Dead Dog

She chanced upon a dead pregnant dog about which she, for a while, deliberated, if she should refer by as a dead pregnant dog or a pregnant dead dog before deciding on the former on the basis that the latter sounds like some necrophilic misfortune.
She looked around and saw nobody looking, and so from a little distance, she studied the corpse as closely as bearable. The dead brown pregnant dog was lying on her left, with her black eyes opened and tongue beneath her apathetic face. Flies fly around already. Big flies, small flies. The dog's dead pink nipples were unevenly taut from the dead impregnated tummy. She looked harder to see if the babies were moving mummy from inside, before deciding on no, on the basis that it would be too complicating to decide on yes.
Walking away for awhile, she wondered how she felt and began searching for some reactions. She was surprised, then disappointed, then desperately despaired to find she felt mainly, sincerely jealous.