Again, the man wasn’t ready with his camera and another large angular blue-gray bird, a Great Blue Heron, flew from the water-filled ditch and away from view. Argh. The man’s companion on his unexpected long walk home from deer camp was a female Chesapeake/Lab mix dog of unquestionable character and temperament who had suddenly knelt and rolled onto her back and began squirming uninhibitedly, all four legs flapping in wild abandon as she ground some foul invisible scent into her shiny long-haired coat, her eyes closed, her tongue lolling, in sensual gratification known to but a very few fortunate canines along this stretch of county road. She owed this instantaneous indulgence to her distant cousins fox, coyote, and wolf, one of whom may well have created this secret drop ’n roll spot for just such carnal pleasure, for feral animals have their compulsions too.
Wouldn’t it resolve a lot of marital problems in today’s society if spouses so infidelity-inclined had such unobtrusive places to take the edge off in the course of the day that harmed no one, was free, and accepted as commonplace? Just a little patch of grass in some out-of-the-way place where all genders could drop and roll to their satisfaction and go on about their business.
“Sven, you got some grass on your shoulder there, bud. Let me brush it off for you. M-m-m-m, what’s that marvelous scent you’re wearing?”
"I found it over on 54th and Main as I waited for the Metro. I wish I could bottle it.”
Why is it that after a dog rolls in the stuff, it turns around and gives it one last good sniff, its knees almost buckling in renewed anticipation, its whole body aquiver preparing to drop ’n roll again? It’s like the activity erases memory. Their expression is, “Well now… What'’s this?” And unless you admonish them for it, they’re all primed to do it again.
"Ishdah! Stop that now! Quit! Get up!”
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