Smelled

Not older than seven and accompanied by her two sisters a little girl knelt down in the sidewalk to be smelled by my dog. He is so big that her, kneeling on the ground, would not be taller than his head when he is sitting.

I was talking to Ed about winters in the southern hemisphere as I borrowed his battery charger and there they came. Three girls in blue uniforms coming from school had stopped in front of us scared of the big dog, afraid to pass by. I announced his good nature and they approached. Then they wanted to pet him as he smelled the mosquito bites on their legs. The older sister went past us annoyed at the delay and the younger one just stood there mesmerized by the dog. But her, she liked how it felt to have your bare legs smelled by a dog. A dog's nose is cold and Ike, my dog, also likes to lick a little bit some of the things he smells. So she knelt down on the sidewalk and got her face close to my dog's to let him smell behind her ears where it tickles. It must have been pleasurable. For a while she was away on the tickles and chills, eyes closed, enjoying the deep sensations: a cold wet nose that pries and pushes, that that inspects the neck with such unpredictable moves. A delight. Then, she got up, smiled good by, took her sister and left.