Nothing about what I’m going to say makes any sense. Whether you’re a fellow pet parent or not, this matter is bizarre, and even disturbingly grotesque. But we pet people recognize the depravity immediately…

Love stinks so good. 

Ever since the shih tzu breeder from Rioja Spain sent me the photo of 3-month-old Babs (short for Barbra), I’ve been devastatingly besotted. 

Her smell is… sickly but enticing, off-putting but irresistible, downright gross but decidedly lovely. To put it bluntly, her smell drugs me.

It’s typically dogs who do the sniffing. But in this case, I’m the sniffer whiffer. 

Every time Babs gets back from the groomer, I feel robbed. Suddenly, the frito-chip funk I so long to inhale is missing. And let’s be honest, this distinctly yeasty, musty, faintly fungal perfume  is likely a wondrous potpourri of sweat, mucus, piss, street and god-knows-what-other secret ferments. Ironically, I’d never dare to let myself emit such a smell. And I’d most certainly never find it attractive on anyone else.

It’s a bit ironic, don’t you think? 

Her ears – by far my favorite sniffy spot – pull me in, no matter how objectively disagreeable the odor. The fumes hit my olfactory receptors and I’m trapped, compelled, wildly addicted. I pull away – but immediately reconsider. I need more. 

Fellow anonymous pet-sniffers, I know you know. One good sniff and we’re back in it. But it’s not entirely as absurd as it sounds. Biology is our alibi – a chemical process involving pheromones and entangling enablers, called oxytocin and dopamine.

When Babs plants herself at my feet or leaps, endearingly eager for my attention in a display of desperate love and devotion, nothing could be lovelier – except, of course, her scent. 

They say dogs are a man’s best friend. But Babs is my emotional support narcotic.