this just stinks

One might think there aren't many lessons to be learned from the dead animal in our wall.

After all, we already knew to throw open the sashes on a breezy spring day. And how to place scented candles around the house. We knew all about the lovely scent of lilacs when they are displayed in vases. We knew all there was to know about baking a cake to make the kitchen smell delicious for company. I'll admit that apologizing to company when they come through the door with twitching noses is a new trick in my book. (This particular kind of twitch is the kind you see around latrines, garbage pits, questionable meat, and rotten eggs.)

Unceremoniously and without much ado, a small animal crawled into the far reaches of our wall or foundation and had the audacity to die.

All the trouble this animal may have caused while it was alive doesn't begin to compare with the aftermath of its demise. We have been observing small and meaningful rituals of remembrance since last Thursday when news of this tragedy reached us --when we caught drift of it, rather. Rituals such as bending low over scented candles and fresh flowers. Dashing outside for gulps of fresh air. Giving stern warnings to family members with weak stomachs not to linger over breakfast. Doling out advice for stifling the gag reflex. And so on.

Brave-Heart Hubby has twice valiantly explored the subterranean of our kitchen floor ( it is a root cellar) but without any fresh discoveries. This is an old house; I'm sure it's a veritable catacomb down there. He reluctantly declared we just have to stick it out.

I don't think we can do this for much longer.

Back to lessons we can learn, I can't think of any. Can you?