My father’s hands are rough like new sandpaper. They work hard and sprek of authority, smelling of dirt and sweat. My mother’s hands are soft like a rabbit's pelt. Clean and neat, they speak only soft words. They smell like shea butter and freshly baked cookies. My brothers hands are much like my fathers except learning to speak with authority, but with the same sandpaper feel. My hands are both my father’s and my mother’s. They have a soft words but are rough enough to have authority when needed. They smell like acrylic paint and hemlock trees.
My lizards claws on the other hand, they speak of grumpiness and laziness. Scratchy like old sandpaper.  They smell like a hot and humid day at the beach. But my dogs paws, they are my favorite smell. They smell like a freshly opened bag of original fritos and adventure. My dogs paws, rough from running in the woods, speaking only of love and curiosity. Speaking only of love and curiosity.