Kildeer Rest mythology

the mastiff stared longingly at the grazing herd, remembering every kind of burger, steak and sausage that could be made out of their beef(?).

her mouth watered (more than usual) and her nostrils were full of that musky, warm blend of dirt, flies and musk, inviting her to go on, take a bite out of that big one over there, or the smaller plump one over there. not like it'd be a problem. what were they gonna do with all that swaying flesh anyway?

but - she swatted her mind's snout with a rolled-up newspaper - this needed restraint. smarts. tactics. it would be one thing to fell a big dumb cowdeer, another to drag it back to nah-tea-quick in a good enough state not to offend anyone. 

diesel sucked in a string of drool long enough to nearly reach the ground, and got up from the spot she had occupied near the base of a dwarfy hill. 

in a stalk which mixed a wolf hunter's and her own swagger, she began circling the far outskirts of the herd, mental faculties whirring in effort to solve this conundrum.