My Olive is a fetching mixed-breed, “junkyard dog”. Of the dogs I’ve loved, she reigns as queen of scent.
She invites the eye to witness nostrils’ draw, a primal sift of molecules suspended in air. Head steered by nose, body pulled by head, closer still in the carefully timed advance. A joyous pounce on prey in the playful dance of death.
Squirrel, mouse, or bird acts its part. Feigning death to bargain final escape, the prostrate prey is under a watchful eye.
A terrifying and fascinating horror plays out in my backyard.