Fox shit, a Labrador's arse, old urine: Smells from worst to best, by your dog

THERE is a rich world of fantastic grubby scents out there that humans bizarrely ignore. Here are six of the best according to your dog.

Old urine

You don’t get to be six years old without becoming something of a connoisseur of dog piss. Most walks are spent snuffling about the bases of various street lamps and fences sampling sun-dried urine. The incredible variety of bouquets far surpasses those of that horrible swill you call wine.


Bin juice

A heady concoction of liquified food scraps and whatever disgusting stuff you chuck away in the bathroom, bin juice truly is the nectar of the gods. And don’t get me started on the Biffa round the back of the kebab shop. If I could give a bin a Michelin star, it would be that one.


Fox shit

Some people think I’m so enthusiastic about rolling in fox shit because it makes me smell like a predator. Personally I just enjoy it because, aside from the delicious punchy stink, it means that you have to give me a nice, warm bath when we get in from the freezing outdoors. Bliss.



The toilet at home produces some highly satisfying smells and you mess with them by putting a bowl of dried-out nonsense on top of it? Potpourri smells disgusting, and what’s weird is that I know you know it. So why do you keep buying it, you odd, unevolved creatures?



My relationship with the smell of a cat is a complex one, as it makes me both wildly excited and profoundly furious. That’s why I bark so much. It’s a bit like your reaction to watching football on the television, except I don’t get drunk and tell the cat it’s a ‘useless shower of bastards’.


A Labrador’s arse

Surely there’s no finer thrill in life than being snout deep in the bum of a Lab? The musky pong that hangs about their anal fur is an opera for the senses. Honestly, you humans should try it in the park, rather than shamefully saving it for that thing you do when you shut me out of the bedroom.


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Five punishments for living in the Home Counties those smug bastards definitely deserve

SMUG for too long, with their high house prices and better weather, Home Counties arseholes are now getting their comeuppance. Here’s how: 

ULEZ expansion

London includes everything up to the M25 now, which means Sadiq Khan is inviting vast numbers of Home Counties residents to pay £12.50 emissions charges to get in their car to go food shopping or drive their kids to school. Never mind that there aren’t any Tube trains to make going car-free a convenient option. It’s fine because there are no low-income families in the Home Counties: they’re all rich bankers and they deserve it.

Flats, flats, flats

The success of any Home Counties commuter town hinges on how quickly one can get away from it on the train, which makes it a mecca for developers keen to throw up another block of 40 executive apartments on any tiny patch of land available. For wannabe smug Home Counties first-time buyers the sting in the tail is that they still cost £400,000, even though the garden is a small square of gravel and the service charge is £2,000 a year.

Wood burners are toxic

A clear sign that God is laughing in the face of the self-satisfied Home Counties resident is that their most beloved household fixture is poisoning them every time they light it, which must lessen the cosy glow somewhat. What will be next? Finding out that your luxury hot tub gives you scabies?

They’ll never be on the ‘Best Places to Live’ list

The Sunday Times never features the places its customers reside in in its ‘Best Places to Live’ list. Instead, it’s quaint little Cotswold market towns with award-winning farmers’ markets, or charming Cornish fishing villages where the nearest supermarket is 75 miles away. The Home Counties have Deliveroo and Waitrose, but they’ll never have the sense of community that comes from visiting a community shop for a jar of local, artisanal marmalade.

David Bowie once said something sarcastic about their town

Even if they feel bolstered by their property prices, quick travel times into London and leafy surroundings, the Home Counties resident can be brought down by David Bowie’s disdain for Home Counties suburbia. Or maybe that’s just projection on your part because you live in Nuneaton, which Bowie never mentioned at all.