At our core we are all still hunter-gatherers. If you are lucky, in your home, you have a division of labor. I don’t mow the lawn. I have a fear of spinning blades. Stubby hubs hunk is always in charge of things that have passed on. He is the hunter and the gatherer in this case.
A couple of weeks ago the goose and I pulled into the garage and a sleeping bag jumped off one of the top shelves. The next day she went alone to retrieve something from the car and came tearing back in sounding like the beeping of the smoke detector when it’s battery is low. “Something moved”‘ she yelped. Things seemed to quiet down. Then came the smell. We removed the trash cans from the garage. The smell remained. After all my true crime watching I finally have a first hand experience with that smell. You can taste it. It’s the funk of the dead. Stubs, put on his war paint and took to the hunt this morning. On my way to work I heard his text tone. When I parked I looked at my phone and saw….”found it. Squirrel. Might not eat for a while.” I responded with a very supportive, ” you ARE the hunter.”
Later he informed me that our dearly departed was….wriggling.
Ah the cycle of life.