“Oh gross, the car stinks!”
I hadn’t realized the auto was odorous. My nose was acclimatized; my senses happy, bordering on delighted. The windows were rolled up; the pungent smell contained.
I love the smell of the barn; my son does not. He pinches his nose as he settles in his seat, and lets some cold air in, trying to expel the evidence that I’ve been horseback riding.
For me, the stink is a comforting mix of horse, manure, hay, and dusty dirt. My olfactory senses transmit memories of the freedom to roam - idyllic summer days in childhood: learning to ride horses, playing in the hay, and exploring the outdoors of my aunt and uncle’s farm. It may even go back to when I was a baby and my parents owned two horses. I’ve been told that I lit up when I saw them.
Upon arriving home, my husband too informs me that I smell of horses and dirt. It isn’t meant as a compliment.
Our dog, Maxx, greets me with a frantically wagging tail, and vigorously investigates my feet. He’s clearly intoxicated by the tang.
“Atta boy, my little friend, I think you smell lovely too!” We cover each other in kisses.
I had been waffling, but Maxx unwittingly cast the deciding vote - I think I’ll skip a shower tonight and try to evoke equine dreams….
