If you’ve ever hung out a dog park, you’ve probably noticed their methods of greeting. Specifically, the anatomical pairing of nose to ass that they prefer as a hello. You have to think, that’s a bit of a miss in the genetic lottery when it comes to where a species decides is a best point of introduction. If you have to choose any body area to sniff, the asshole is absolute bottom of the barrel. Human butts smell bad enough, and we purportedly clean those.
Now, we mostly assume and accept there is some rhyme or reason to this. Which might be generous, given that this is an animal that eats vomit. But still, I felt the need to find out exactly what it is about the canine ass that makes it serve as the SparkNotes to a new dog’s identity. Thankfully, I was immediately informed that there is indeed, scientific reasoning behind it, and that man’s best friend is not simply a gross freak.
The key is two glands in a dog’s anus called, get this, anal glands. They fire off a “substance” every time your dog drops a mud pie in front of your local coffee shop, but humans likely don’t pick up on the gland-specific smells thanks to, well, the primary product produced. Dogs’ vastly superior senses of smell, however, are able to cut through your run-of-the-mill dookie stench in order to isolate a dog’s specific anal gland secretions.
In fact, there’s a genuinely shocking amount of information contained within these odors. First of all, simple identification, owing to the fact that every single dog’s stinkhole smell is unique. By sniffing a dog’s scent, like a signature cologne that would be banned from every Macy’s in the world, they can quickly realize if they’ve met this dog before.
God, I’m glad we invented nametags.
Even if they have met, via this disgusting little ass-to-face handshake, they can learn about what the dog’s been up to in the meantime. Dogs are aware of the wealth of information they’re tooting out, too: They clamp down their tails when they don’t feel like sharing their very dirty laundry with an approaching canine. Here feels like a good place to establish something else you might be wondering about — no, these gland secretions do not smell good. They might not be defecation, but it’s not like the dogs are getting a hint of honeysuckle when they give a sniff. If they had the power of human speech, they might be lamenting, infomercial-style, that there must be a better way.
Then again, it’s a pretty decent payoff to escape the crushing weight of human self-awareness.