The forest gave Yeti a gift

Yeti came trotting out of the forest this morning looking extraordinarily pleased with herself.

Her tail was wagging.

Her ears were relaxed.

And she carried herself with the quiet confidence of a dog who had just accomplished something important.

As it turns out, she had.

The problem was that only one of us considered it an achievement.

She was extremely proud of it.

The first clue appeared before I ever saw her smiling face.

I was preparing breakfast when a particularly foul smell drifted through the air and wandered into the house.

At first, I assumed something had died somewhere in the forest.

Living in the woods occasionally comes with… (How shall I put this?)… interesting odors.

Not everything in the woods smells like the clean, fresh scent of pine carried on the breeze, you know.

This particular scent was… a bit different, though.

It almost had an air of ambition to it.

It was not content merely to exist, either.

Instead, it begged to be experienced.

So, I stepped outside to investigate the source of the stench.

That was when I saw Yeti.

She came trotting toward me with the expression of a dog who had just achieved something remarkable.

Her tail wagged cheerfully.

Her eyes sparkled.

She looked immensely pleased with herself.

Unfortunately, her white fur coat was also the exact color of spoiled guacamole.

A large section of her beautiful white coat had been transformed into a spectacular shade of brownish green that nature generally reserves for things nobody should touch.

I immediately stopped walking toward her.

However, Yeti kept coming.

Have I ever mentioned to you before that Yeti’s love language is physical touch?

And that’s exactly what she wanted to do… rub on me like a cat.

Now, I have spent enough years around dogs to not worry much about a little odor, but there was NO WAY Yeti and her green gooey “eau de puke” was coming anywhere near me!

Apparently, somewhere in the forest, hidden among the grasses and brush, Yeti had discovered something absolutely revolting.

Then, she had rolled in it.

With enthusiasm.

Repeatedly.

To be sure, there are moments when you look at a dog and realize that thousands of years of selective breeding have accomplished many wonderful things.

• Dogs can detect seizures.
• They can find missing people.
• They can serve as guide dogs, therapy dogs, and search-and-rescue partners.

Yet somewhere deep inside every dog remains a small voice that occasionally says, "You know what would improve this day? Covering myself in the worst smell imaginable."

Yeti had listened to that voice.

I wish I could say that was all there was…

Unfortunately, the tragedy of the situation was amplified by one additional detail.

It rained ALL day.

Not a pleasant spring rain, either.

The kind of cold, steady rain that settles over everything and makes it impossible to go outside at all.

Under normal circumstances, this would have solved my problem.

A sensible person might simply leave the offending dog outside for a while and allow nature to assist with the cleaning process.

Unfortunately, Yeti is not merely any ordinary dog.

She is Yeti.

And despite smelling like something that should have been investigated by a hazardous materials team, she remained entirely convinced that she belonged inside the house with her people.

So there I sat, as far away as one can get in 300 square feet of trailer, spending the day with a dog that smelled as though she had simultaneously fell into a swamp, a compost pile, and a decaying carcus all at the same time.

Meanwhile, Yeti seemed perfectly delighted.

She curled up comfortably near the couch.

She napped and stretched.

At one point she even looked at me with an expression that suggested she could not understand why I was being so dramatic.

I have no idea what she found in the forest.

And frankly, I don’t want to know.

I think some mysteries are best left unsolved, don’t you?

What I do know is that somewhere beyond the trees lies an object so horrifying that Yeti considered it the greatest discovery ever.

And if history is any guide, she is probably already planning a return visit.

As unpleasant as Yeti's latest discovery may have been, the entire incident serves as a reminder of something many modern dog owners forget.

Dogs experience the world very differently than we do.

The smells that send us running in the opposite direction often hold endless fascination for them.

Long before dogs became our companions, their wild ancestors survived by investigating scents, scavenging carcasses, and locating food sources that humans would never have considered edible.

In many ways, Yeti was simply doing what dogs have done for thousands of years.

She just happened to do it in a manner that nearly fumigated the house.

If you're interested in learning more about how dogs evolved as carnivores, why they are attracted to certain foods, and how their nutritional needs differ from our own, you may enjoy the ebook I wrote, The Informed Dog Owner's Guide to Canine Nutrition.

You can learn more here:

https://shop.direwolfproject.com/products/the-informed-dog-owners-guide-to-canine-nutrition

It won't prevent your dog from rolling in something disgusting.

Trust me.

If it did, Yeti would have tested that theory for us today.

However, it will help you better understand the remarkable animal living at the other end of the leash.