You all have a good night sleep this weekend? Woke up on Sunday morning to sunshine streaming through your curtains? Cup of joe brewing in your coffee pot. How nice for you all.
My Sunday morning was slightly skewed by the Friday from hell. Back up a bit to Friday morning. Cranking out work on my computer, I kept hearing a vague slurping noise. WHAT IS THAT NOISE??? I was on a roll, didn’t want to break contact with my keyboard, and figured it was one of the dogs on a licking excursion. They’re labs, they lick. It’s what they do.
I finally looked up to see Tui, our chocolate lab, head in the trashbag that was on its way out the door. He was vigorously licking a piece of foil. Foil that had previously held country style ribs, rubbed with a spicy dry rub, cooked, then finished with an equally robust barbecue sauce.
Oh Dear God in Heaven.
Early evening he was pacing. “Do you want to go out?” I asked. “Do you need to go potty?” Let him out, he stood and stared at me. Let him back in. Half an hour later, let him out. He stared. Let him back in. It went on until we told him “go to bed” and we retired for the evening.
And hour later I heard the most ungodly noise. What the hell was that? I sat up in bed, looking at out at my RV “living area” trying to figure out what the dogs were doing. And then I got a whiff. Something died in my trailer. Probably a long time ago.
I jumped out of bed to see that Tui had made a mess of things – uncontrollably from what it looked and smelled like. On the wooden floor and all over a now disposable rug. It was hideous. I wiped it down, threw the rug out the door, and went back to bed. Brad said “let’s keep a listen to make sure he doesn’t do it again.”
Brad listened for all of 90 seconds before he started snorking. Me? I was sitting up in bed every 10 minutes. What’s he doing? WHAT WAS THAT NOISE? Why is the trailer shaking? Up until 3:30. Then I heard it.
I poked Brad and told him “I think someone puked now.” Since he was asleep for hours, he got up and took a look. “OH MY GOD” he yelled.”Tui crapped again and it’s all over. And Barley puked right next to it. DO NOT GET OUT OF THE BED!”
The smell, in a 33 foot trailer, was of the underworld. Of curdling, rotting, intestinal vestiges. Smells from the bowels of hell. Primordal ooze. Brad was fumbling under the sink for something to spray down the floor with. Fortunately (or unfortunately depending how you look at it) I make all my own “potions”. I’m clean and green you know.
“Which one of these bottles should I use?” Brad said in an obvious panic.
“I don’t care, any one. Use the bleach one. That will kill everything”
“Which one is the bleach one”
“The one that says ‘Bleach’ on it”
“I can’t read the writing on this one! It looks like it says ‘Blizzard” or something! Hurry!”
“If it starts with a ‘B’ it’s bleach so use it.”
Half hour later, Brad gave up. Everything was clean, but the stench was still permeating everything. Our noses, the air, our clothing. I was hiding under the bedsheets thinking it would all go away, if I could only go back to sleep for a few hours. It would all be just a bad dream.
“You better get out here” Brad called. “You better turn on your Scentsy thing NOW. I can’t breathe!”
My Scentsy lady, Kelsey, would be so proud.
Tui recovered. I can still smell it. The memory of it, or the reality, I’m not sure. Lavender wax didn’t work, so I moved on to a stronger “Forest Fir” wax and now it smells like the forest that 20 herds of elk decided to unload in.
There was no Scentsy, on God’s Green Earth, to wage war against what happened on a cold Friday night, in the West Fork of the Bitterroot River. It shall remain a daring memory of two souls desperately trying to make it on acres of virgin forest, bound by determination, a will to live and survive, fighting their way out of a nightmare that has seared itself in their brains for all time.