|It does not smell like flowers.|
My puppy is now 8 months old and we absolutely adore her. She couldn't be sweeter, just an affectionate, charismatic bundle of energetic puppy. I have a bed for her in my office and she loves it when I get on the computer and she can curl up beside me, snug in her plush brown bed. It is just as picturesque as one could ask: me hard at work, tapping away the keyboard; my faithful companion lying contentedly at my feet.
A nearly silent little poof of air escapes from her vicinity and within seconds my office is filled with an invisible but potentially lethal noxious gas. My eyes water, I gasp for air, I wave my hand frantically in front of my face to dispel the odor.
It is the quiet, toxic type that just ekes out, no loud raucous warnings to accompany it. Just a little puff of air and then it's like being in a chemical warfare zone. The smell is offensive enough, but her innocent attitude is even more grating, the slightly offended look of "What?!?" she gives me after each little sneak attack.
So now we have a War of the "Pfffts". I sit armed with my super-sized can of heavy-duty Glade air-freshener at the ready, she lays beside me armed with her bazooka of a butt. She "Pfffts" and I grab my can and "Pfffffffft" right back, trying to meet her noxious cloud with my own "odor-fighter technology."
She "Pffffts" and I "Pffft". And again...and again...and again.
The result? It smells like a slightly sour, rotting Clear Spring in my office. But it's tolerable. I will not be gassed out of my own domain. I will win this War of the "Pfffts"! (Shouted triumphantly, with can of airfresher raised, on my rearing warhorse.) But I am pretty sure I will have post-traumatic smell syndrome after all this, so if I suddenly spray you in the face with air freshener every time you utter the letter "F", please understand. I don't mean to. It's the curse of being a veteran of the Fart (PFFFFT!) Wars.
|The cloud in my office looks nothing like this.|