March 25, 2011 - from Eva Saks
The Upside of Flu

Today I awakened with a nose so stuffed that I couldn't smell anything at all. And it came to me in a flash: the time had come at last to serve my dogs lamb tripe! Notoriously stinky, this canine delicacy is beloved by my dogs and highly nutritious. My blocked sinuses protected me like a Hazmat suit. Joy all around.

March 9, 2011 – from Leslie Crane Rugg
Eau de Fancy

Last night, I went to my Collie club meeting, held at the president’s home. Her female Collie made a brief appearance to greet the members. Our president cautioned us that “Fancy” was in season. We women understood only too well … but would my dogs understand Fancy’s lingering scent when I got home?

I got my answer a few hours later. After my short-term petting session with Fancy – you know what I mean – I was indelibly impressed with her scent. As usual, my Collie boys, Kipling and Kirby, were glad to see me. But they showed greater excitement at the wonderful aromas that wafted from my hands and my clothes. Ah, the powers of the canine nose…so superior to humans.

My dogs distinguish between the scent of dogs they know from dogs they don’t know. They also distinguish between breeds – Collies and then all others. I can tell not only by the enthusiasm they exhibit in sniffing my clothes, but even more so by their facial expressions of glee and the persistent wagging of their tails. Presented with Fancy’s essence, my guys were besotted. They were over the moon. They were all over me.

Kipling’s fervor was remarkable because he’s neutered. Either the primitive scent of a female can still stir a detesticled male (Kip was neutered shortly after his second birthday), or Fancy’s particular perfume held an allure that just tickled his fancy as well as his nasal cilia.

As for Kirby, my intact male, he was ready to meet the challenge and surmount it… at least make every attempt to mount it. He wanted to mate with my pants, my shirt, my vest, my hands. His interest was intense and unstoppable. He was possessed by the urge to merge.

For both dogs’ sakes, I sought the obvious remedy: remove my clothes and wash my hands. Normally, I’d pop the clothes I wore into a hamper. But with Kirby’s state of aroused determination, I was certain that he’d attempt to mate with the hamper. So, I threw my outfit directly into the washing machine, hoping cool steel would seal off temptation.

Kip relaxed while Kirby continued to follow me around, his hopes slowing diminishing with the new smells of my freshly laundered nightgown and the familiar scent of my robe. Seemingly calm, both dogs went to sleep. Did they dream about chasing squirrels scampering across our hill or about chasing the elusive Fancy?