Don’t Sit Down-wind of a Dachshund

My family has a beloved dachshund, whose name is Chew. His name comes from two inspirations, the obvious one being a reference to the Chewbacca character from the Star Wars films. Of course he’s not as big or burly as Chewbacca but he does have a similar color coat to the galaxy’s most famous Wookie. (My Grandmother felt he needed a name that would make him seem tough since he was so small when we got him, hence why his veterinary records have him listed as Chewbacca Rambo Catoe.) The other inspiration is from when he was a puppy; we left him alone in a room with a small wooden table and he more or less gnawed one of the legs off the thing. Needless to say, the name Chew seemed more appropriate than ever after that! My Mom & Grandma have had him for about 8 years now and they adore him, as do I. He’s incredibly intelligent and has a vocabulary that would rival those of some elementary students. What’s more, he has a personality of gold – you can look into his soft, brown eyes and almost sense the soul of a person behind them. He’s as gentle as could be, but don’t you even think of trying to take one of his favorite Chew-lotta’ bones from him, else you might leave with less fingers than you arrived.

One thing Chew brings to the household is something you might not immediately consider when thinking of a relatively well-kept animal like Chew, and that is his propensity for breaking wind as he sleeps in his little doggy beds. Much like a baby dirtying its diaper can be a rather shockingly revolting image (Like Steve Guttenberg’s character from 3 Men and a Baby said, “How can something so small create so much of something so disgusting?”), Chew’s farts are equally traumatizing.

Case in point, this past weekend while Jill (excuse me, J-Tru) & I were visiting with my parents we were sitting on the couch in the den meanwhile Chew lay asleep beside us in his bed. Then, suddenly, our nostrils are inflamed with the stink of rotten eggs served sunny-side up with a side of week-old garbage and a sewage chaser. Jill didn’t know what it was but I did – Chew had dropped a bomb on us and all we could do was hunker down until the fallout had cleared. It’s not acrid enough to peel wallpaper though it probably will make you consider the benefits of investing in a HAZMAT suit.

I figure that his digestive system can’t be that different from ours and as such it makes sense that he would pass the occasional butt-cloud. (Our stomachs don’t work that much differently than combustion engines; combustion engines create exhaust and so do we!) Even so, part of what makes his farts so extraordinary (yes, that word can be used in an instance where the topic isn’t particularly rosy) is that I know the types of food which cause me to have similarly stagnant gas (potatoes, cabbage, onions, beans, etc.). I would assume that his stomach behaves comparably, however his food doesn’t seem to be the type of sustenance capable of causing such grotesqueries. It’s not like he’s eating Grape Nuts, for crying out loud, although I’m sure the kibble he’s fed does have a certain amount of fiber to it – everyone needs help staying regular from time to time, I guess.

Probably the worst aspect of Chew’s sulfurous secretions (aside from the smell, of course) is that they come like a burglar in the night, completely unannounced and without warning. When people fart, it usually has a “toot” accompanying it which is simultaneously entertaining (or so it is to me) and something of a warning; it at least affords us the opportunity to move away and seek shelter since we know, thanks to the noise, that something foul this way comes. Chew’s noxious emanations, on the other hand, are definitely of the “silent but deadly” variety, meaning you have no way of knowing you’re about to have your nose hairs singed off at the root until your eyes start watering from the stench. I remember a childhood friend defining the sound of a fart as being “the flapping of excess anal tissue”. Apparently Chew doesn’t have anything extra back there to work with.

Truth be told, Chew is probably the best companion anyone could ask for. He’s loyal, brave (he’ll bark at anything but reserves the right to retreat), easy to maintain, and most of all just plain fun to be around. Sure, Chew’s broken wind is putrid and disgusting, but it is part of what makes the experience of dog-ownership enjoyable. What’s the big deal over a few farts amongst friends, after all?

- Rob