Last night my parents called me downstairs for an "evening walk." IT WAS PITCH DARK.
I asked them why, because they almost never asked me to come with them on pitch dark walks. They said, according to digestion experts, it was good to have "evening walks" after dinner to aid in digestion. I pointed out that being a digestion expert was basically the worst job ever.
We walked around the front yard once, then my dad suggested we walk over to the mill shed.
As we walked past the root cellar in the mountain, my parents suddenly stopped and started sniffing the air. (This sounds like something a cannibal would do when they smelled human, but I'm not related to any cannibals. Well, not that I know of.) And then Dad was like, "Ewww. What's that smell?" and I was like, "What smell?" and Mom was like, "Yuck, I smell that too. Marci, I thought you would've smelled it by now?"
I sniffed more, and I could just make out the smell of... wet, stinky dog. And those weird banana chips from the health food store that were super gross.
And I said, "Huh."
And then my typical Agent-Mulder-like mom was all, "That's the exact smell of Sasquatch," and then I became afraid, because what if a Sasquatch was stalking us on our "evening walk?" But Cleo, the dog, didn't seem to react at all, which was strange. She would bark, whine, sniff, or look at us concerned.
Dad said that Polly's dog Bor-ihs might have wandered over all wet and was just silently stalking us and peeing on our car tires. I corrected Dad, saying that the proper Russian pronounciation was Bor-eehs. (I always have to do that. Why? I have no idea.)
Mom noted it was coming from the mountain, but as we passed the root cellar, it was as if fish had been added on to the scent.
Honestly, it couldn't have been rotting meat or a dead animal, because those kind of things don't smell like wet dog and banana chips. So, for now, I'm blaming the digestion experts for causing this mayhem.
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