Ah, Petrichor! The smell of rain falling on dry ground. Wafting through my window right now. I breathe deep, and am reminded of goodness. The earth, sea, and sky in one gigantic inhale.
Jeremiah just came upstairs in his fresh-out-of-the-shower underwear, crying because he couldn’t find the dog. He had looked everywhere, inside and out, and it was beginning to feel like a Winn-Dixie moment. We stepped onto the porch, thunder and lightning crashing, water pouring out of the storm drains like spring run-off. We called for him, whistled...heard nothing. We pictured him huddled somewhere, shivering, too frightened and wet to find his way home.
Then we heard a distant yelp. Sounded like it came from out back. We ran to the back door and called for him, whistled...heard nothing. Then one more little yelp. Sounded like maybe he was stuck somewhere. As I went to put on some shoes and a jacket to go look for him, we heard the yelp again, closer. Could it be?
Then a figurative bolt of lightning hit Jeremiah: I think he’s in the garage! So we opened the door...and there he was: safe, warm, and dry. Jeremiah picked him up and buried his nose in his fur, then carried him down to bed.
I wonder if there’s a word for the cozy scent of clean boy holding dry dog? Because they could market it. They really could. A combination of friendship, relief and joy.