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The Stinky Dog

Author: Nicolette Meyer | Date: September 4, 2012

Sometimes, my dog smells really bad. Not for lack of grooming, or teeth brushing, though.

My dog farts. A LOT.

The kind of farts that will clear the room or peel the paint off the walls. There are times when we’re sitting on the couch together, and I actually have to light a match or the stench will not disperse. Whenever friends come over to our house, or when I bring him to the office, it’s only a matter of time before someone makes that face that I know all too well, the screwed-up frown that looks as though their face is melting off.

I know what you’re thinking: change his diet! The problem is not the food, unfortunately, it’s that he’s a French Bulldog. Anyone with a brachycephalic dog (Bulldogs, Pugs, Pekingese, Boston Terriers – basically any smush-faced dog) knows my bane. Sure, their flat, funny faces are adorable and set them apart from their long-snouted brethren, but that distinct feature comes with its own consequences.

Because of the shape of their heads, and their shortened pallets, brachycephalic dogs tend to ingest a lot more air when they eat than most other dogs, causing (in some cases) unbearable flatulence. Among other hazards of the short muzzle, like a heightened sensitivity to heat stroke or obscenely loud snoring when he sleeps, the passing gas of my dog is something I’ve had to learn to live with.

Of course, when doing research of different breeds before getting my dog, I was warned of the farting Frenchie.

I laughed it off, though, and thought to myself, “Oh it can’t be that bad!” How naïve I was…

I’ve tried my fair share of remedies for Otis’ breaking wind, from charcoal infused dog treats to a bland diet of boiled chicken and rice – some of which do actually help – but I’ve pretty much given up on the hope of my dog ever going a day without somehow managing to toot right in my face. It’s gotten to the point where I’m not even shocked by the smell (which is still gross, mind you) and now I just sit there on the couch next to him, lighter in hand, silently resigned to burning off the methane cloud emanating from his beloved behind. Truth be told, I wouldn’t trade my stinky little boy for the freshest, rosiest smelling pup in the world.


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