Taking a walk.

I step outside and smell the sharpness of the grass.
It stings a little and I can smell an undertone of dirt.
Clumpy Dirt.

As I walk along with Kahlua tugging forward, I see her waddle.
She anticipates scents and leans in on them.
She hovers with all her strength to get an idea of what aroma haunts that spot.
I always imagine a corgi did it.

The cement is content with heat that brightens its complexion.
I squint and see little particles floating,trying to get into my nose.

My nose has been defensive.
It has swollen and grown layers of mucus to block any signs of oxygen.
It comes out in greens, pinks, reds and yellows.
Tries to suggest it has artistic merit.

I am in a facial war.

Kahlua hunches and looks like she is sitting in an uncomfortable, invisible chair.
I prepare my doggy bag for her fecal creation.
The shit shines and I can tell it's squishy.

The bag lingers onto the sticky stink and I feel my fingers mashing the shit with the plastic.
A breeze can reassure you of a good day or remind you that poop is unique because it can create cosmic scents that make you gag in a split second.

Through heavy huffs, Kahlua smiles up at me.
She is proud of what just happened.