Smells Like Dog by Suzanne Selfors Read Free Book Online

basketball and had rumbled like a thundercloud.
    Poor Dog.
    Homer fiddled with the mail, wondering what to do. It was
his
dog, after all. He knelt and patted Dog’s head. “Will he be okay?” he asked.
    “That depends.” Dr. Huckle poked her flashlight into Dog’s mouth. “Has he eaten anything else that he’s not supposed to eat?”
    “He ate some sticks and a beetle,” Homer said.
    “Sticks and a beetle?” Mr. Pudding rubbed the back of his neck. “What kind of dog eats sticks and beetles?”
    “And cherry blossoms,” Homer added.
    “That’s very odd.” Dr. Huckle removed a stethoscope from her black bag. “Very odd.”
    “I’m sure he’ll be right fine,” Mrs. Pudding said, kissing the top of Homer’s head. “Not to worry. He’s just confused, being in a new place and all.”
    Dr. Huckle pressed the stethoscope against Dog’s chest.
    “Is he gonna die?” Squeak asked.
    “He isn’t going to die,” Mrs. Pudding said, taking Squeak’s hand. Then she leaned close to the doctor. “He isn’t? Is he?”
    “What dog in its right mind would drink whitewash?” Mr. Pudding asked. “I don’t think that dog’s got a right mind.”
    “Whitewash looks like milk,” Mrs. Pudding said. “Maybe he thought it was milk.”
    Mr. Pudding shook his head. “That dog’s got something wrong with its brain if it thinks paint is milk. I couldn’t get it to help herd the goats. It slept most of the day.”
    “Basset hounds aren’t bred to herd,” Dr. Huckle replied. “But they can smell a rabbit ten miles away. Rabbit hunters love bassets.”
    “We don’t hunt rabbit,” Mr. Pudding said.
    “Urrrr.” Dog’s back legs went stiff and he closed his eyes.
    “Did he die?” Squeak cried, clutching Mrs. Pudding’s arm.
    “No. He’s still alive,” Dr. Huckle said. “I’d better take his temperature.”
    Homer grimaced.
Poor Dog
.
    But as Dr. Huckle reached for her bag, Squeak, trying to help, accidentally knocked it over. A little glass bottle rolled out and broke against a rock. A pungent odor rose into the air. Max, Gus, and Lulu tucked their tails between their legs and ran off. The Pudding family stepped away, as did the goats. “That stinks,” Gwendolyn said.
    “It’s aromatic spirits of ammonia,” Dr. Huckle said, fanning the air with her hand. “Nothing to worry about.” But then she rubbed her chin in puzzlement. “Hmmm. That’s interesting. Your new dog’s not reacting.”
    While the Pudding family members were pinching their noses, Dog just lay there.
    “I wonder.” Dr. Huckle took a cotton ball from her bag, dabbed it in the spilled liquid, then held it to Dog’s nose. He didn’t wince or move. He just kept panting. “Amazing,” Dr. Huckle said. “Why, I do believe that this basset hound can’t smell.”
    “Can’t smell?” Mr. and Mrs. Pudding said.
    Dr. Huckle nodded. “That explains why he’s been eating strange things. He’s got no sense of smell to tell him what he’s supposed to eat.”
    Mr. Pudding folded his arms. “I told you there was something wrong with that dog. I knew it the moment I saw it. Leave it to my brother to find a useless dog.”
    “Maybe he’s not useless,” Homer said hopefully.
    “This is quite a tragedy,” the doctor said. “The sense of smell is the most important sense for a dog. They greet one another through smell, they mark their territories with their individual scents. They choose mates, hunt, herd, and track all based on a keen sense of smell. This poor guy is shut off from the ordinary day-to-day things that dogs do. He’s at a terrible disadvantage.” She collected her instruments and closed her black bag. “I don’t think there’s any kind of treatment. He’s going to require a lot of looking after. You can’t leave him alone. He’ll need to be closely watched.”
    Mr. Pudding snorted. “What? We don’t have time to watch a dog.”
    “Well then, I suggest you find a new home for him, maybe with a nice retired