Taking A Bath

I want to tell you a story. If you know me, you know that I love to tell a good story. Well, I used to raise English Bulldogs. I had a wonderful fawn colored bitch named "Georgia". She was a wonderful, smart dog and a loyal family pet. According to breeding standards, she was nowhere close to show quality. When she had her first litter of pups I fell in love with one of them but I chose to keep another pup altogether. The one I chose to keep was the "pick of the litter". Unfortunately as so often happens in life she was beauty without brains. Somewhat like the stereotypical blonde bombshell that you can't wait to go out with certain she will rock your world and she does for a time until her stupidity drives you to want to blow your brains out every time she speaks. That was "Peaches", a beautiful Mahogany brindle bulldog without a clue.

Housebreaking Peaches was no easy feat and I was disgusted by her apparent love of using my home as her toilet. I drove myself crazy housebreaking that dog, getting up several times in the middle of the night with her as if she was an infant trying to teach her to go outside. She had a fondness for sneaking into my boys bedroom and relieving herself. Eventually she did learn the concept of going to the door. 

In my boys bedroom there was a tall custom made bunk bed, an antique highboy, a very large bookshelf and in the closet was a large toy box. The bunk bed was raised considerable off the floor and was taller than standard. Neither of the boys would sleep on the top bunk because it scared them so, they usually just played up there during the day. One day I walked into their room and there was a foul odor in the air. I was instantly angry with the dog and certain she had reverted to her old ways. Upon surveying the floor however, I didn't find anything offensive. I walked out a bit puzzled.

Day two - I entered the boys room and the room was still infused with an ugly odor. I again looked around thinking I must have missed it. I then searched under their bed, under the dresser, under the bookshelf and in the closet only to find nothing. I decided that it must be old odors coming up from the carpet or pad. I sprayed air freshener and left the room.

Day three - The smell was still pervasive in the air even as you approached the room. That afternoon while out and about doing errands I rented a carpet cleaner.

Day four - I cleaned the carpets....THREE times. But it didn't work, the smell was still there. A foul stench. Their bedroom had windows on two of the walls and one wall backed the very large carport (big enough for three cars). I thought to myself that perhaps a critter of some sort had gone into my carport and died.

Days five through eight - In my carport I had boxes stacked over my head throughout. My mother had moved several months earlier from a very large house into a tiny apartment and I was storing her things for her in my carport. It took me four days to pull everything in the carport out of the carport and to open each box. I did find one small dead mouse but much to my disappointment....it didn't even stink!!!

Day nine - this little claustrophobic nut braved the underbelly of the house, crawling through the tiny crawlspace under the house again searching for a critter that may have died. 

Days ten through twelve - the noxious odor in the bedroom was so potent that it caused your eyes to water immediately upon entry to the room. The boys no longer slept in their room, they had been sleeping in the living room. I was at my wit's end. I had tried everything. I was hoping against hope that the smell would go away just as it came. After all, how could I live with this smell, how could I ever have company over again?

Day thirteen my son Becher walked out of the room with his hands on his hips and said matter of factly, "man, that fish stinks". I had seen him walk out of his room out of the corner of my eye but was not paying much attention until I heard those words. My head spun on my shoulders in a fine impression of Linda Blair in "The Exorcist" as I looked at him and asked, "WHAT FISH????"

Becher, nonchalant as ever said, "the fish on my bed." I jumped up and quickly went to the room to look at their bunk bed. Sure enough, on the top bunk were two little trout on the bed, the proud booty of two little barefoot country boys and their trip to the pond only this time they did not bring them to me to clean, they decided to really look at them and left them where they lay. By the time I found them they were halfway liquefied into the mattress (which had to be replaced) I could not believe that they had been right there the whole time. All that time cleaning and searching!!! The bunk was taller than me and I never thought to look on the bed!!

I asked Becher, "why didn't you tell me there were fish on the bed? You saw me searching and cleaning everyday." He looked me square in the eye and said in all his childlike sense, "you were looking for poop." He was right, at least at first. 

At the time it was horrifying but the story has made me laugh many times over the years.

I now know that this has been the story of my life the past few years. I have been searching high and low for what stinks in my life when it was right in front of me all along. What stinks in my life is me. I have been skirting around the hem of my faith for years now and it has definitely been the cause of the odor.

I liken it to a dirty child out playing in the cold whose father has a nice hot bath and a big, thick, fluffy warm towel waiting. And the child, shivering keeps running in and washing her hands, "oh, that feels good" but then running back out to play. The father, ever patient keeps calling for her to come in saying, "you'll catch your death of pneumonia out there."

Well, it's time for me to come in. So ya'all (I had to say ya'all because I live in Union, OR now which is very redneck and I am trying to adapt to my environment - lol!) will have to excuse me because it's time for me to take a bath.