Lost in Suburbia: Stop, drop and roll in something disgusting

There is a law of the universe that says that just when you think you’ve got everything checked off your to-do list, your dog will roll in something horrifyingly disgusting and you will have to squeeze in a trip to the dog groomer.

This usually happens either when you have just had your rugs cleaned, gotten a new piece of furniture or are dressed to go somewhere nice because, immediately upon rolling in the disgusting thing, he will then rub against the rug, the furniture and you.

I could not even venture to guess what the culprit was, but it was clear it was in my backyard, and based on how the dog smelled, it was so bad I was afraid FEMA was going to have to send in a toxic-waste crew to clean it up.

Of course this would not be the first time the dog had discovered something nasty in our backyard. One time he unearthed an underground wasp’s nest, got multiple stings on his muzzle, and had to wear the cone of shame for two weeks while we brought in a team of pest control professionals to deal with hundreds of pissed-off wasps. Then there was the time we realized he had dug up a number of pet graves in the back and consumed the remains of our dearly departed pets.

Try explaining that one to your kids.

We secretly hoped that he might dig up a buried treasure one day or the final resting place of Jimmy Hoffa. But so far, all he had to show for his backyard adventures were a souvenir cone of shame and a couple of goldfish bones.

This time around, I was fairly confident that there was a dead thing in the backyard that was not one of our former pets or Jimmy Hoffa, and the dog had rolled in it. This meant that a) I had to take the dog to get cleaned up and, b) I had to find the dead thing in the backyard and dispose of it. And in case you were wondering where my husband was when all this was taking place; he was out of town. He is always out of town when one of the kids gets sick or when the dog rolls in something disgusting outside. That is another law of universe that says that anything that can go wrong while your husband is out of town will.

Not surprisingly, these two laws usually happen in tandem.

Anyway, once the dog came in the house and I realized what had happened, I called the pet grooming salon for an appointment and then quickly ushered the dog back out of the house so the stink wouldn’t seep into the walls. Then I turned to the dog.

“OK, Riley. Where’s the icky thing? Come on, fetch! Fetch the icky thing!” I hoped he would lead me to the source of the stink. But he looked at me quizzically and then went and got a Frisbee.

“Not Frisbee! Ick-ee! Icky thing!” I clarified.

Clearly the fetch concept was not going to work. But “show me the disgusting thing you rolled in” was not in his repertoire. I threw Sir Stinkalot his toy and then started wandering the backyard to look around. I hadn’t walked far when I saw the dog stop, drop and roll.

I called him over, and then hesitantly, I ambled over to what I could smell was the scene of the crime. There on the ground was something that had certainly been some kind of animal at one point, but was now nothing more than a flattened animal pancake with a furry tail.

Pinching my nose, I pulled out my cell phone and called the pet grooming salon.

“Hi. I called about a bath for my dog Riley,” I reminded them. “Make it a double.”

For more Lost in Suburbia, follow Tracy’s blog at www.lostinsuburbia.net.