Spent the day at the marina, with its green peninsula of kite-flyers, joggers, sun-loungers, Sunday afternoon fishermen and dogs making their jubilant canine most of God’s gift: dirt, grass, mud, open space, and an endless array of butts to sniff. They went at it in a very haphazard way, but I suppose it was no less orderly than your typical cocktail party.

There’s a funny little book called “Why Do Dogs Do That?” (caveat lector: if you’re looking for answers as to why they sometimes stare growling at closet doors, keep looking, friend) It says, unsurprisingly I suppose, that olifactory derriere inspection is the preferred method of meet and greet because it’s most easily detectable and distinguishable feature of each dog. Yet another reason you should be glad you’re not one of them. Even keeping in mind all the obvious pluses that a life in the doghose would bring, I’m nevertheless grateful that new acquaintances don’t judge me on the smell coming from my ass.

last update : 21-4-2018

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