Free To A Good Home forestalled

A couple of years ago, I bought a stainless steel trash can for the kitchen. It is heavy. Very heavy. Getting into it is like invading Fort Knox. The only way to get into it is to step on the foot pedal. Then, miraculously, the lid pops open as if it was as light as a feather. Which it is not. This was one trash can that Terry could not get into.

Until today.

The lad and I were both out today attending to our various errands and functions. No one was home for about three hours. Except for dogs and cats.

I picked the lad up at a pre-arranged meeting point and we trekked homeward. He was the first into the house. I brought up the rear a few moments behind. Suddenly I heard him gasp, “Oh my God, something died in here.” And just as I reached the front door, he rushed back and said, “Go do something else. Go away for a while. You do not want to come in here. You just don’t.”

But of course I wanted to go in there. Especially after hearing that.

“No,” he said. “You don’t. I don’t want you to. You will murder the dogs if you come in. Please go do something else.”

There was real panic in his eyes. I mean, how bad could it be?

But you know, I decided that if he wanted to deal with it, who was I to discourage him?

I went to Dunkin Donuts.

And a half an hour or so later, I came back home. Everything seemed to be in place, although a faint odor of something terrible lingered in the air. Everyone looked alive and well. Terry sat on her bed with no blankets. She didn’t look too guilty. But she didn’t offer to come over to say hello, either.

So what happened?

Terry figured out how to get into the trash can. She figured out how to lift the lid. And then she hauled everything out. Right down to the bottom. It was all strewn around the kitchen and dining room floors. Nasty things. Things that had no apparent form, but lots of yucky sliminess. In other words, real Honest to God trash.

Bless his heart, the lad cleaned it all up. He mopped the kitchen floor. He dragged Terry’s blankets down and put them in the laundry. With panic in his heart.

Because, he said, if I saw what she did, I would have lost every last marble that I still possess. And he just didn’t want to go there today. He didn’t do it for me....not really. He did it in the interest of maintaining a peaceful house. It was that bad.

So now what? Once again, I have a bag of bricks sitting on top of the trash can. That defeats the purpose of the heavy trash can with the magical ease of stepping on the foot pedal to pop the lid open while my hand are full of stuff. But that’s life with dogs.

And I still love Terry. That was, I believe, the point of the lad’s efforts. Seems to have worked. I still can only imagine. It’s better that way.