DEAD RATS AND TACKLE BOXES

It is Monday morning and I decide to call my wife to find out how things are going on the home front. I am greeted with the news that we have suffered what can only be a death.

I listen sympathetically as my sweetie tells me that she thinks something has crawled into the house and died. “It smells terrible!” She continues. “I have checked every room in the house but I can’t find anything.”

“Did you check the boy’s room?” I asked. “You never know what they might drag home!”

“Yes, I checked the boy’s room and couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary except a couple of dried toads under one of the beds.”

“Well, there you are. It was probably the toads that smell bad.”

“No dear, it wasn’t the toads. They are all dried out. They are like cute little toad mummies, no odor at all.”

I go home early for it is obvious by my wife’s voice that this needs to be cleaned up, and I quite literally mean ‘cleaned up’ now, like in yesterday!

Oh well, we guys know how sensitive our wives can be don’t we? I was thinking that It probably wasn’t much of anything at all. I was sure she was exaggerating.

I was wrong. She wasn’t exaggerating.

The last time I smelled anything like that was when I forgot several pairs of rotten socks in the bottom of my sleeping bag after a two week camping trip.

That time I had to burn the sleeping bag which was a mistake. Have you ever burned a down filled sleeping bag? No, of course you haven’t. In case you are curious the odor of a burning, down filled sleeping bag on a scale of one to ten is astronomical.

I walked in through the kitchen and immediately decided that we were going to eat out. No way was the odor that assaulted my senses conducive to a nice comfortable dinner at home.

Wifey asked for the car keys as she and the kids headed for the driveway and began climbing into the car.

“Wait for me Sweetie,” I exclaimed, “It will only take a few minutes for me to get cleaned up and we can go together!”

She replied in a voice that was so frigid it would cause frostbite, “The children and I are going out for dinner ‘SWEETIE’ and you are going to stay home and search for the dead, what ever it is!”

Discerning fellow that I am I could tell by the way she sort of hissed when she said ‘SWEETIE’ that I was in trouble.

As I watched my family drive down the street I was somewhat in a tiff. I mean how could she blame me for something stinking up the house?

Needing to keep my strength up I went to the kitchen and made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and poured myself a glass of milk.

While eating the sandwich I began opening all of the windows. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to air the place out.

I prowled through the house searching for the abomination that had suddenly intruded upon my turf. I couldn’t find anything.

Oh well, desperation begets desperate solutions and understanding that the rat, or whatever it was, had very obviously died inside one of the walls the only thing that I can do is start the delicate process of demolition.

Hammer in hand I methodically started knocking holes in the drywall.

That night, my wife; for some mysterious reason had taken a vow of silence.

The next day the smell was if anything worse than the day before. It taunted me, challenged me as I continued punching holes in the walls.

I spent the next two days alone due to the fact that the family was living at the in-laws house.

It was on the fourth day that I found the dead rat. Yes, as much as I hate to admit it the wife was right, it was a rat; the biggest, nastiest rat I have ever seen.

I buried the rat in the back yard and called the drywall repair man. Being a discerning fellow he took a look at the destruction and said one word, “Rat?” and I nodded agreeably.

And now I can tell “THE REST OF THE STORY.”

On the fourth day as I was preparing to demolish the walls in the utility room I was removing an accumulation of goodies to the garage when I discovered my fishing tackle box. Hmm, so that’s where I put it.

I had gone fishing with a buddy of mine the previous Sunday and when I got home I set the tackle box next to the hot water heater and forgot it was there.

Now a little light bulb began to glimmer dimly as I remembered the two pint containers of night crawlers that I had put into the tackle box.

Have you ever smelled rotten worms?

Yes, I found the rat and buried it in the back yard next to that big azalea bush and to appease my conscience I went out and bought myself a new tackle box along with a new collection of lures and one day I might go back and dig that rat up. The lures probably don’t smell all that bad anymore.

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