Pee-U

“E-gads Dad! What the hell is that?”

“I thought something smelled queer”, he replied.

Queer? “Something died.” I gagged falling out of the RV. We had an appointment for its annual inspection. I was suppose to drive it into Saratoga, but I could hardly manage to keep breakfast in my belly. The intensity of the odor brought images of animals the size of elk, moose or bear, but I knew the suspects were either chipmunks or mice. Maybe a squirrel?

Dad went to retrieve a flashlight. Inside the darken cavern of the 1986 Toyota Sunrader I began to fling cupboard doors open in search of the foul carcass. The smell intensified in the over-cab bunk. Under the mattress tucked into a corner under the window, I found the stinker. My eyes squinted in disgust as I wrapped an anti-static dryer sheet around the matted gray body of a field mouse. An imaginary fur ball tainted with the smell of rotting flesh grew in the back of my throat.

There is a reason why death’s smell is so offensive. In days of old it was suppose to scare the heck out of us. A grave warning to stay far, far away. Disease lingered close by and it was best to give a wide berth to the mystery surrounding the stench. It is no wonder why the Hindus flavored their meat with curry.

The trip to Saratoga made my head swim. Windows wide open, air cranked to the max all to loosen the embedded smell from the cab. It didn’t work and I felt a queezy as I pulled into Kost. Too bad for the mechanic who had to smell the interior.

Once back home I searched for more culprits. Finding none, I cleaned up the mess where the dead mouse laid down with a belly full of rat poison Dad has laced the RV with. Now I have to wait for the Resolve and Fabreeze to dry and see what lingers in the air.

Yes, I have been doing other things than watching the foolishness of Congress.