The Dead Thing

We took the gogs for a walk the other morning and when we reached the end of our road, we turned Left.  The gogs really like going Left!  (gogs = dogs in small child speak... those "D"s are hard to say when you are learning how to talk!)

There are bunnies galore popping out unexpectedly and running over hill and dale while the gogs are stuck on leash, straining, eyes-bugging out of their heads because they want to chase the bunnies oh so bad.  Damn hoo-mans never let them have a bunny.  Not sure why there are no bunnies if we go Right.... bunnies only seem to live Left.

And there is a house with free roaming chickens.... the hens sometimes come out near the road to scratch for bugs.  When we walk past with the goggies, they all pick up their skirts and run back to the safety of their yard.   Always very exciting to goggies.

Just after this house, on the right side of the road, there is a spot where Little Toe always rolls.  

Always. 

Without fail.  

The spot is thick with tall grasses.  I've never thought much about it.  Figured some good smelling plant grew there.  The other dogs never sniff or roll there.

We turn to head back home shortly after the house with a brown standard poodle in the yard.  We've named the poodle "Brownie".  Yes!  We are extremely imaginative!  Brownie always barks at us, we say good morning and there is further excitement as all our dogs take turns peeing in front of poor Brownie, whom I imagine is yelling in a canine version of an old man in a robe with his morning newspaper yelling, "Get off my lawn!".

Once home we get ready for work.  I sit at our kitchen table drinking my morning coffee and eating peanut butter toast for breakfast.  Toe sits in the crook of my crossed legs.  I pet his speckled head and rub his long silky ears... sometimes even rubbing my face in the soft fur on the back of his neck and kissing the top of his wee head.

I made a mistake this time when we turned Left. 

I stopped and looked to see what was so great about "The Rolling Spot".

There is a dead thing.  Skeletal with taught skin covering some of the bones.  No way of telling what sort of animal it was... no fur or feathers or shape to discern since it is so completely rotted, decayed and folded in on itself.

Toe has been rolling on this thing every time we've gone Left for months.  Literally.

I've been coming home and rubbing my face in his soft fur... kissing the top of his head... while I eat breakfast.... after he's rolled in a rotting carcass.

It's a little amazing to me that I don't have ebola.