The Fresh Smell of the Country

One of the loveliest things to do, on a wet, rainy day, is to drive to the countryside and breathe in the scent of newly washed earth. Often though, this smell is mixed with the true smell of the country which is undeniably the smell of cows and manure, pig feed and pig manure. There is nothing like it to assault your nostrils and to force you back to the city to breathe in the sanitized air of your air-wick plug-in.

It is all good, the city and the country, each with its defining smells; you can escape from one set of smells to another, depending on your mood and it is that very choice that defines 21st century living.

For many of us though, that choice is limited, the smell of animals that belongs in the fresh country air, is dragged into the city by the so-called animal lovers. For them, an aversion to their pet is as perverse as a turkey voting for Christmas. There is nothing you can say to make an animal lover understand that you object to their dog licking the remains of dinner off a plate, or that cups of tea with floating hairs are off-putting. You are accused of something close to fascism for the violent repulsion you reveal in not allowing the mutt to nose your crutch. I remember one such animal lover asking me if I was on my menstural cycle and trying to excuse the animal's behaviour by the reassurance that it was just responding to my hormones - MY hormones, private hormones - nothing to do with the dog or its owner and certainly not a topic for conversation by default.

My immediate reaction to slap the dog's mutt out of the way was met with that superior look that implies that you are an animal-hater. No, I'm not, I just prefer people because they do not react in that particular way, uninvited, to my hormones.

The second point about dog lovers is this, they frequently forget that their pet is a dog. Picture the scene: you are out walking the dog with someone you quite fancy, the dog leaves a pile on the pavement and they squat down, produce a bag and scoop up the mess. Kudos, you might say, for them behaving in a responsible manner but in intimate moments, you are reminded of them doing 'the squidge'. There is a compulsion to know if they have washed their hands before the moment of intimacy - asking the question is, frankly, out of the question - but you can't help wondering. An animal lover will tell you that they have cleaned babies and people who have been sick and that doing the squidge is no different. That, to my mind, is what is so worrying about dog-lovers. There is no distinction, for them, between a child and a dog but I wonder what would happen if children were treated like dogs and made to beg for treats for their parents' amusement.

Dogs are not children, emphatically not. No-one should ever have to squidge animal mess between their fingers, even if there is a thin film of polythene separating the two. Babies have nappies that you can change near hand washing facilities; if someone is sick you usually direct them to a bathroom where, again, you are close to hand washing facilities. Well-prepared dog-lovers never think of access to hand washing facilities when they prepare for the squidge - it might be as natural to them as cleaning up human mess but it certainly isn't as hygienic.

Far from feeling sympathetic to someone when they announce that they are animal lovers, I am immediately suspicious of their motives; that craving for the obedience and deferment of a living animal to their will is despotic - it does not imply gentleness or humanitarian qualities. They are usually sinister people-haters; twilight-zone people who call the smell of manure the fresh smell of the country. It isn't at all fresh - it is as fetid and nauseating as dog breath and should be recognised as such, without frills or euphemisms. I would rather have the manufactured odours of a Lampe Berger or a vanilla Magic Tree as the definition of a fresh smell.