Sunday, June 4, 2017

Juno Is A Dirty Girl

You'd never know it from her name, but my Sweet, Sweet Juno is a dirty girl!

Oh, she LOOKS clean enough, with her shiny, silky black fur, perhaps or perhaps not glossy from clandestinely eating the freshly-laid eggs of free-range chickens. But underneath is a dirty, dirty girl.

For several days, there has been a sort-of off smell slightly unpleasant fragrance unknown foul odor almost unbearable stench wafting from Juno's doghouse on the back porch by the kitchen door. Flies swarm willy-nilly out of her home when we walk by, holding our breath.

One would think that Farmer H might take it upon himself to investigate, and clean out the offending offal. But no. Farmer H's solution is to bypass the kitchen door and go around the windowed alcove of the kitchen, to enter through the laundry room door. And say, "I think Juno has something dead in her house." He's a regular Sherlock Holmes rolled up in a Matlock, stuffed inside a Columbo.

Juno still lays in her house during the day. Sleeps in it at night. She must regard that scent as sweet, sweet perfume. It doesn't help matters that Farmer H applied her Frontline flea and tick liquid between her shoulder blades a two days ago. Although that might make her smell better. I don't know, because I don't breathe around her, and I don't want to touch her.

Poor, poor Juno! She's still just as loving as ever. After her evening snack on the front porch, she comes to stand between my feet. She actually sits down between my feet, if by between, we understand that her anus is on my right instep. I usually pet her, but for two nights I have only sweet-talked her. She looks sad. Like, "Pet me, pet me, Sweet Gummi Mary, why won't you PET ME?"

Last night, after finally finishing her cold leftover Maple Bacon Beans (not her favorite snack), Juno looked up at me and rested her chin on my belly. Her chin with the mini goatee of whiskers coated with Maple Bacon Bean juice. That would never happen with Jack. He licks every molecule of food off himself and the paper plate and the porch boards and, given the opportunity, probably off Juno's chin whiskers as well.

I'm pretty sure the dead thing in Juno's house is part of what I saw laying under the front porch pew a few days ago. Some kind of rodent. A rabbit, maybe, or a squirrel. The skull part had long curved teeth. And the liver was bigger than that of a mouse.

I told Farmer H this morning that Juno's house still stunk.

"Yeah. That'll stop in a couple of days."

I plan to withhold my love.
You can use your imagination as to whether it's from Juno or Farmer H.


Kathy's Klothesline said...

She needs an electric outlet in her doghouse so you can put a diffuser in it to deal with the odor. I suggest this "solution" because I know that Farmer H would be intrigued with this idea. While simply removing the source of the odor would be much simpler, this idea would appeal to HeWho, as well.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Yep! I'm sure Farmer H would even drive to The Devil's Playground and get my Sweet, Sweet, Stinky, Stinky Juno a Glade Plug-In.

fishducky said...

...Sweet man that he is!!

Hillbilly Mom said...

I may call him my Sweet Baboo, but I don't thing SWEET is necessarily the right descriptor for Farmer H!