Air of the Dog

We have a little dog whose name is Oly
He doesn’t like to spend much time alone
So it’s fortunate he landed in our household
'Cause both my wife and I work out of our home
You can guess what I do, and Tricia does massage
She has a treatment chamber in our smallest room of three
Oly likes to nudge the door to sneak under the table
While Tricia works on shoulders, backs, and knees
One day we’d run all out of Oly’s dog food
And for some reason we could not get to the store
So we had to dig around and found some ancient mongrel chow cans
The stuff we’d buried way back in the cupboard
This change in Oly’s diet was not welcomed by his system
An eight-year old «canardly», still he ate all that was there
Let’s just say the phrase «intestinal disturbance"comes to mind
When we detected something different in the air
That very day a brand new massage client
Was coming to the house for the first time
He’d never had a rub before and won it in a raffle
So with eager expectation rang our chime
Tricia brought him in the house and took him to the table
The room was warm and cozy and the music soft and calm
Tricia left the room so that this person could disrobe
And as was customary climb in, facing down
When my wife returned she was immediately accosted
With an odor so horrific it defied a common label
Not completely unfamiliar though, for there indeed was Oly
Looking sheepishly from underneath the table
«I'm so embarrassed,"Tricia blurted and removed the foul offender
While explaining about the canine food’s malodorous effect
Then she reentered, still apologizing, all abashed and mortified
A farting pooch does not inspire respect
Whereupon this untouched patron stirred beneath his linen membrane
He propped up on her elbows and pronounced this epilogue
With chagrin upon his face she said, «I don’t know how to tell you but
It didn’t come from you or from your dog.»