We have a pleasant Yorkie, a likable, lovable, spoiled little seven pound creature. An affectionate doggie who loves to cuddle and play and look cute.
She likes to spend the day nestled in your lap when, without warning, she
How badly does she fart, you might ask? Badly enough to knock a buzzard off an open garbage truck. Badly enough to call out an emergency hazmat team. Badly enough to make your eyes water, your nose run and your skin itch. THAT’s how badly she farts. Her farts are thermonuclear. Actually, they are more akin to a neutron bomb in that they are stealth farts. They do their damage without leaving any trace or registering on any seismic device. It is inconceivable that such a small creature can wreak such olfactory havoc.
Not only does she fart spectacularly but she has the audacity to act as though someone else had performed the dirty deed. She jumps off your lap and looks around in amazement like a little girl caught in the act of breaking mommy’s vase and pretending it was done by her bad brother. (Our doggie has no brother, bad or otherwise, so the culprit must be a squirrel or a sparrow or maybe the mailman.)
Now such vile activity in a somewhat larger animal – a Saint Bernard or an English Mastiff or a Great Dane – might be understandable, though not any more pleasant, but a seven pound Yorkie?! Pound for pound this has to be one of the most intense effusions of odor imaginable. If this odor was pleasant rather than, well, odoriferous, I could foresee bottling it as Chanel Yorkie, rather than as something best called Essence of Open Sewer Rotting Fish.
Now you might think our doggie is offended by being described as a broken septic field on four paws. Not at all. She is, this very moment, waiting to jump back in my lap, nestle down and…
I am holding my breath.