Chetspeak on Sunday
When I awoke, I was back to feeling tip-top, so tip-top I knew I must have done some world-class thinking. I sat up straight, stuck my head out the window. Ah, the Valley. No place like it. The Valley goes on forever in all directions, and those smells! You haven’t smelled till you’ve smelled the Valley. Hot rubber, hot pavement, hot sauce, hot charcoal ash, hot everything! Yes, even hot ice cream. Plus all kinds of grease – deep-fry grease, pizza grease, burrito grease, unwashed human skin grease and human hair grease – not to mention the grease on my tail at this very moment. Where had that come from? I tried to remember, but not hard. Back to the lovely smells of the Valley, all of them with something in common, namely the dry dusty scent of the desert. I wouldn’t live anywhere else.
Bernie glanced over at me. “Smell anything, big guy?”
He stuck his own head out the window and took a few sniffs.
“I don’t,” he said.
That Bernie! The best human sense of humor in the business, bar none. This had to be one of his little jokes, what with the whole river of smells flowing by and us smack in the middle of it. A nice refreshing breeze sprang up behind me so I turned to check it out – I can probably turn my head a bit farther around than you, no offense – and there was my greasy tail, wagging away. I just love Bernie. – from A Fistful of Collars.
Welcome Miss Ellie.
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