While visiting a hidden field in Forest Park, Fleegle finds an appealing scent on the ground and commences rolling in it. Knowing his tastes in scents, I call him to me in a vain attempt to stop him from smearing himself in the source of the scent. By the time I get to him, Fleegle is finished with his rolling and is strutting around the field like he is master of all he can see.
Franny emerges from underneath a very large fern on the edge of the field, gives the breeze downwind from Fleegle a sniff and says, “I smell poop, really strange smelly poop.”
Fleegle wags his tail high in the air. “That’s not just any poop. That’s the caviar of poop.”
He struts upwind of me. “Ugh, not coyote poop again. That’s the rankest poop of all. And don’t tell me beauty is in the nose of the sniffer, we’ve had that conversation before.”
Franny tilts her head to the side. “But I thought you ate caviar?”
Stupidly, I say, “You do,” as she ambles over to where Fleegle rolled.
She gives it a sniff, then says, “Well then,” and …
“No, Franny, don’t do that,” I shout to no use.
Fleegle pauses in his tracks. “Boy, why didn’t I think of that? Get the scent from the inside out. It could last for days.”
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