Sniff. A dog peed on this tree yesterday. Sniff-sniff-sniff. A dog peed here two days ago. Sniff-sniff-sniff-sniff-sniff. Two weeks ago last Tuesday. A pretty poodle. And a year ago. He was a Malamute and it was a warm day. Sniff. I smell tens of thousands of other dogs, fellow travelers in life. I know their scent, their breed, sex, the barometric pressure, temperature and PH balance of the soil from day to day going back four million years. I smell wolf ancestors. I smell the dark winds of time. I smell dogs from other planets. I see a tragic world where cats have dominion and press us into servitude. Granted, we are already in servitude here on earth, but we get much worse food there … and the cats chase escaped dogs through brutal wastelands. I am running, worn, tracked relentlessly by Fluffy the Terror and collapse in awed despair before a half-buried giant statue of Rin-Tin-Tin, realizing at last this is Earth and our impoverished future. —Sniff!— Squirrel! I smell a squirrel!!! Woof!