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
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.