Firestone Hot Springs One last drive down main

A wolf that could honestly pass for a small, wolfish deer stood deep in thought. A flower rested on the tip of his muzzle and others littered his pelt. Pinks, whites, and pale yellows complimented his brown fur. 

What was he doing, par se?

Trying to sniff and tell how long it had been since the flower had been watered.

Obviously.