, and she said that some dogs smell – it’s just who they are. But she ran a couple of tests anyway, to make sure there wasn’t an infection or something worse. Nope, the dog was fine. Her teeth and gums were fine, bloodwork was fine, pee and poop was fine. No signs of infections or parasites. No cancer, no ticks, no fleas, nothing. The vet suggested that we change her diet, maybe that would help. And to be safe, the vet thought it best to shame us – “This is who your dog is, maybe you should learn to accept her.” I accept the dog, just not the smell.
She’s a mix of shih tzu and something else small. Maybe a chihuahua, maybe a wiener dog. We rescued her from a puppy mill, or at least that’s what we were told when we adopted her. She was a sad sack of a lost cause – a little under fed, and not looking happy to be rescued. While the other dogs wagged their tails, and jumped for attention, our dog just lay there on the cold linoleum floor – looking like she’d given up on life. She didn’t exactly exude the traditional joy and happiness that a dog brings to your life. She was giving off a “I’m going to get picked last” vibe. What can I say; I was always picked last. It just seemed fitting.
We wanted an animal in our life; my wife wanted a dog, and I wanted a cat. The animal adoption event at the Paramus Petco only had dogs, though the Facebook posting said cats would be available. But when you walk on the lot, you gotta buy. We just assumed that the bad smell was due to neglect. How were we to know it was a factory setting. We made sure we added pet shampoo to our overflowing cart of pet supplies at the store.
She was nervous to come home with us; shook the whole way. The wife wrapped her in a blanket from the trunk to see if that would calm her down. It didn’t. She shivered but didn’t make a sound. At home, we fed her and bathed her, and let her explore our apartment. We sat on the couch and watched her sniff around wondering what she would do next, which was to take a big poop in the middle of the living room. In hindsight, we should have walked her when we got home.
Walking her was an enlightening adventure. We discovered that our dog hated all other dogs. Our little dog displayed a level of animosity and rage that I didn’t think was possible for an animal. She would growl, hiss, and bark. Spit would fly out of her mouth, and her fur would stand up. Possession might be a good word to use – as it was like the Devil entered her body. And it didn’t matter what the other dog’s reaction was, our little guy still wanted to kill them. Once, she pulled so hard on her leash, she almost chocked herself out. So, walks became a game of avoiding other dogs.
Before you ask, yes we tried all the training tricks to get her to be more comfortable around other dogs. We tried treats, and positive reinforcements, a firm hand, and all that other dog whisperer shit. Nothing took. We had a neighbor in our building who was a dog walker. She was positive she could train our dog. After three days, even she gave up. And she couldn’t figure it out either. Why was the dog so nice to people, but when another dog came around, she devolved into a demon? It’s just who she is, we told the neighbor, and we accept that this is who she is.
