VIII. Le Chien et le Flacon (de Baudelaire)

"O my precious, O sweet lil' doggie-poo -- come here and smell this excellent perfume purchased from the city's finest purveyor of eaux de toilette."

And the canine, wagging his tail (the sort of expression, I think, that passes among their kind for a smile or laughter) approached me and curiously placed his moist nose above the uncorked phial. Then, recoiling in sudden dread, he growled at me as if in reproach.

"Eh! Miserable cur -- if I'd offered you a parcel of shit, you would have sampled it like a connoiseur and possibly even devoured it. But as you are, the unworthy companion of my melancholy days, you resemble the public, who must never be presented with delicate scents to make them gag, but rather with only the choicest of nuggets, selected with care from the dump."