A funny thing happened on the way to the trash can — not. Since it’s just the two of us here we don’t make a lot of garbage, so on Thursdays I take my lowly bag or two to my daughter’s house because we share a dump sticker. And, I get to visit with her for a little bit. However, she had guests this week so I was going to have to sneak over there like some kind of prowler and hope Marley didn’t notice “gramma’s” car and bark his head off like he usually does to announce my visits.
I went out to the trash can and reached in. Ugh. There were maggots. I don’t know why there would be because the hubby bought me my own metal can that stays in the garage, out of the heat to avoid this very scenario. He did this because if there are maggots, the garbage is not going in my trunk and therefore he has to deal with it. This is the deal we made because the back of his truck isn’t lined with carpet.
I can only assume this situation is because that fly in my kitchen earlier in the week had impregnated my garbage before I even took it out to the can.
I threw the bags in the driveway because I believe I read somewhere that sunlight kills the maggots, much like it does vampires. To hurry things along, I hosed down the bags. I’m here to say water does nothing to them. In fact, they were having a grand time swimming in the puddles I made. I found this annoying.
Then, while I waited for the rest of the maggots to shrivel up and die I poured bleach into the trash can to end the ones that were still in there. Then I poured that concoction on top of the Michael Phelps wannabes. However, I could still see little buggers crawling around inside the bags and I decided I was not taking these to my daughter. It just wouldn’t be right and she’d be the first to agree.
So I left the bags there to dry out, and knowing the hubby would come home and say “what the heck?” I left a note that said “Maggots! That’s why.”
Then I ran errands. He and I got back at the same time and I left it in his hands. An hour later he was yelling for me because there was a skunk in the driveway drooling over the scent of rotting garbage. Well what was I expected to do about it?
“You left the garbage out there!” he informed me. “No, you left the garbage out there. I left you a note.”
And while we argued back and forth over whose fault it was, the skunk got closer.
My first instinct was to drag the bags back into the garage but the hubby had already closed my garage door. If I opened it back up, well who knows what would happen.
I told the man of the house to scare it away. He said he tried and it didn’t work.
So I tried.
I stuck my head around the side of the garage and said, “Get going! Now!” in my scariest Mommy voice while pounding the garage. He ignored me completely like an insolent child. Or maybe he’s deaf. Either way I was now within social distancing guidelines with the little rascal and decided I’d rather clean up the mess than get sprayed. “I’m out,” I said.
The hubby paced back and forth for a bit and decided he was going to shoot it. He headed for his 22 but came back with a pellet gun. I doubted the gun’s ability to do more than scratch an itch, but whatever. Now the hubby had to plan his attack. I swear he’s been watching too many episodes of “S.W.A.T.” but eventually he mapped it out, crept around his truck and shot the skunk just as it chewed a four-inch hole in the first bag.
It didn’t kill him, at least not that I know of, but it left splotches of blood across the cement as he took to the woods. Cleaning up that blood was sickening. I’m not sure why but maybe because it was lighter and pinker than human blood, or maybe because the skunk was small and therefore someone’s little boy. Still I was kind of sad for it. Of course if it had sprayed me it would have been a whole different story.
When all was said and done, we only had to double bag the garbage and he took it away. Better late than never, right? And what would I write about if everyone around me cooperated?