My dog’s got no nose …

Person 1: My dog’s got no nose.

Person 2: Really, how does he smell?

Of course he has a nose. But he does smell awful. It’s like he found the Brussel Sprouts a week too early. What is going on with him?

In our high anxiety household, a smelly dog is no joke. We took it in turns to evaluate his tummy and collectively decided it looked kind of bloated, then Googled what that might mean. Oh man. The Internet truly is a double edged sword.

Then I rushed him to the vet, because it’s better to check these things with a professional, probably, even if that did involve Fifty One of my fine English pounds and a look from the vet that suggested I was a little premature and to come back in a couple of days. I used to get that same patient look when I’d just pop into A&E with Baby number one, because … well, I can’t quite remember why …

But the dog is so precious. I mean, look at him. He’s one of the rare things about which the family are unanimously positive. Except when he smells like this, maybe. And barks at the birds who have the temerity to land on the front lawn. And chases Custard the cat. But apart from that.

There’s not a day that passes when I don’t imagine his death and our collective devastation (I did mention it’s a high anxiety household, yes? The kids didn’t get that from nowhere). So it can’t be yet. Not until after the children’s GCSEs. Or A levels. Or University Degrees. Or PhDs (although see previous post for how likely THAT is for both of them).

So what’s that, maybe 25, 30 years?*

Though boy, I hope the smell goes before then.

* What’s that you say? Average life expectancy? Sorry, I have my fingers in my ears I can’t hear you … la la la la LA LA …