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Wednesday, August 23, 2006 


I had a dog when I was a kid, it stunk, by stunk I mean it smelled bad. This dog smelled bad all the time. I had to wash the dog every Saturday without fail. As soon as I would wash the dog it would head out into the pasture and roll in cow manure. Evidently this dog preferred the smell of cow manure to dog shampoo. My dad would try dipping the dog into a creosote dip designed to kill fleas in hopes of overpowering the smell of the dog, but it only worked for a day or so. We named the dog stinky but we eventually shortened it to stink.

I know what a lot of you are asking, why would we keep such a dog. It was a great cow dog. It would herd the cattle to the barn and follow any command. It was one of those dogs that would sit when you told it to sit and come when you called it, but boy did it stink.
Stink was a border collie. When company would come over it was my job to lock stink in the barn so that he would not offend the normal people. I remember him rolling in an opossum that had gone on to its reward sometime the prior winter; Stink was particularly noxious that summer.

Once stink was hit by a car. He did not show up for his evening bowl of scraps so I went looking for him. I found him by standing in the wind and sniffing. He has a broken leg that required a cast and a pound of led weights at the bottom to hold his leg down. This was the only period of Stinks life that he did not stink. We were thankful.

Eventually the dog died as all dogs do eventually. I buried him on the hill overlooking the pasture; I put a board up that said, “Stink”.
I think that summed it up.