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LAST UPDATE | 28 Jul 2025
RECENTLY, I HAPPENED across a feature outlining eight smells that, according to science, have the potential to make people happy.
Despite being irked by the figure in the title, I clicked. Being slightly pedantic, I felt I could have been better served had the title read seven or nine things. Not eight. Odd numbers in a headline are supposed to help the reader digest information.
I pushed my irritation to one side and read on, but the list failed to impress. One of the suggested scents included pine. Who likes pine? It’s grand and all, but ……..pine? Citrus got a mention. Ho hum. So did Rosemary. Still not convinced. This article was not living up to its claim.
Oh, hang on. Freshly cut grass was next. Now we were getting somewhere. But almost immediately, the piece u-turned straight back to mundane, unremarkable aromas. I was beginning to feel very disgruntled on behalf of the olfactory experience.
No mention of freshly baked bread, incense at a funeral, ground coffee, or how the earth smells after a good spill of rain (petrichor in case you were wondering). What about hot tar on the road, a particular bouquet, redolent of summer? That one takes me straight back to my childhood in the 80s. Permanent markers didn’t feature either, but perhaps for very good reason. A primary school rumour back in the day claimed you could get high doing that.
Our capacity for peculiarities fascinates me. We are a wonderfully eclectic jumble of affectations, every one of us made all the more unique because of our foibles. Liking the smell of random things is just one of them. But the smell I really can’t get enough of is, the smell of my dog.
I love everything about him; the tic-tac sound of his nails on the floor as he trails around after me, his funny little hop skip jump when he walks, the way one ear flops down while the other stands upright, the “uff uff” noise he makes when he’s content. I’m sure other dog owners can cite a similar checklist.
So am I weird for loving the smell of a dog? Apparently not. There is a science and sentiment behind our pets’ aromas. Throw in some biology, a dash of psychology, and you’ve got a complete sensory experience explaining why it’s not just a “doggy smell.”
Just like dogs, humans are pack animals, social creatures, depending on each other for survival within our different hierarchies. Other ways in which we display commonality are through our methods of communication, these being vocalisation, body language, and, wait for it, our scent.
The bond we have with our dog is formed by doing enjoyable things with them, going for long walks, throwing a ball and enjoying their company.
We love our dogs and consider them part of the family. They are our constant shadowy companions, following us about the house and even waiting patiently until we come out of the bathroom. Our relationship with them is unique.
I think it’s fair to say that not everybody will understand the powerful affiliation we have with our canine pal, and how it’s impossible not to smile when we see their faces. Picking them up and burying our nose in their fur is simply another way we are connecting with them.
According to Google, the reasons for loving the smell of my dog are wide and varied. It could have something to do with feeling serene and calm when I grab him for the cuddles. The unique chemical composition of his fur and skin might be another factor.
Then there is the hit I get from the feel-good hormone oxytocin, the one responsible for reducing my stress levels. His scent could also be held accountable for evoking fond memories, but that one hasn’t been my experience. Although of course, it could very well be doing so subconsciously. After all, I am that person who was addicted to her kids’ sweaty bed head hair when they were very little
The above are excellent observations and scientifically correct, but to me, he just smells divine, and I live for those doggy snuggles at the end of the day. His irresistible, fusty musty odour reminds me of heat, grass, and sunshine. Sometimes he smells very faintly of fox. His ears carry a different scent from that on his shoulders. It’s harder to define. It is simply a warm smell of nothing.
On the school mornings, he retains traces of my son’s cologne, even when he is wrapped in a blanket to protect the uniforms from shedding fur.
To conclude, my dog smells alive, robust and earthy. To me, there isn’t a nicer smell.
It helps that he’s hella cute to boot. And I’m not just saying this as a proud pawrent. I have proof. He was the star attraction at the school gate, with one small child barrelling over, announcing he loved the smell of puppies. It was a free-for-all after that. Once in the park, I was stopped by an older gentleman walking his own Jack Russell terrier. The conversation opener was, “Is that a boy or a girl?” and “Was I breeding?”
My pooch’s Polaroid is on the Doggy Wall of Fame in our local dog-friendly (natch) coffee shop.
If you are still in doubt about liking your dog’s scent, take comfort in the fact that there are people out there who are repulsed by and afraid of repetitive patterns or clusters of small holes and bumps like honeycomb, sunflowers or sponges (Trypophobia).
I know someone who has a fear of freezers. Take a moment to spare a thought for the individuals who live in terror of the very rare but real fear of peanut butter getting stuck to the roof of their mouth (Arachibutyrophobia). Honest to god. Spellcheck didn’t even blink at that one.
So you go right ahead and enjoy how your doggy smells.
Gwen Loughman is the gatekeeper of four boys, one husband and a watcher over two dogs.
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