Ryan and I have grown accustomed to many things since moving out to the country. I’ve probably had to adjust a bit more than Ryan, but I’m proud of how far I’ve come. It’s funny how “in tune” you become with your surroundings after a time… the sights, the sounds, the smells.
For example, I now know what death smells like.
Yes, death has a smell and it’s uncanny. That smell led us to a dead mouse who had made a nest in the back of our refrigerator just a few weeks ago. Disgusting.
This past week, I smelled it again. So did Ryan. * sigh *
No… I could tell just by the smell, this was BIGGER than a mouse. * ugh *
We searched the cabinets and cupboards and found nothing. But the smell remained. And grew stronger.
I got home after work on Monday, walked past the short hallway off the kitchen, and smelled it again. That was it. I had it.
I slowly sniffed and shuffled around like a hound dog, tracking. As I got closer and closer to the source, my anxiety peaked. I stopped at… the basement door. As I slowly opened the door, I was assaulted by… that smell. Death. Down there.
I immediately texted Ryan, and like the hero he is, he agreed to take a look when he got home. As I waited for him to come home, I had visions of what could possibly be down there. I won’t share what my warped and twisted mind came up with.
Faithfully, Ryan kept to his word, outfitted himself in a respirator, headlamp, grabbed a shovel and a bucket and headed down. It was very quiet for a long time. Then I heard the scraping of the shovel on the concrete ground. Ugh. He had found it. Whatever IT was.
He ascended the stairs, quietly walked outside with the bucket and then returned a little while later…
HIM: “You want to know what was down there”
ME: “Yes. Tell me”
HIM: “A rabbit. A dead jackrabbit. It had been there a few days… at least.”
We have no idea how that thing got down there and how long it had been there. I should stop being shocked about the things that happen in our crazy home. At least I can say these things have given me valuable life experience. Though, I’m not sure that knowing what death smells like will win me any awards.
I’ll spare you the pictures…