It was hot and sunny as Vince took Harley, his small Yorkshire terrier, on a late morning walk.  The air was thick with humidity from the rapidly growing cornfields across the road.  And a light breeze carried a mixture of mid-summer aromas from wildflowers and decaying organic matter within the living soil.  Harley, of course, enjoyed the smells, especially the flattened remnants of a bull frog in the middle of the county road, which he simply insisted on rolling over on his back before Vince could stop him—an event which Annie had no need to know about.  Finishing the walk, Vince entered the house through the kitchen door; he was glad for the air conditioning.

Annie turned from the counter as Vince removed the leash from Harley and said, “Did you boys have a good walk?”

“Excellent walk.  Harley did a three.  You know, a number one and a number two.”

“Thank you for the, uh, report.  But I have to say, he really smells bad.  And I just gave him a bath two days ago.  As a matter of fact, this whole house smells like dog.  How can we ever have people over?”

“Why do you want to have people over?  And I thought you loved dogs.”  Then Vince bent down and scratched Harley behind the ears.

“I do love dogs, but that doesn’t mean I want the whole house and us to smell like a dog.”  Harley wagged his tail and looked up at her.

“Oh.  Well, I don’t smell anything.  And especially after having COVID, my sense of smell isn’t what it used to be.”

Annie grabbed a bottle of air freshener, began vigorously spraying the air, and said, “Your sense of smell was never what it used to be even before COVID.  I will never forget when we first met each other.  We were going out to dinner with our friends Jeff and Elaine in Jeff’s new car.  Remember?”

“Yeah.” Vince laughed.  “He was so proud of the new car smell.  Then after the restaurant, I accidentally stepped in a pile of fresh dog crap before getting in his car.”

Annie looked down, closed her eyes, and shook her head. Vince continued between laughs, “We all got in the car.  Then Jeff frantically looked around and said, ‘What’s that smell?  It’s dog shit, isn’t it!  Who stepped in dog shit?  Okay, everybody out and check your shoes.’  I really didn’t think it was that bad.”

“I know you didn’t, Vince.  And remember that old green hat you used to wear that I swear I could detect from fifty feet away.  Didn’t you ever wash it?”  Vince gave her a blank stare.  “Thank God you finally, ahem, lost it.  And whenever a mouse dies in this house, you never smell it.”

“And yet, you married me anyway.”

“Yes, I did.  But you have to know, you were on thin ice a few times before I finally went through with it.”  Both smiled fondly at each other.

“But things smell.  It’s part of nature.  The earth smells.  You know, I kind of feel cheated that I’ve lost some of that sense.  But I can still pick up on things like rain in the air, pine trees, and pizza.  It’s subjective, though, whether a particular scent is good or bad.  To a dung beetle—”

“Vincent, please.”  Annie held up her hand, palm forward.  And then she abruptly left the room with the air freshener in hand.  Vince could hear her spraying the hallway and into the living room.  He knelt beside Harley, stroked his back, and in the little dog’s ear whispered, “It’s okay, Harley.  You’re a good dog.  Good dog.”  Harley turned his head and licked Vince’s white beard.