Farm Fresh Blog

  V.  

    I have finally got the bulk of the furniture out of my old house. It is sitting in a cattle trailer in the back yard, which will explain the strange stains on the back of the couch.  That's not a major problem because there are strange stains on the front of that couch too.  If there has ever been a bloodhound in your life, you have strange stains in strange places - drool marks on the wall, drool marks on the ceiling. And you will have rub marks on the couch. 

     Some time ago Other Half informed me the couch was not coming. Naturally, being a woman, just because he told me we weren't moving the couch, I planted my feminine feet and insisted that we WERE moving the couch. It could just stay in the muck room.  Being a man, he realized he was facing a wall, and gave in.  I think he had plans on burning it while I was at work one day. I was adamant, the muck room would be turned into a Dog Room and the couch could stay there. I wavered a bit though when a friend who was helping me move, announced, "You're not really taking this thing to Robby's are you?"

     Hmmmm . . .  Yeah, she was right. It smells like a Bloodhound. But still, the couch had to get out of the house. so into the cattle trailer it went with everything else. And after all the fabric furniture was out, I scrubbed the floor with chlorox.  All was well until I got feedback from prospective home buyers, "House smells like a dog."

WTF!!  I scrubbed the floors!  I lighted incense!  I didn't smell anything when I left!

     I compared notes with Dear Friend who visited AFTER the Homebuyers.  She stated that it smelled good. It smelled like incense.  Thus you see the problem.  Dog People cannot smell dogs. Sigh . . .  thus begins the war, the war on Dog Odor. . .

. . .

Arrive at house armed with LARGE jug of bleach. House is empty.  House cat has apparently decided to exit doggy door and play in The Great Outdoors. Fine.  Walk into kitchen. Am Scared shitless by tiny rodent racing across floor. 

Do what?!!  Mouse?  In the house? Holy shit!

Am reminded that House Cat is old and worthless as a hunter.  Her idea of fun is to drink latte and watch The View. Sister does not do rodents.  Make plans to bring barn cats in house later.  Doggy door bursts open. House cat races into kitchen and announces,

"Hey! You're back! You gonna feed me?"

Point out to cat that a MOUSE was in the house.

Cat reminds me that without thumbs she cannot open the cat food container.  Like the well-trained pet I am, I trudge to back room and feed her.  Then I begin to clean.  This involves filling large buckets of water and bleach and sloshing it out over tile floors.  Take THAT Dog Odor!  In no time, my entire house smells like a country club swimming pool - but not a dog!  (At least as far as I could tell, apparently Dog People cannot be trusted in these matters.)

It is in one of my many trips from the kitchen sink that Stuart Little decides to crash my party again.  I'm guessing that like me, the little mouse is also a bit tipsy from chlorox fumes, because just as I am leaving the kitchen with a bucket of bleach water, Stuart races across the kitchen and into the dining room - narrowly missing the top of my foot.  Because the dining room floor is already wet, he can't get good traction and is slipping like a pig on ice across the tile.  Three things happen:

1) I scream.
2) I toss an entire bucket of bleach water onto a tiny mouse.
3) Someone cues the theme from Hawaii 5-0 . . .  because . . .

Stuart Little goes from a pig on ice to a little mouse riding the waves.  That little bastard climbs on his surfboard and rides the giant wave across the dining room tile, under the table, and out the other side, where he gracefully exits his surfboard and scampers under the piano. 

I am in shock. I stand there, staring at water all over the floor and an innocent-looking upright piano. At this moment the House Cat appears in the dining room, requesting another can of food.  DO WHAT??!!

"If you want to eat something, eat this!" I snarl as I roll the piano away from the wall. 

No Stuart Little.  Some wet dust bunnies and an old birthday card from my sister.  And like the ADHD person I am, I say, "Hey! Where'd that come from?" and reach down to snatch it up before Stuart Little's slowly advancing tide of water can reach it.  I am already crammed behind the piano when I come to my senses and realize that if Stuart is not BEHIND the piano, it means he is INSIDE the piano.  I back out quickly and shake myself like a horse after a good roll. EEEWWWWW!

Meanwhile, the House Cat is unimpressed.  She yawns at my birthday card and puts in another request for cat food. I inform her that the barn cats hunt without the benefit of satellite television and air-conditioning.  She is still unimpressed.  I do however, gather up all her dry and canned cat food and put it on the back porch.  No more eating in the house!  No more free meals for a rodent who has obviously figured out the dogs are gone.  Clearly prospective homebuyers have better noses than Dog People and tiny rodents in Hawaiian shirts because we can't smell the dog odor in that house.

I told a good friend that I was going to have a Non-Dog Person come and do a sniff test for me.  She texted me this:

"Good luck fiding one of those in ur contact list."

Touche. Point well taken.

(and to answer your questions, No, Lily was not with me. Had she been, Stuart Little would be pushing up daisies in the back yard.)