Death stinks. I mean it stinks all around, but literally, it stinks!
Something has died somewhere in my front yard. A few days ago I smelled the funk as I was walking up my walk. It was just as the wind blew that I got a whiff. Today that funky funk is wafting in my windows as I try to relax with a book on the sofa. It is a breezy and dreary day, not raining, and since I live in an old house of no air conditioning, I am trying to enjoy the fresh cool air. There is nothing fresh about the air and the smell is rancid.
I walk around my front yard, hoping the neighbors are not watching me. I am constantly sniffing, poking at bushes, squatting and crawling around. There is no sense of sight. Just stench.
I have noticed that the one bunny, having been named Penelope, no idea if it is female, has been mysteriously alone lately. The neighborhood has been like Watership Down lately, with bunnies multiplying before your eyes. We have named a vast majority of them, however my neighbor child has the right idea, she calls them all Robert.
Anyway, something stinks, and I know it is not the world’s most expensive pig, Mr. George P. Hopper. He is alive and well after an hour at the vet, some extensive skin grafting, which if you have never heard a guinea pig squeal, it is truly loud and something to hear. Did I mention he is the world’s most expensive pig as of late?
George, probably having caught something from the bunnies in the yard, since that is where he chills during cage cleaning days, now is convalescing in my living room. He is on a healthy dose of antibiotics, not to mention the twice a day cleaning of the skin grafted wound, all of which the asinine vet told me I had to clean, not the child who owns the pig! Oh, and not to mention he also told me that I had to clean the cage, not the child! So yesterday, I had to disinfect and scrub down not only the cage of George, but myself!
So not only does death stink, but so does a sick pig!