I lick Carll’s feet.

Don’t crinkle your nose that way (yes, I can see you).

Humans mistake feet as they do so much else. Are they odious because they’re odoriferous? (An Ode to my Odious Odoriferous Toes – how’s that for a title?) Because they’re lowly? Uncomplaining (mostly)? Laborers?

Pretty much every body part has a better rep. Move up from the ground. Ankle, calf, leg, knee, thigh, ass, over-prized pubes, naval, breast, every detail from the neck up, even the rear exit has its admirers if you swing that way. But feet? Despised! Ridiculed! Ignored till they break. And the work they do – humbly, constantly. The richer their owner, the more painfully contained, wrapped, made to wobble on stilts. Of the professions, podiatrist and undertaker vie for sneers. Remember Paul’s shoutout (Romans 10:15) – “How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace”? Prompts a snigger every time from the pimple set.

This would make me furious if fury was in my repertoire. There are furious dogs, I admit, but why? Prodded pride? An emotionally emaciated puppyhood? The saeva indignatio (savage indignation) that kept Swift in a froth? Rapid tail wags (presto giocoso), yips, cocked heads, and soulful gazes get you all you want in life, I’ve found, without the exhaustion of vehemence. How did Mary Poppins put it, “A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down”?

My foot focus here is not just big-hearted (though it’s that) but also homiletic, prompting a moral or two. Carll tends to insinuate his morals, insisting he’s not a preacher when he’s preaching all time. I bark my apothegms straight out, no beating around the bush, whatever that means, because dogs can’t be rude being dogs. If dogs offend we’re dismissed – “Oh he’s just a dog” – which enlarges our license for honesty.

Humans debase feet because everybody else does. They only think they think for themselves. When you crinkle your nose and say “Yuk,” are you expressing a considered verdict or echoing a cliche, to seem one of the gang? Licking feet is disgusting, you declare – but have you ever tried it? My hunch is humans enjoy their feet more than they let on but are loath to admit it. I’ve seen Carll sniffing his socks! He’d argue, if challenged, he was checking if they needed laundering, but is that credible? From infancy on, humans are ever sniffing their disparaged regions with suppressed delight.

ACCEPT YOURSELF – that’s moral number one. Self-acceptance simplifies existence incaculably and promotes sounder sleep. So, Carll’s not Shakespeare – so what? Why beat himself up about it? He’s Carll, can’t he make do with that? Better and worse are the fatuous fictions with which humans flagellate themselves, as if pain was fun!

Moral number two: DON’T KNOCK IT IF YOU’VE NEVER TRIED IT and (its corollary) DON’T FAKE WHAT YOU DON’T FEEL. A loved one’s fetid feet offend you? Try this experiment. Curl at the far end of a loved one’s bed. (I almost said “foot” of the bed, but that would have caused a conceptual collision.) Nuzzle the toes beside you. Not so terrible, right? Lick them. Salty, fragrant – any worse that sliced onions, Gorgonzola, Menudo? Now weigh the joy you’re affording with this affectionate gesture. And, if you’re not rushed, let your undefeated (sorry) imagination meander over tender images of feet. Remember, especially, Jesus, at his final supper, knowing his fate, kneeling to wash his friends’ grubby toes: “If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.”

Now crinkle your nose if your dare.