Chivalry Was Killed... By a Dog Fart

Our dog Madigan is awesome. And she loves apple cores. Tonight she had three apple cores and was in absolute heaven! Then she came in for the night, to sleep in her luxurious dog bed, which is right next to my side of the bed. I thought nothing of these two seemingly unrelated facts. That was a mistake.

Turns out, Madigan has some of the same genetic makeup as a skunk. I would say she can clear a room, but the stench renders anyone affected too weak to walk. It's not a fart: it's a war crime.

Of course I smell it first, since she's right next to me. My nostrils actually go numb first to prepare themselves to take it all in, and then the stink just flies directly into my brain. This may be how they mummified the Pharaohs to make sure they were dead and get all the gray matter ready to come out. I lurch from my book with a loud "UGH!"

I happen to live with the proverbial Peanut Gallery, who starts in with "What happened?" Followed immediately by a string of "whoever smelt it dealt it" accusations. And I roll my eyes and lie still so the poison will waft over me and season his side of the room.

Tonight, I tried a different tactic. I yelled out because I couldn't help it, but then I tried to appeal to my husband's chivalrous nature: "Honey, would you mind switching to my side of the bed tonight?"

"Huh? Well... OH GEEZ WHAT DID THAT DOG EAT? No way. Oh GOD!"

Maybe I wasn't fast enough to beat the smell to his nose - to be fair, I may have lost consciousness on this one - but I'll declare it. Chivalry is dead. Cause of death is Dog Fart.

And it will be a while before this dog gets any apples.

The Perpetrator, living a life of luxury until she's sent to the Doggy Hague.