I found myself holding Rex up to my face—I held him up under his armpits to allow us to stare at each other intently. His nose was almost touching mine as we proceeded in “the game.” The first to blink lost. However, this time I was determined to win: I had eaten thirteen cloves of garlic just before I lifted him to my face.

“Lovely day isn’t it, my friend?” The first blast of garlic breath made him quiver. His face contorted from the odorous shockwave, but he didn’t blink. That dog has staying power!

“My, my, my, Rexieeeeeeeee.” The long last syllable dumped another three to four cubic yards of garlic gas into his snout. He almost lost and blinked, but stood fast (well, held fast). His nostrils shivered as he fought off a blink.

“I was thinking of reciting “War and Peace” to you. Would you be interested? How ‘bout the entire Encyclopedia Britannica? Or maybe something light, like the Calcutta phone book?” Rex started to squirm, and I sensed him ready to blink and lose the game. But he didn’t.

Evidently, Rex had some tricks up his sleeve, which is difficult since he never wears clothing, hence, no sleeves. Rex yawned right in my face. I shuddered in horror. “My GOD, man, what did you get into?” His breath was atrocious. “Did you get into the Hiesershodts’ garage again? Whoa! Mercy sakes!”

Rex wagged his tail with glee, knowing he had matched me in this battle of wits. And, being matched in a battle of wits with a dog with a brain the size of a walnut is not an ego-booster.

Next, he belched right into my face. My head started to wobble from the noxious stench.

“Jahhheeeeesus, Rex. Is that dead fish I detect on your breath? Or have you been huffing Limburger cheese? Or both? For crying out loud, what did you put in your mouth to create such a horror? Kim Chee? Oh, please tell my you haven’t eaten Kim Chee or I’ll duct tape your mouth shut after I fill it with mothballs and you’ll spend the rest of your days locked in the garage.” (I made a mental note to build a garage.)

My knees were ready to buckle when he ushered out a small “woof,” heavy-laden with a cloud of toxic fumes that would make Chernobyl seem like a, seem like a . . . a . . . well, maybe I’m not the sharpest cheddar in the cheese shop when it comes to analogies.

I detected what looked like a small tear forming in Rex’s eye. Was he ready to crack? Ready to blink and lose the game? Was victory at my doorstep? My own eyes were straining as the seconds lapsed into what felt like hours. The muscles in my face flickered and flinched like a hamster’s on speed under satin sheets (HEY! There was a good analogy!) as I tried in utter desperation to withhold a blink.

And by now I was noticing how hard it was to hold him up for so long. Was I out of shape, or had Rexie been puttin’ on the pounds? Well, we all know the answer to that. Maybe building a garage would buff me out.

I took in big lungfulls of air. I planned to finish him off with one last blast.

“Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhoowww you doin’, Rexie?” The bombardment was a direct hit and he not only blinked, he coughed, gagged, and got the dry heaves. To be honest, I feel the dry heaves were just for dramatic effect, but they were a nice finish to the coughing and gagging. I had won.

Now that we could both blink freely I proclaimed myself champion and went and sat on the couch. A while later I noticed Rex rummaging through the bottom shelf of the hall closet. He sauntered back toward the couch with the box of mothballs in his mouth.

“Industrial strength breath mints, huh? Are they for you or me?”

He sat them at my feet, turned and left for the kitchen. He stopped just before he went through his doggie door and glared at me. Even though I had won, I felt as though I had lost—I had garlic breath so bad even I started to blink. I opened my mouth and popped a mothball into the roiling garlic cauldron. Couldn’t hurt.