River Song and the Right to Smell LIke a Dog

I like to smell like a dog.  I want to have the scent of outdoors deep in my hair:  A combination of the grass I playfully roll in, the dirt I walk through and the smell on my whiskers from whatever I stuck my nose in.  

My Dad likes that smell.  When I am sitting with him, or we are lying in bed, and he gets a whiff of me in my natural state he finds it comforting.

Mommy does not appreciate it.  She thinks that we should smell like shampoos and conditioners that come in bottles.  She wants to wipe away the natural scents and replace it with something artificial like strawberries.

Pocket is not any help.  As much as she likes her walks she prefers the artificial fruit smell too.  Sometimes I think she is barely a dog.

It seems like as soon as I get the perfect amount of outside scent on me, Mommy decides it is bath time.  I think her olfactory settings are malfunctioning. She doesn’t know a good smell when she whiffs it. Like clockwork, when I smell my best, the tub faucet is turned on.

I must confess.  When it comes to baths, I like to watch.  Pocket is the first one in the tub. It would be wise for me to find something to hide under where Mommy couldn’t reach me.  But instead, I am drawn to the tub where a wet, scrawny Pocket is lathered, rinsed, and lathered again. I am addicted to Yorkies getting a bath.  That is why I have to keep clearing my Internet browser history.

I stay to watch Pocket quickly get dried, then see her hurry into the living room to run off the wet.  I realize I am trapped between the wall and the toilet. I spin around, seeking my only means of escape, putting my head up my butt, but fail.  I am lifted, plopped in the tub, and my natural earthy scent is washed away replaced by something in a bottle.

Then comes my favorite part of the wretched endeavor.  The drying off. I get Mommy’s sweet hands rubbing me, the warmth of the towel, and I think it is worth it, and then I get a whiff of my strawberry scent, and I realize all the rubbing in the world cannot make up for that.  

Once I am dry, I stand by the door to signal I have to pee.  I don’t really, although I do a perfect fake pee, I just need to get back outside and begin to get the clean smell off of me and return to my correct state of an earthy smelling dog.