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best served cold Yesterday morning, when I stepped into the office, I was pushed back by an offensive smell. Like something dead. Not old dead like my skulls and wings, but something freshly rotten. When we finally got home almost ten hours later, it was much worse. But nothing here it could be. The basement sometimes traps refinery smells... This morning? Worse still. My best guess was a deceased rodent. When the masked heeler started sniffing around the boxes, I got the minimag and started checking the cracks. No carcasses. In fact, the smell was pretty obviously coming from the trash bag sitting on top of the boxes. The bag full of brand-spanking new CWD sampling kits one of my wardens brought down from Tuesday's training session. My best guess is the trash bag is recycled. Would be just like him to give me a bag that had been used to haul something disgusting. So, grab a new, clean bag and start transferring the hundred or so kits. They stink. The smell has rubbed off onto them. Or, more accurately, impregnated itself into each plastic baggie. Great. And then, one kit feels a little heavy. And the stink jumps up a notch or two. I check, knowing what I'm going to find. Sum bitch. The SOB warden filled one of the plastic cases with tissue from their training session deer carcass, and then threw it in to rot with the clean cases. It's popped the case open from the gases of decay, and is leaking. Sum bitch. This explains the big smile on his face when he dropped off the bag Tuesday evening. The leaky, stinky bag is outside in the bed of the truck now. Waiting for the opportunity to fling itself into the offending warden's truck cab this weekend. When he's not looking, of course. |
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