Gone with the Wind
Brigit
When the trail on the ground ran cold, Brigit stopped and raised her snout in the air.
Sniff-sniff.
She’d been following three male scents, each with a distinctive aroma. One smelled like some type of adhesive. The second smelled of mentholated shaving cream. The third reeked of gasoline and bananas and marijuana. All of the scents dissipated at this spot. Either the men had climbed into a vehicle or Scotty had beamed them up to the starship Enterprise. Regardless, there was nothing more the dog could do.
She plopped her butt down on the ground and stared straight ahead, giving her passive alert as she’d been trained to do. She also curled her tail tightly against her body. With all these people milling about willy-nilly, there was a good chance one of them might step on her tail if she wasn’t careful. Brigit knew from experience that people often didn’t look where they were walking. If they didn’t step on a dog’s tail, they stepped in its poop. Really, humans could be so stupid sometimes. You wouldn’t catch a dog doing something so dumb. But, then again, the species Canis familiaris was superior in so many ways to mere Homo sapiens. The poor things sported only patchy hair, requiring them to augment with clothing. Their teeth were incapable of ripping through thick meat, requiring them to use forks and knives. Their vision and hearing were vastly subpar, too. Brigit pitied the lowly creatures.
Her partner Megan reached down and gave her a scratch on that sweet spot on the back of her neck. “Good girl.”
Brigit risked a quick tail thump of appreciation and took the liver treat Megan held clenched between her index finger and thumb. My kingdom for an opposable thumb. It was the only thing about humans the dog envied.