While on a walk in the woods, Fleegle stops to roll in the brush, grinding his shoulder against one spot on the ground in particular.
“That better not be coyote poop you’re rolling in,” I say.
He stops rolling and stands, tan smear marks along his shoulder and flank. “I smell so cool now. Here, sniff.” He runs over.
I pinch my nose and make a sour face. “That is the most pungent, disgusting smell. Why, Fleegle, why?”
“What is it you say? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” He runs back and rolls in the stink some more. “A fragrant scent is in the nose of the sniffer.”
“It appears we’re going to test out your new shampoo sooner than planned. You have a choice, Fruity Mango or Lilac Love?”
“Don’t you have anything more macho like Coyote Brut?”
“Isn’t that what you’re wearing?”