The dogs usually greet me as soon as I come out the kitchen door. Juno first, because her house is right there. Jack has to run in from the yard, where he lolls about with his buddy Copper Jack from next door, who follows along and stands respectfully on the brick sidewalk. Juno and Jack sidle around the side porch, shouldering each other out of the way, waiting for a handout of cat kibble.
Sunday, I noticed an unpleasant odor emanating from my pooches. "Whew! Jacky boy! You stink! I don't know what you've been rolling in!" I barely petted him. Don't want carcass slime on your hand when you're heading for a 44 oz Diet Coke.
Monday, Juno pranced up to me with a pelvic girdle in her mouth. You know, the connected hip bone sockets from some critter, without the actual hip bones. I'm sure she has assorted hip bones in her house, but I doubt they belong to this animal, or are a matching pair. So enamored of her pelvic girdle was Juno that she couldn't put it down for cat kibble! She stood there looking at me, pelvic girdle in her mouth, then at Jack, then ran to her house, then back to me. Finally she entered her house. I couldn't see the door of it from where I stood, but I heard the bones rattle.
Juno is The Bone Collector. She could have had a movie made
about her life, if not for that dadblasted Angelina Jolie and Denzel
Washington stealing her title! Juno never met a bone she didn't like. A
I don't want to show you a picture of her house, because, well, you know how it is when company comes over, and you don't want them to know that you're really a big slob, and you stash the dirty dishes in the unworking dishwasher. Yes. I hear you. "But Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, you don't HAVE a dishwasher!" That's correct. But in college I did. And for our weekly weekend parties, you can bet my two roommates and I made creative use of it!
Anyhoo... that's the moment the light bulb went on over my head. JUNO was the stinker! From laying around on rotting bone-flesh! Sure, some of her collection is sunbleached and meatless. But others are in varying stages of decay. Hick says he needs to clean out her house, but I know Juno will have an anxiety attack! She wouldn't even lay that pelvic girdle down at her feet long enough to eat cat kibble. I can imagine her treasures being flung all willy-nilly over the porch rail, and the whimpering that would ensue.
How I long for the days when my Sweet, Sweet Juno smelled sweetly of cedar chips, her bedding. Now she sprawls in a nest of bones. And possibly one antler.