It happened in a matter of seconds. I was trying to figure out what was wrong after I heard his surprised and hurt-sounding barks, put down my things, and turn on the lights, and suddenly there was this incredibly over-powering odor. On my floor, on my hands, and specifically on my dog.
He had been in his kennel in the dark, just for a couple hours. He was barking when I walked in the door, which isn't typical. Guess he was worked up already. Phil took the trash out by the front door, and I guess Hashbrown got scared of Phil's shadow. And then he reeked.
A trip to Google informed me that sometimes dogs will secrete an oily substance from their anal glands when they get frightened. It is my guess that this is what went down. What I know for sure was that it was disgusting.
And a metaphor, as is so much of Hashbrown's life. Of how we, all of us in our different ways, emit horrible odors because we are afraid. Afraid of all sorts of things more complicated than shadows: to be known, to be hurt, of being alone, of others perceptions, of having no value. And so we let it loose in abundance, all over the wood floors of our lives and relationships-- the overwhelming odor of pride, victimization, anger, judgment... All the sorts of things that drive others away and ourselves into a stinky isolation, when the real thing we need is for someone to lift us into a warm bath. How hard to admit it though that really, underneath everything else, we are mostly all just scared and smelly.
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