This trip was exceptionally long and taxing. My arms were weak from carrying the weight of fret, angst brought on by client demands, and complete sleep depravation.
There was an odd smell as I cracked open the side door from the garage. Couldn’t put my finger on it.
Even in the dim light, I spotted dog hair, gathered in the crevasse of the baseboards. Merry maids must have skipped our house this week! Perhaps the thought of two men, spending four days flying solo scared them off, dodging our address like mosquitos near a bat cave. I'd have Ding Dong Ditched It if I were them as well.
The luggage thunks against the dresser as I let the bags slid off my shoulder at last. Kibby lifts her head to open her slender head wide in greeting. A long sigh pitters out of my mouth. She’s officially old. According to the Pedigree chart I pull-up, she’s only 66. Not sure why I’m wasting my time peering at the iPhone screen at 1:30am.
Dental hygiene is important for senior dogs, the site claims, since they can suffer from undetected tooth infections. Many pet owners miss the mark which leads to unnecessary pain and suffering.
Instead of going to bed like a normal groggy person, I scrounge around in the kitchen to find the dog toothbrush and toothpaste to do something productive. I can’t seem to locate the substantial meat-flavored tube so I flick on the light.
A long black landing strip catches my eye first. Next I draw-in the pot and spoon resting on the ceramic stop. I register the odor again, wafting up to my curled nose hairs. I discover the line travels down the pot, creeping absurdly along the front of the oven door, collecting in a pool at the bottom. I wobble for a closer look and realize the stream keeps going across the kitchen floor to the weather strip and out onto the cement patio.
I’m scrambling to file this line-up in my muddled, over-tired brain.
It’s a Festival of Black Ants! They’re gleaning the leftovers. I toss the lid off the pot to find remnants of crusted chili beans.
A soft moan becomes louder and more pronounced since I flicked the light ON. Definitely coming from me. I grab the pot handle, careful to collect as many ants that want to come for the ride. The renter's bedroom door opens and the pan goes sailing onto the bed with Greg hunkered under the covers, a jeaned leg flung off the edge confirms he’s wearing his clothes from the day before. I don’t wait to witness the reaction. I slam the hollow door, not altogether satisfied with the result.
To protect my sanity, I sweep the scavengers out the sliding door and fling that closed as well. My fury startled me into a second wind.
I spend the next hour preening the dog’s teeth after cramming my traveling clothes into the washer, turning it on the heartiest load setting so as to keep that Special Someone awake in the house (I’ll be seething in my own bed, rest assured, for several more hours.)
Far from regretting my reaction, I only wish I’d have aimed at his pillow instead.
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