OOO THAT SMELL!

OKAY, SO YOU’VE DECIDED TO TAKE ROVER ON A NICE WALK. A little exercise. A little sunshine. It doesn’t get any better than this. The rhythm between you and the dog is a happy one. The leash, like life itself, is firm in your grip. And then, WHAM!, against all hope, that calm quiet walk is overturned by a sudden burst of lunge and desire. “Oh! Oh! Oh! What is that? That is rich! rich! Just look! That heap of bliss lying there, so fragrant, so delicate, so, so unattended! And this flower, this weed, this drooping thing! You don’t know what you’re missing! Smell, smell, smell! Put your nose into it! O, happiness! Isn’t life great?!?”  Of course, that is the book version. Truth is, the dog doesn’t bother with punctuation, or even something as conventional as space between words. It is more like,

ohohohwhatisthatthatisrichrichjustlookthatheapofblisslyingtheresofragrantsodelicate

sosounattendedandthisflowerthisweedthisdroopingthingyoudontknowwhatyouremissing

smellsmellsmellputyournoseintoitohappinessisntlifegreat

Unnerved, we do our best to rise to the challenge, regain control, put the day back in order, and here is this dog, dragging us over to this dead heap of vegetation by the side of the road, to this lump with no name, taking deep drafts of it as if the secret of life was contained in that one desperate intake of smelly air. Realizing that their desire to indulge the moment is stronger than our ability to recapture the command we only thought we had, we simply stop, and with a sigh of resignation, let them have their way. We stand idly by, impatient, anxious to move on, not quite as fascinated as they are.

And we miss the whole point.

For the dog, the nose is the chief negotiator of life. And what looks like a waste of time to you and me, is treasure and spoil to them. All time and eternity mingles together for the dog in that one feast of smell. Paradise is accessible to them. They can indulge their deepest senses, and with no restraints. Our dogs could pursue bliss with as much thought as we might give a sip of tea in the afternoon. Time had no claim on them whatsoever.   

If it is true that dogs have mastery over time (and only because it is a trifle to them, something that is of little interest to them), then it is just as true that time has mastery over the rest of us. We draft words like tyranny to describe our relationship to time, and deadline. But deadlines are real. The eight hours allotted to me are not the ten I need. So what does the dog have to teach us? Simple. That the feast is closer than we might think. That the moment is all we have, and perhaps that is where the X on the map is to be found. That the immediate is where life happens. That paradise is as available as we truly desire it to be. It is perhaps one sudden lunge away. Maybe we just haven’t got the scent quite yet. 

 

—The subtitle of my book is FINALLY, IT WAS MY DOGS WHO TAUGHT ME TO STOP AND SMELL, WELL, EVERYTHING!    The above text is adapted from a chapter of the same title.  © 2008 David Teems. All rights reserved.