It goes like this:
Once upon a time, I had a dog. His name was Duncan, and he was a tri-color Rough Collie. In his younger days, he got into so much mischief, that he thought that his other name was ‘Dammit’. As in ‘Dammit Duncan, quit eating cordless phones!’ (I think we went through 3 or 4 of them before he ‘got it’ that chew toys were for chewing, not cordless phones). Anyway…
Duncan eventually got old enough to be fully trustworthy..or so I thought.
I was mistaken.
I discovered this one evening, when, while sitting on the couch with the man I was dating at the time, that I desperately wanted to impress, I noticed a bit of a foul smell coming from his direction and it was getting stronger. Now, it should be noted that the man I desperately wanted to impress, had always urged me to be open and honest, and to speak my mind and he would do the same.
So I gathered up every ounce of my courage (it should also be noted that I’d had a couple of drinks), and I asked..’Honey, did you fart?’ and he said..”No..I thought it was coming from you and was too polite to say anything.”
So much for open and honest and speaking ones’ mind.
I shot back..” Well, I know it wasn’t me, and Duncan is outside” He shot back that it was probably Boo (the big gray cat I had at the time).
So there we found ourselves, running around the house to find the cat, and from there checking the cats’ hind end to make sure he hadn’t gotten sick. The cat checked out as OK, too..at which point, the man I was desperately trying to impress, left the house..distinctly unimpressed and loudly muttering at me in Italian and colorful phrases. Oops.
..but the stench in the house just kept getting stronger.
For the life of me I couldn’t find where it was..or figure out what it was. My nostrils were practically burning. I opened the windows and if anything it got worse. ugh.
A few minutes later, I couldn’t take it anymore and started frantically moving furniture..and under the couch is where I finally found the remains of an egg. Apparently Duncan had stolen it off of the counter (I used to take a basket to get eggs from the farmers market..and Duncan was a champion counter-surfer), and he must have chased the egg under the couch. Where it sat. and sat. and sat some more until it stank.
The egg was in such a state of decay, and the carpet was needing to be replaced anyway, that I elected to tear up the carpet and the padding in one go, and replace the floor with something solid surface.
Before I could get a new floor. however, the man I was desperately trying to impress at the time..came back, took one look at my bare sub floor, and asked what happened.
and so I told him about the rotten egg.
..and he has never, ever, let me live it down.