Humor Column Archives

When animals sniff and tell

The Cats and Jammer seemed to sense that we were running away to join the circus, that they would be left at home. Those little sideways glances — you know how a small animal can whip guilt on big humans. Our dog Jammer looked particularly miserable as she sat gazing out the window, ignoring me. She always does that when she senses she is about to be abandoned.

My husband and I weren't even taking grandchildren with us! We don't need an excuse to indulge in something we both love. Every couple of years, a circus called Carson and Barnes pitches a huge tent on the Carpinteria Bluffs. As we strolled along the dusty parking lot we were like two little kids, anticipating the myriad smells of popcorn, dust, straw and exotic animals.

Above the hot dogs and peanuts wafted the exotic odor of elephants and big cats. As we stood looking at a particularly handsome tiger, then glancing at the bottom of his cage, my husband said: "Jammer would surely be interested in this."

Like all dogs, our Jammer is into scatology. When we take walks here on the side of Shepard Mesa, she makes it her business to investigate each little lump. And sometimes she seems to tell me what she's found:

"Hey, a raccoon was through here about an hour ago."

Sniff. Sniff. "Hmmm. Bobcat. Haven't smelled that for a while."

"Just another neutered dog. No big deal."

But the scent that really sends the hair bristling on her neck is coyote. A mere sniff sets her dashing across the hillside, and occasionally she even flushes one of her wild cousins out of the lemon grove. Scat, scat, scat. She lives for it.

I believe that a big light bulb lit up above our heads simultaneously. If we couldn't take the Cats and Jammer to the circus, why not take the circus to them? Or at least the part that would interest them most.

Those circus folks must've seen everything in their day. The tiger man was talking to a girl. When my husband interrupted: "Could I have a little of your animal's left-behinds?" he didn't flicker an eyelid. But he did warn us not to try to use what he was about to give us in our compost heap. Too strong.

Then we found the elephant man. He obliged us by using his shovel to scoop a sample into another plastic bag. My husband locked our dubious treasure in the car, and we proceeded to enjoy the trapeze artists, the jugglers, the clowns and all the circus acts — immensely.

Afterwards, we drove home beneath a beautiful, half moon. With the windows rolled down. We could hardly wait to test our animals' reactions.

We decided to reveal our surprise a little at a time. First, we let the cats out of the house. Our gray cat, Frizz, took a sniff and looked at us with that, "Are you crazy?" look that cats occasionally muster, and quickly went back in the house.

Old Waylon walked away in disgust — with a slight twitch of what would be a tail on any cat but a Manx.

Then we released Jammer. I think she smelled something powerfully strange the moment she ran out the front door. She raced to the car, sniffed all around the trunk lid, and nearly went berserk when Don let her sniff one corner of the plastic bag. Her hair stood two inches atop the scruff of her neck and she chased madly up and down the driveway. She seemed to shout, "Good Lord! What went through here a few minutes ago? Did you see anything? It must've been big, really big!"

Do our pets ever realize what lengths we will go to in an effort to keep them entertained?

Jammer would hardly wait until the next morning so she could tell Otis and Sam and Zeke, and her other doggy friends. "Guess what my folks brought home from the circus? Would you like to smell my souvenir?"

Virginia Cornell is the author of The Latest Wrinkle and Other Signs of Aging — a collection of her humorous essays. For information on ordering, see The Latest Wrinkle.