couldn't possibly be him。 We each sniffed him out
pretty good and he smelled perfectly rosy。
My personal suspicion was that Matt and Mike were the ones not bathing enough； but I didn't
want to get close enough to sniff them。 And since
our camp was divided on just who the culprit or culprits were； the odor was dubbed the
Mystery Smell。 Whole dinnertime discussions revolved
around the Mystery Smell； which my brothers found amusing and my mother did not。
Then one day my mother cracked the case。 And she might have cracked Champ's skull as
well if my dad hadn't e to the rescue and shooed
him outside。
Mom was fuming。 “I told you it was him。 The Mystery Smell es from the Mystery Pisser！
Did you see that？ Did you see that？ He just squirted
on the end table！”
My father raced with a roll of paper towels to where Champ had been； and said； “Where？
Where is it？”
All of three drops were dripping down the table leg。 “There；” my mother said； pointing a
shaky finger at the wetness。 “There！”
Dad wiped it up； then checked the carpet and said； “It was barely a drop。”
“Exactly！” my mother said with her hands on her hips。 “Which is why I've never been able to
find anything。 That dog stays outside from now on。 Do
you hear me？ He is no longer allowed in this house！”
“How about the garage？” I asked。 “Can he sleep in there？”
“And have him tag eve