This is an absolutely true story...and one that will go in my book when I write it...hope it tickles you...
Just to keep your day in perspective, I got up this morning to a couple
of little boys that were very grumpy but moving through their routine
nicely. After their morning prep--I went upstairs to change clothes for the
bus stop only to hear my oldest son going crazy on the deck, yelling NO, NO
to the puppies and jumping up and down on the deck waving his arms. I came
running downstairs, half dressed to find my son running to me yelling
"MOMMY--THE PUPPIES--THEIR EATING SOME SORT OF ANIMAL"...oh good I thought,
my first experience as a real land owner, in hick land, with puppies (aka "the girls"). I
shooed the dogs away, and sure enough there was the tail and spinal column
of something laying (and smelling) before me. The "girls" were dancing and
yipping I'm sure saying the dog rendition of "Na na na na na, Don't we smell
pretty, look what we brought you"...so face baths for the dogs in the sink
and the somewhat disgusting task of carrying this, what I determined to be
leftovers of a possum, tail and spine to the garbage. Okay--still time to
stay on schedule. Dogs go out, and Jacob's ride comes...dogs come running
to the strange car that is in the driveway WITH MORE OF THE *&^% POSSUM IN
THEIR MOUTHS--and I swear I could hear them singing "Don't we smell pretty, look what we brought you"...
The round of EWWWWS from the boys and the stench of this eyeless possum
carcass now inches from me, almost put me in a bad mood. But hey--I AM
FRONTIER WOMAN NOW...and I must live by the laws of the land. As Jacob
protests while the car taking him to chess club pulls away, I now get the 6 and 4
year old to get the shovel, the rake and the garbage can. I rake the poor
possum onto the shovel get the boys to open the lid of the garbage can which
is already smelling from the tail and spine of this little guy, dump the
rest in and the dogs get their SECOND bath before 7:30 in the morning.
Good...
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Hubby calls--I tell him what's happened...hang up and ten minutes later
the phone rings---seems he's talked to some of the more seasoned dead possum officiandos
in his office, and by code you cannot dispose of remains in the
garbage, I need to get the little guy (I now call fred) out of the can and
into a bag so we can bury it. "OHHH NOOOO WAY"--I said, "You come home and bury the whole trash can"--but
in his "I wear a suit" sort of way...he explained why that wasn't feasible.
Okay--It's 9 now and I'm down to the 4 and 3 year old for help. I say to
Ben--get the trash can and when I say to you hold this plastic bag. Good--I
open the can and the stench is so overwhelming that I immediately here a
gagging reflex to my rear, the words "wait mom" and the scamper of little
feet to the back of the garage. GREAAATTT...so I dump the can out (I am not
climbing in to get fred--sorry) and scoop up the pieces of stuff that litter
the driveway...just as I'm tying the plastic bag...I hear "Okay mom--I'm
ready" and turn to see my 4 year old standing there in full scuba gear ready
to take on fred and the garbage can...
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Now most folks would have called it a day--but no--I have a party for
15 here tonight (tacky bunco). So, I drop the 4 year old off at preschool and head to food lion and buy every tacky
sort of food you can think of including one of those gallon jugs of Piasano
wine. We get home, open the garage and fred's stench hits me in the way an old tupperware full of spoiled food hits you when you open the lid. We get the dogs out, and I start to unload the truck.
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No sooner do I open the door, than the Piasano jug ROLLs out and
crashes to the floor while the dogs simultaneously take off into the woods running in
search of fred leftovers. I'm yelling at them--trying to avoid broken glass
and telling the little guy to stay away from the glass. Well thankfully--the dogs come running home...AND THEN start lapping up the
red wine. Now I have 2 drunk boxers, 1 dead possum, a 3 year old and
broken glass all over the driveway and 15 people coming to the house for a
party and I'm down to the 3 year old for help...I mean...it's 1:20 in the
afternoon...is there a perspective I'm missing...
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So I cleaned up the glass, look up and see the drunk boxers with the
red muzzles wrapping the 3 year old round and round with a rope like they were angry or something...I think they wanted a chardonnay...
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You can't make this stuff up...
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