You may be wondering what this has to do with writing, and actually, I'm wondering that, too. Dogs are a part of this blog, however, and a very big part of my life. All of my friends are dog-people. In fact, if someone reacts badly to my dogs, they aren't going to receive an open invitation to my home. I really don't trust people who don't like dogs.
We always had dogs when I was a kid. The first dog I can recall was Babo. To claim him, I painted him pink. I must have been three at the time, and God knows how I got my chubby little hands on that paint brush. Babo was a good dog. But, like all dogs, from mutts to pedigrees do, he did a lot of butt-sniffing.
My mom, bless her, provided an explanation for that strange behavior that I will pass on to you this morning. I have no idea where it originated, so I can't give the proper credit. Some reader may be able to clue me in.
As it turns out, there was a party one night, and all dogs were invited. As they entered the house, they hung up their tails by the door, and went off to do dog things. At some point that evening, the house caught fire, and the building was evacuated, everyone grabbed a tail and ran out to safety. So, when butt-sniffing occurs, its a sort of ID thing. "Do you have my tail?"
As to how this little folktale pertains to writing, that last paragraph would make a damn good hook. So sue me. It's the best I can do on a Sunday morning.