"What does that smell like?"
"It smells like disgusting," he says matter-of-factly. He pronounces the g so hard it is almost a c.
I look at him with a smirk, then just to clarify: "You mean you don't like it?"
"That's right."
Then we look out the window. Our calico, Lao-Tzu, is crouching in the big 12x18 hole that was dug yesterday for a new back porch. Like a soldier in a trench, she's peering her head over the edge of the hole at two robins. She springs up into action and darts at the birds, but gets there too late. Part of the ground had previously been covered by a smaller slab of concrete.
"You know why those birds want to root around in that dirt?" I ask.
He nods and looks at me with bright brown eyes.
"Because there are lots of worms and bugs that used to live under that concrete that used to be there, and now the birds can get to them!" I say.
Then I realize Lao-Tzu is prowling the area like a lion waiting at a watering hole. We open the door and call her back in. The birds come back to the Shangrila pretty quickly and we sit there watching them hop around and pull worms out of ground.
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