Back in the day, coal miners used to carry caged canaries with them at work. If there were toxic levels of methane or carbon dioxide in the mine, the canary would drop dead, warning the miners to get out.
One of the side effects of the coronavirus, according to those who have it or have survived it, is the temporary loss of the sense of taste and smell.
Unfortunately for us, our little dog, Baby, is plagued with a chronic case of anal gland “emission” that occurs most every day. We take her to the vet periodically to have the glands “expressed”, and we have her on some pills that supposedly help reduce the problem. However, it’s a useless exercise. It’s gotten to the point that we have to wash the throw blanket that she sits on (on the couch) pretty much every day, because she “squeeths” on it every evening.
The odor is unmistakable and quite offensive; any dog owner knows what I’m talking about.
Which is a good thing, I guess, as we shelter here in place, in the safety of our home. Because, if one of us were to contract the virus, and lose our ability to smell, we would be alerted to the crisis immediately…by our version of the canary in the coal mine.
Craig: “Hey, Honey, Baby didn’t squeeth this evening!” Charlie: “Yeah, I noticed that myself!”
Uh, oh.
The Lord works in mysterious ways, I guess.
Thank God for squeeth.