Don't expect a kiss afterwards

My wife lay in the bed with me last night, winding down from a busy day. Suddenly, a colorless gas drifted in from the foot of the bed. My wife, who has always had a more sensitive sniffer than I, detected the onslaught first:

"Uck! Oh, God babe - did you fart?"

"No, it must've been the dog, I ... holy God...!"

"Ew, that's sick, dude!"

"Quick, shit in my mouth, it's the only hope of concealing the smell!"

We survived the odiferous attack, and I awoke to the dog panting at the bedroom door. She is usually a paragon of patience (and really, her appointment schedule is typically light), so I got the message and let her out. It was surprising that even though she felt an internal cramping that we can all identify with, once outside she still took the time to circle Ground Zero a few times before stopping to relieve herself. I guess protocol is important.