Maybe we’re just easily amused at our house, but it seems to me that some things are just funny. I remember the good old days of dating when Mr. Taleteller never farted, excuse me, passed gas, or burped in my presence. If one slipped, there were profuse apologies and because my husband is a redhead, intense blushing as well.
As if by magic, once the wedding ring was on his finger, things changed in regards to bodily functions. I’m not naive enough to think that it was never going to happen, but I did have the illusion that good manners were going to continue. Now, instead of turning red because he’s embarrassed, he usually turns red from laughing, because few things amuse my husband as much as flatulence. And in full disclosure, I admit that sometimes it is pretty funny.
When you live with four dogs, there are times when gas is just going to happen. I know, some people are going to say that their dog never has gas because they only feed them the highest quality of food and nothing else, but the truth is, science tells us that gas is a natural bodily fuction that we all go through. In short, no matter what you do, there’s going to be some gas at some point. While it is true that some gas smells a lot worse than others, it happens to everyone. With our dogs, though, it’s usually silent and only occasionally deadly.
The other night, we were sitting in our respective spots, enjoying something on television. Flattery was sitting in my husband’s lap, curled up in adoration, her head against his chest. Then, my husband cut the cheese and it wasn’t exactly quiet. Flattery reared up her head and looked him straight in the eyes. Clearly, she was offended.
She hopped off the chair and stopped on her way to the couch to do her downward dog stretch. That’s when she fired off her rebuttal, and it was as loud as his, if not louder. My eyes probably grew to the size of saucers as I stared at her in shock and awe.
Of course, Mr. Taleteller found this hilarious. He started laughing like a lunatic, tears actually rolling down his cheeks. “That’s my girl,” he wheezed in between guffaws of laughter. In fact, he laughed so hard that he let another one rip, which only made him laugh harder.
For once, Flattery was not amused. She got up on the couch with the disdain that only a Greyhound can muster and proceeded to ignore him until turn out time. Her sensibilities were offended.
Perhaps it goes to show that feelings about gas go along gender lines and species doesn’t matter. I guess at least we know how to get her to move off the bed now, though. Sometimes, the only thing you can do is laugh.