There’s a world of smells around you
If you catch a little whiff
Why, your nose can show you wonders
If you’ll only stop and sniff
Like for instance, here’s a beauty
In the middle of the road—
You can’t see it, but the smell reveals
It used to be a toad!
Now it’s round and flat and stinky
In the most amazing way
Put your nose right to the pavement
And delight in the decay!
And ahead, we’ve got another—
Even you can smell the funk—
There are six or seven pieces there
That once comprised a skunk
It’s been aging for a month or so
And getting really ripe
The smell is best right there, beside
The double yellow stripe
When it rains, it’s overwhelming,
Cos the smells come out to play
There’s a poodle piddle puddle
That’s from earlier today!
And the leaves, all freshly fallen,
With the slightest stench of rot,
And the garbage cans, on Tuesdays,
Well, they’re always worth a shot!
There’s a world of smells around you
If you catch a little whiff
Why, your nose can show you wonders
If you’ll only stop and sniff
Ah, yes! Nice that you have a canine bard!
One of my favorite memories of all time was a little “apricot” toy poodle – the sort that mainly inhabit the laps of blue-haired wealthy ladies – coating its entire back with precisely that toad of the second stanza. I have always hoped that she went straight back home to the lap….
Back in the 80’s, I had a dog that would roll around in dead carp (we lived on the shore of Lake Erie, so there were plenty) until she was more fish than canine, and then want to cuddle.
To be sung by Mandy Patinkin, I assume.
It was the poodle piddle puddle line that gave it away.
No verse about dogs smelling each others’ butts…or human booty for that matter?
@3 Johnny Vector:
To the tune of Gilligan’s Island theme.
Many years ago, I worked at a steelhead trout hatchery inhabited by an old English sheepdog named, “Sherman” (for the Sherman tank). Every spawning season, the steelhead would die by the thousands and pile up on the river banks. Sherman would love to roll in the rotting carcases; you could often see him, from a safe distance, with rotting fish stuck to his long shaggy coat.
Poor Sherman was annually ostracized by his family until after spawning season was over, at which time the head of household, donned a gas mask, sheared Sherman, then buried the fleece.