Dog Quoodle knows the thickly-scented ways 
to read his world;  likewise the homely cat.
Both taste the morning air and breathe the day's
unseen criss-cross, recording this and that  -
'hot stink' of fox printing the drying dew,
the rubbing-post of next-door's tom, the scurf
of pigeons, or where greedy squirrels threw
our tulip bulbs. Keen noses twitch and surf.

Man gives his morning newsprint a rude shake,
sniffs at the bottle:  has the milk gone off?
That too-ripe Camembert was a mistake.
The smell of crumb-clogged toaster makes him cough.
He should have cleaned the drain, the grease-tap reeks.
He blames the dog, the cat for all this mess.
The waste-bin's rotted  -  for how many weeks?
God only knows.  He craves more noselessness.