I am Stella, Queen of the Olde English Bulldogges. People insult bulldog noses as short and weak, but we are still dogs and ours are still bulldog noses. Something is wrong outside, Lady Human. That’s why Doodlebug balked at going out.
Me: What is it? I don’t hear anything. I don’t see anything.
Stella: Your nose! That’s the thing you should be using.
Me: I don’t smell anything unusual.
Stella: And to think, humans insult bulldog noses.
Me: Well, let’s check it out.
Stella: Down there! Look! Smell! Horrible! It is the death scent!
Me: Yeah, something is dead or rotten. The smell is coming from that bag on the road. That’s pretty bad to float all the way to our place.
Stella: Oh, no! Look! A giant chicken! Warn it not to touch that stinky bag!
Me: Stella, that’s not a giant chicken. It’s not a chicken at all. That’s a buzzard. Some people call them vultures.
Stella: Hey, buzzard! Don’t touch that bag! It smells bad! You won’t like it!
Me: I think the buzzard disagrees.
Stella: Eewww! Why?
Me: Buzzards think about these things differently than we do. The Great Creator has made them for a specific purpose, too. I’ll call for the people who handle such minor emergencies to come and deal with this.
Stella: Should we open the bag?
Me: What do you think?
Stella: Naw. No bag opening. The buzzard can have it if it wants it.
Copyright 2018 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.