She comes back to the slider door on her own. Immediately, I assume my earlier fears were completely unfounded. I could not have been more wrong. I let her in, sit back on the couch and continue eating when I suddenly smell the worst smell in the world. I smell my food wondering if I somehow failed to notice it was rotten… it’s not the food.

Logically since Cheyenne is the only new element in the room, the smell must be coming from her. I smell Cheyenne but it doesn’t seem to be coming from her. I sniff the couch; it’s not the couch. I get up and look for a pile of dog poop, wondering if Jackson just had a bizarre case of explosive diarrhea. I see nothing. I make Cheyenne go outside to limit the number of variables. The smell is still around so I make Jackson lay down, and inspect him everywhere, if you get my drift, and although I see no evidence of this mythical diarrhea, I literally sniff his butt, ruling out gas and diarrhea in one fell swoop. I have set his neuroses into overdrive, and he hides submissively in the corner.

Now IO sniffs the exact spot Cheyenne laid in, and the smell, although still present, has dissipated ever so slightly. Cheyenne waits at the slider, and when I let her back in, the smell almost knocks me over. It is 9 o’clock at night and there is no way in hell that she can stay in this condition for any length of time. This is the worst smell ever. Since I see no evidence of poop on her body, and because no horses or cows randomly roam through in our yard, I deduce that a dead animal of some sort is probably the source of this aroma.

Solutions start racing through my head. I realize I have one option only—the coin-operated dog wash down the street. I begin to literally pray (amazing how religious I become in times of need) that it is still open.

I herd her out the door, round up IO and Jack, find a towel and grab my purse. I load up the big dogs and realize I need to take off her electric collar, which I do and it is sticky and worse, now my hand smells like her head!!! Sick. I seriously want to go inside and wash my hands but I cannot leave her to rub her body all over the inside of my car. Besides, I reason that since I have to touch her to wash her I may as well just suck it up. Against all my better instincts, I leave the sticky smell on my hand.

Inside the car, I open the sunroof all the way and roll the windows down as far as I can without worrying about anyone jumping out (seriously the smell is that bad) and even though the windows are open and we are going 55 mph I can still smell it. We arrive at the car wash and God grants my prayers. The dog wash is still open.

Up until this point Cheyenne has been very excited about her little adventure. But she now knows where we are and she is not happy. She despises being wet. This must be the Basenji in her.

I coax her out of the car and into the dog wash. She refuses to walk up the ramp so I, ewwww, have to pick her up. I hook her to the safety chain and attempt to put my money in the bill collector.  It accepts coins only, and wouldn’t you know, I only have cash. Are you F-ing kidding me?? Desperately, I look around. I locate a bill changer—outside. Meanwhile Cheyenne desperately tries to escape by jumping over the edge of the trough. If I leave her alone she will hang herself. So, she will have to come with me. I unhook her, re-leash her, and yes, obtain $20 worth of quarters, exactly what I wanted. I take her back inside.

The second time around, she knows for sure she wants nothing to do with this process. She is even more unruly than before and fights me every step of the way. An enormous spider crawls up and down the wall. Normally this terrifies me, but, for once, it is the least of my worries. As I scrub her, I really try not to think about why her fur is sticky. She has the most forlorn expression so I remind her these are the consequences of her actions. When we leave, I can see she’s devastated by the loss of her hard-earned “perfume”.

On the way home Kid Rock’s “All Summer Long” comes on the radio and I blare it, just laughing my head off and singing along. As strange as it sounds I thank whatever it is that I thank for this spirited dog. I feel a peculiar, yet deep sense of joy. When I close my eyes that night, I fall asleep right away in a contently tired way.

The next morning I am smart enough to keep her on the leash and she leads me straight to her treasure, a rodent of some sort with half of its hair licked off its body.