Tales from the Cul-de-sac

Because Mia is still in school in the old district, we're still living in the old house, but we will be spending the weekends at the new house. This was our first weekend there and my poor, brave, long-suffering husband spent half of it toting around a dead 'possum.

My mom was visiting, so on Friday, we invited Brian's parents out to dinner and then back to the new house to try out the deck. Alas, just before they arrived, we discovered an expired 'possum and a large compliment of flies under the deck. Flies and dead 'possum smell not being conducive to engaging conversation, I convinced Brian to "get rid of it." I asked no questions about how he got rid of it, but the next day, our neighbors over the back fence saw me outside and waved me over to introduce themselves. Our conversation:

Them: "Hi, I'm Jim. This is Susan and, dear God, what is that smell?"
Me: (feigning surprise)"Where on earth could that have come from?"

So the bulk of my first conversation with the new neighbors involved discussion of small animal disposal.

They gave us two fifty gallon trash bags and suggested we put him out with the trash on Monday. Perhaps that would have worked, had it not been for the unseasonably warm weather we've been having recently.

After Brian had dutifully hauled our late friend to the curb, I began to worry. After he'd spent 24 hours in a plastic bag in the hot sun, I was concerned that the garbage men wouldn't take him. I'm not sure, but I suspect you aren't allowed to dispose of dead animals in the trash. The stench was unbearable and unmistakable. So Brian suggested that we toss him in the bed of the truck and deposit him in one of those remote woody areas where people dump their old couches. So, two more dead 'possum tosses and we'd finally smelled the last of him.

After long, hot showers, we're back at the old house, hoping this isn't a bad omen.