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Story Creations: The Museum of Scent




This voyage of imagination is taken in support of my dog.


Often when we go for walks she wishes, naturally, to stop and investigate each smell, including her own leavings, which seem to gather new nuances every time we walk by, meaning this morning’s poop is really just as fascinating in the afternoon as it is in the evening. Or the next day.

I, smell-impaired human that I am, often want to take a brisk walk. As you can see, these two agendas are often in conflict. In trying to imagine what it’s like for her, I came up with a metaphor that felt illuminating to me, and helped me be more supportive of her dog agendas.

I felt like I was visiting a museum of scent, and being scent-impaired, was bored with the exhibits and like a whiny teen-ager, kept tugging at mom’s arm saying, “Can’t we just get on to the food court?” Meanwhile, my scent-acute mom-dog, obligingly trots with me toward my chosen destination, but regularly cranes her head, (or points her nose), saying, “Ooooh – can’t we stop and look at the Van Gochs? No? Well, I can see down that passage, there is a fantastic collection of Venetian glass? Hmm – not that either? Oh wow – Ansel Adams!” Meanwhile, I, the teen, drag her rapidly past each of those things and she looks (or sniffs) longingly at them as we flash by.

Or, in her case, “Oooh – can’t we stop and smell this amazing dead mole? No? Well, I can smell across the ravine, some wonderful deer scents? Hmm – not that either? Oh wow – someone else’s poop!”

The end result is that we now have a more or less collaborative set of agendas. Sometimes we move slowly and she can stop and investigate the extremely interesting news revealed as we pass each scent. Sometimes, we both get a little aerobic exercise and do some brisk walking. I revel in the scenery and the changing colors and patterns of light. She revels in the scents and strategically adds some new ones, of her own.

I suppose we take turns appreciating our separate museums, and being tolerant of the other’s strange priorities.


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