Sunday, July 19, 2015

Something Stinky

My house resembles a, "This Old House" episode. In fact, we are in a perpetual state of remodel.

We live in the house that the Milkman grew up in, on the farm. It was built in 1928 or so. The indoor plumbing was added some years later as was the lighting. We have one room, my office, that has electricity, but no lights were ever wired into the ceiling. So I use lamps and windows if I'm working in there. Its kind of charming mixed with a lot of annoying.

Like I said, we live on the farm. Right on the farm. The milk barn is close. The calves are close. The feed is close. Every house has pests (I don't mean siblings), but when you put your house close to the smorgasbord of commodities, hay, animals, and the lagoon, the pests that love that stuff also like to check out the humble abode that sits not so far away.

This year has been particularly wet. I apologize to those of you who may be further west of us that haven't had enough rain. We are praying for recovery for y'all! But the moisture has enticed those pests to visit us more frequently this year. Ants. Ick. Spiders. Lawd Help. And best of all mice. I HATE mice. I scream and tip toe and jump on furniture. Like the stupid rodents can't follow me, but that's not the point. I. Do. Not. Like. Mice. especially in my house.

Every winter we have to set traps. All kinds of traps. Sticky traps, normal traps, traps they walk into and can't walk out of...however those things work. It just comes with the territory. Semi loads of feed bring those critters that need to eat. And the house is the warm spot, so they invite themselves to be unwelcome guests in my home.

If you think you don't have are wrong. Those sneaky devils go wherever they please.

I have learned some tricks. For instance, they dislike peppermint oil. So I put some on a cotton ball and put them under the cabinets. It smells like the elves are making candy in the Tupperware. It an extent.

I also (make the Milkman) set the multitude of traps. I check them often and refuse to remove them if there is a mouse in it. That is also, my hero, the Milkman's job. It has been known to be a job I recruit someone, anyone, the hired guys, my father or brother in-law, my grandpa, my brother, the guy that sprays for bugs, or who ever ends up in my house and feels sorry for me, to do.

This past winter we set several traps, but didn't have much activity on or off those traps. I forgot about them. Max, the used to be inside dog (that's another story), took it upon himself to set off several of them with his nonexistent Boston Terrier nose. He really wanted the stale peanut butter. Lucky for him his face is pretty flat and the trap had nothing to clasp onto, so it was just a lick, a snap, and a whimper of fear followed by a jump back. Amusing. Not so amusing was the time he got the sticky trap stuck to his flat face and used my bedroom carpet to remove it. There is still a sticky spot or two that I manage to find every now and then. That sticky stuff doesn't come off. Ever.

The Milkmaids and myself went with my family to Florida a couple weeks ago. It was beautiful and warm and sandy. I loved it. The girls would rather go to Colorado. They are their father's daughters. While we were gone the mostly dead plants that I kept forgetting to water went ahead and died, the yard grew up a little, because I like to do the mowing, but the house got kept up (Kudos! Milkman!) along with the laundry. He did good.

I do the cooking and cleaning up in the kitchen. I just like to. I like for things to be done a certain way and kept a certain way. While I was gone the Milkman ate cereal or went to eat with his mom or friends. He didn't do any cooking or moving of things in the kitchen. Which was pretty good, because that room was still clean too. But for some reason my can opener doesn't work anymore. I still haven't figured out why. It just doesn't open cans.

I should throw it away. Why haven't I thrown it away...?

Anyhow. When we got back I started cooking and doing what I do again. I did my weekly cleaning. Something smelled when I opened the silverware drawer. And the pots and pans drawer under the silverware drawer.

The kitchen sets over one of the crawlspace holes to get under the house. Sometimes a cat or something random will manage to get in and do something stupid like die under there. Or when it rains a lot, like lately, water will gather under there and it will smell a little musty. It's an old house. It's what they do. So I say to the Milkman, " there something dead under the house again?" And the Milkman says to me, "Dairy Wife, I wondered that too, I think its just water from it raining like when Noah built an ark." So I thought..yep. Must be it.

But it kept smelling. That ever loving silverware drawer was rank. Dang. I hate that smell. I knew what it was...a dead freakin' mouse. But where?! Do I take everything out and risk actually finding it? Do I just hope it goes away? We have company coming in a few days...that isn't very pleasant. (The smell, not the company.) So I'm going to do it. I'm going to start pulling out cookie sheets and muffin tins and I'm going to find the idiot mouse that dared come in my kitchen and die. However, if I find it someone else has to get it out. I am not touching it. Ick. Ick. Ewwww...Not happening. I will call animal control if someone doesn't come in to get it out.

So...I'm talking myself into this. I plop my butt down on the floor. I open the cabinet door. I almost die because I need a mask or oxygen or something because it smells bad. I lean up...slowly....



Lawd have mercy!

It walked into that walk in trap and couldn't get out and the dang thing died. I didn't even know that stupid trap was set. I thought Max, the ex-inside dog, had successfully set off every trap in my kitchen. Not that one. Maybe if he had a nose to stick in that walk through hole he could have set it off, but not having a nose can be a drag I guess.

Never fear. A stupid mouse escaped the monsoon and died in my kitchen.

I sent a series of panicked texts to the Milkman, who was fluffing hay at the other farm. He was coming home. And he would save me from the stinky dead mouse. And he did. Once again, he proved that he is my hero.

Moral of the story is:

Sometimes, uninvited people, events, sins come into our houses. They have only intentions of eating our stale peanut butter or cheese, but they get trapped in our lives. We didn't realize there was a place for them, but they find a spot and sneak into it. They either poop on everything or they die and stink up our hearts and our homes.
We don't always want to get down and start taking things apart to find out where the smell is coming from because we are afraid of what we might find. But we know that whatever it is, it's gotta go.
Is there something stinky in your life? You're gonna have to buck up and find out what it is and where it's coming from. Because it ain't gonna get better if you just keep letting it rot there. Best case scenario, the stench dies down but you find a skeleton when you start cleaning out. And that's just as bad. 

As for why Max became an outside dog...he had a habit of peeing on the bed. It didn't matter if you were in it or not. It's weird and more than this crazy lady can take. Maybe we need a dog whisperer. Quite honestly...he's happier outside with the yard dogs.

This is Max