Problem is, I can't seem to control my legs. They cross themselves. I have no idea when they're doing it, but I'll look down and there they are, crossed. It's as mysterious as the appearance of a lap cat. You look down, and there you are hosting a cat, and you have no idea when it showed up. Obviously I know better than to believe my legs are crossing themselves. That would be ridiculous. So I assume that they are under control of the auxiliary brain in my butt, a legacy of my stegosaurian forebears.
The famous second brain of the stegosaurus was postulated soon after the discovery of the first fossil skeleton. Scientists examining the skeleton noted that the animal was the size of a bus and yet had a
But that doesn't mean I don't have one. Anyone would assume I wouldn't need an auxiliary brain to run things south of my equator, because nothing on me is all that far from my head. But my head, like the roof lizard's, is very tiny--children's hats fit me--and busy with stuff like wondering if chickadees can tell each other apart. Which might be why I fall down so often. A secondary intellect in the fanny would be well placed to take care of things like leg crossing and creative flatulence, and if mine isn't doing such a good job keeping me upright, well, who's to say my cerebum isn't just trying to be witty? What else do you expect from a smartass?