The Power of Vanilla

Spring has sprung, which used to mean Easter egg hunts with a certain Aussie Dog, leading the hunt. 

She was the secret weapon on Easter Egg hunts. She and my youngest were an egg-hunting dynamic duo. She sniffed them out, and he put them in his basket. Sometimes, he would have to look a little, squeal with delight, and show it to her. She sniffed it in approval, and they would move on to the next spot.

Afterwards, she would reward herself by flopping onto our garlic-onion plant, which looks like a large pouf but smells like garlic.  I always thought it was her way of getting even for the vinegar smell of the egg coloring. 

With a dog’s sense of smell 10,000 to 100,000 times ours, I am guessing the vinegar was torture. Things I didn’t think about in that way when she was still with us.  

I also didn’t make the vanilla connection until recently. 

Olive had a protective streak that extended to her toys. She would share, but she chose when. She included everyone and set the rules. As you know, Aussie dogs are also personal trainers. When we played “fetch,” it was expected that we all “fetched.” If you didn’t, she would bark at you. If you still didn’t get it, she would take her ball and leave. She was done with you.  

If she wasn’t in a sharing mood, she would slowly move more of the toy under her fur while she chewed on it.  If that didn’t work, she would get up and move away from you and put her back to you. 

What I liked about her toys was that they all had a vanilla scent that never seemed to disappear, no matter how much she chewed on them. 

I say all this to explain the feral ninja that came out of her when doughnuts from a particular doughnut shop near us were brought home for breakfast. These doughnuts had vanilla wafting off them the moment they entered the house. 

It flipped a switch in Olive. 

The short trek from the door to the kitchen became a tactical course. Olive would jump up, trying to knock the box out of your hands. If that didn’t work, she would weave around your legs and then jump up, trying to throw you off balance. She even knew to aim for the hand to bump up and possibly drop the box.  Yeah, she knew all the angles and weaknesses. 

Once the box reached the counter, she would try to knock it down. She did it once, and after that, we learned. The shocking thing was how justified she felt about the doughnuts. She actually attempted to go directly after the big guy, Dad. He passed her with a raised glazed doughnut and ignored her, still annoyed at her trying to trip him on the way in. When he passed her, she patiently watched him pass. Then, with deliberate steps, she quietly padded to her predetermined position and waited. The moment he stepped on the pre-calculated spot, she moved, three feet in the air, paws out, using her full weight to push him, hoping he would drop the doughnut. He stumbled forward but recovered.  When he turned around, she didn’t back down; she actually repositioned all four paws and was ready. 

I stood there, watching all this, stunned and confused by the dog who usually sticks by my side and patiently waits for me.  But this was the fierce warrior who looked out for my youngest at the dog park. For some reason, our usually fair and logical dog was feeling possessive and seriously wronged.  I called her and gave her a little of mine to ease the standoff.  As the doughnuts disappeared and the box was removed, the smell dissipating, we slowly saw the warrior transform back to the velcro dog she was, except she didn’t forget. She kept an eye on him the whole day. 

Yellow cake or cupcakes also brought this out in her. We once came home to a 13 x 9 glass pan with a freshly baked cake upside down on the floor. She didn’t care we were there; she was furiously pawing it, trying to flip it, but couldn’t get a nail under it.  When I lifted, she had the big famous Aussie smile, only to be replaced a few minutes later with horror as I threw out the cake. She must have been so frustrated to figure out how to use a towel to get the cake down, only to have it flip on her.  

We never understood what drove her so nuts until recently, when I was thinking about her. I was thinking about how her toys always had a faint vanilla smell. No matter how much she chewed it or how dirty it was, somehow that factory vanilla smell never left. Then it dawned on me: with a dog’s sense of smell so powerful, she must have had a strong association with vanilla and her toys.  Poor thing, she thought we were taking her toys. I feel bad I can’t make it up to her.

But I do have a vanilla candle, and will light it this month in honor of our Olive, our legendary dog.