Living with a paraplegic dog comes with certain realities one learns to live with. I've just accepted as fact that as long as Murray is alive, my garage and back yard will stink. It's not his fault, and I have to deal with it without assigning blame. I get a little weird about managing the "scent profile" of my house when I know people are coming over, and I invest heavily in candles, wax melts, incense, and Febreeze. The danger is in assuming that anything that smells funky in the part of the house where smells waft in from the garage is 100% from Murray. I had been blocking out some funk that was developing in the laundry area, thinking that it must have come from the last time his bedding came in for a wash. This time it definitely wasn't his fault. Was not dog-related in the least.
I went to reach for something in my pantry, and saw a gooey brown droplet on a bag of dried cherries. I initially thought they went bad, and wondered how long it had been since they were purchased. It was much worse than that. In the few months since I last cleared and organized the pantry, three humans were shoving food containers back in willy-nilly, and something perishable got buried. I found a bag of potatoes that might have been in there since before the exchange student moved in. It was a very good thing they were still in the bag. It was horrible. I'm pretty sure the smell of butt was burned into my nostrils for the entire day, even after I spent my entire morning and much of my afternoon emptying it completely and scrubbing it down with Lysol.
The good news is I have a much better idea of everything I have, and have sent unloved snacks to the compost and trash bins. The bad news is it absorbed my entire day and it took all of the spoons I had saved up by sleeping like the dead last night and this morning. If nothing else, it will keep me from randomly grabbing sauces and seasonings from Costco next time we go. I think I'm set on vinegar and honey for the next hundred years. Hooray!
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