Dogs Hold A Press Conference

In which we learn there are many things they can smell

Today’s edition of The Enthusiast also has a special audio component! You don’t have to listen, but I thought some might enjoy hearing it performed. Thanks for being here! - Brad

Human media outlets have gathered with lights and cameras. Attention is focused at the front of a packed room where several dogs are seated. A golden retriever walks to the center microphone. Around his neck, a tag on a collar with simple text reveals that his name is Biscuit.

Biscuit:

Thank you all for being here today. We know you humans will have many questions and, perhaps, there will be time for those at the end.

For many years, it has been common knowledge that we can smell fear. This is true. Our senses are aware of your anxiety, your stress, your vulnerability, your— well, I’m getting ahead of myself. What we dogs would like you to know …. the reason we’ve gathered you all here —

We can smell more than your fear. All these years we, dogs, have been able to smell your fear as well as …

A smaller dog approaches Biscuit with a thick notebook opened between her teeth. Biscuit begins to read.

Biscuit:

Things dogs can smell other than fear —

Human anger. Human sadness. That feeling you get when you’re about to lean too far back in a chair and fall, but then don’t. The feeling when you’ve been left out and you’re sad about it. The feeling when you’ve been left out, but you’re secretly happy about it. Your curiousity in wanting to take one little bite of our dog food … just to see what it tastes like.

Your pride when you’ve sent a really clever text message. Your pangs of deep sadness and overwhelming existential dread when Facebook does that thing where it shows you old pictures and suddenly you remember how fast life is going by and think maybe you should go on more walks and pat the people you love on their heads more or whatever it is you all do. Your farts. Your deep-seated insecurities over that thing someone said to you when you were in sixth grade. Your disappointment in yourself for that thing you said yesterday. You didn’t mean it, but … you sure said it … and also you kind of did mean it? Still trying to smell this one out. You humans are confusing.

We smell your breakfast, your lunch, your second lunch, and pretty much all your meals - even the ones you’re just thinking about. Like the smell of your mom making breakfast on your birthday. Or the memory of your grandmother’s hand-lotion.

Your grief. Your joy. Your joy that’s mixed with grief. In fact, there’s all these mixes of scents.

The wonder you feel when you look up at the stars and feel so small and yet, also, enormous… like you’re part of some incredible miracle.

Your frustration at not having the words to say just how grateful you are to be here. We smell it. Like the awe you feel when you’ve caught a glimpse of your reflection in another person’s eyes and stare at this ocean of deep connection you’ll never fully comprehend but will spend the entirety of your life trying.

We smell your love.

We smell your confusion.

As you’re swimming back and forth from knowing and unknowing, being and becoming, shadow and light, ancient and new … your feelings of having answers and no answers at all are noticed by us.

We can smell the nagging feeling that you’ve forgotten something important — something everyone else seems to know. We smell and think: maybe you have forgotten something important? Because, well, we catch the aroma of your loneliness. That ache which shows itself when you least expect it.

That sinking sense that you’re not a part of the whole. That they are masterpieces and you’re the mess up. That you are other. That you are alone. This is a fear we’ve smelled the most and why we’ve called you here: You are not alone, dear human.

You belong. It all belongs. You are each bouquets of feelings expressed and unexpressed. Seen and unseen. But we’ve smelled them all. Every fragrance. Every aroma. In each of you we catch the full whiff of being alive. The joy, the heartache, the longing, the mustard. We have smelled and known you in ways we have never been able to say. In you we recognize the scent of the hopes of all wild, living creatures. Good boy, bad, mix of it all. And we’re still here. We sit. We stay. Good smell, bad smell, mix of it all.

After all, what are best friends for?

---

After a long pause, the room remains silent. Several hands go up. A reporter in the back asks a question:

Reporter:

Wait … dogs can talk???

Biscuit:

Oh, yes. Also we can talk. I should’ve started with that.

Thanks for being here. I’d love to hear from you: Do you have a dog? Do you have pictures of your dog? Also, if this was encouraging to you, could you please share? Thank you!

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