Scents and Sensibility: A Bloodhound’s Guide to the Universe

I used to write about her all the time. She was just so easy to write about.

From the first moment I met Thelma Lou, when she was an itty-bitty puppy, I knew I had found a literary muse. Then, she bit my ear with her puppy teeth. Crimson blood poured down my cheek. I held the puppy in the air and announced, “This is the one.”

But then life happened. I got busy. We started traveling a lot, Thelma started spending a lot of time with pet sitters over the years, and I fell out of the habit of writing about my muse.

Currently, Thelma is curled up on my truck passenger seat, sound asleep. Like the old days. We used to spend a lot of time together in this truck.

Right now, we are on our way to spend some time together in the Alabamian woods. Just the two of us. There will be lots of father-daughter activities going on such as sleeping, eating, walking, and chewing up dolls that resemble tiny USPS carriers.

I have to frequently remind Thelma that her slobbery USPS-carrier chew toy is purely for entertainment purposes. We do not actually condone chewing the appendages of federal employees. We love our United States Postal Service carriers dearly. These selfless postal-persons make our lives so much better with their daily hard work and determination.

Thelma agrees and solemnly assures me that, although she makes our poor mail lady’s life miserable, she really loves all postal carriers. Although she admits she would love them better with ketchup.

We arrive at the little cabin, and Thelma rushes onto the screened porch to see if any new smells have cropped up since her last visit.

She uses her powerful nose to trace the perimeter. She takes her time searching each square inch of the porch with her nose, identifying every new dead bug, each fallen carpenter bee, each new pile of lizard poo, and—WHOA!—wait a minute! Here’s the ACTUAL lizard who made the poo! Look, Dad! She barks at the lizard. Look! A lizard who is making poo!

The poor lizard is just trying to live his life. He looks at me with soulless eyes as if to say, “If I were fifty times bigger, I would be digesting your entire family right now.”

Even so, it’s fun to watch a bloodhound at work. I love to watch Thelma search the yard. I love to watch her swim in the lake.

A bloodhound has 300 million scent receptors. Whereas humans only have a mere 5 million. This means that a bloodhound’s world is completely different than yours and mine. The bloodhound sees deeper into our current version of reality and exists within another realm. A realm of which you and I are largely ignorant. They see behind the curtain of society.

A bloodhound moves through life in a veritable overpopulated jungle of strong, rich, virile, verdant, decaying, festering, overpowering, and potent scents that never stop. These smells come at Thelma all day long, pounding her from all angles. She cannot escape the overabundance of odor.

A bloodhound is capable of detecting one drop of blood in an Olympic swimming pool. A scenthound like Thelma can sense odors that are 12 days old. They are one of the oldest dog breeds, too, dating back to the 7th century. And Thelma is an amateur ENT, our family’s own ear, nose, and throat specialist inasmuch as she has the irrepressible urge to constantly investigate our noses, mouths, and ear canals. This is especially true whenever one of these orifices contains ham.

I don’t know how Thel ever manages to tune it all out and carry on. I don’t know how she sleeps. Imagine if you could smell everything in the world all at once. All the time. Everything from the dust on your ceiling fan to your next-door neighbor’s dirty underpants. Imagine how you would start to judge people differently if you could smell all their secrets. Imagine how differently you would react to your world. Imagine how your priorities would change if you operated on smell alone.

Everything would change. You’d quit feeling compelled to go to your job and be stuck in a cubicle with stinky coworkers, and instead you’d probably choose to hang out in your own backyard with the fragrant mimosa trees and pine trees, or go rolling in the carcasses of dead squirrels.

What amazes me about Thelma most, however, is that even though she can smell all things, even though she knows everyone’s innermost secrets, she remains neutral and impartial to all. She never judges any new soul she meets. No matter what they smell like. No matter what they’ve stepped in.

We once had a neighbor, for example, who was sort of a recluse. Very few in the neighborhood made friends with this old woman. Her house was a wreck. She was grumpy and seemed bitter all the time. Her hair was a mess, she wore the same clothes day after day, and she had lots of cats.

But Thelma was obsessed with her. She thought the old woman was magnificent! The best human she’d ever met! And she smelled like cat litter!

The friendship between Thelma and this old woman became the best part of Thelma’s life. Every morning my dog would awaken and rush to the fence and greet the old woman before she arose. And we’d occasionally look out the window and see this hard, curmudgeonly old woman stroking Thelma Lou’s head and speaking sweetly to her.

And when the ambulance carried the old woman away for the last time, it was Thelma who stood still at the fence until dark. Even hours after the ambulance had disappeared.

I think what I admire most about this dog is that she reacts purely from her gut. Not her brain. Not her logic. Not even her nose. Her gut. She does not need to reason. She does not overthink. She can look at any situation and know instantly whether to show her teeth or show her heart.

I wish I were half the man my dog is.