After three months; my paw is better, they took the cast off my paw, and they took the cone off my head. Thank God. It still stings when I put my weight on my paw though, but I hated those things. The cast itched, but I couldn’t lick it, and no one would scratch it. Other than that, though, everyone was nice to me and gave me tenderness , love, care, and some treats.
Now, the reader knows a lot about the main floor of my family’s home, since I described in the story, “Nine One Two,” but there’s a basement with a brown box an antenna tv, a leather couch, and a pool table. It has carpet. Family meetings are held there. There’s also an upstairs with a master bedroom (a king sized bed I sometimes get to sleep in. a bathroom with a bathtub, shower, and a toilet), windows, and lots of closets and an attic, and there are times when my master’s son, Bob, takes me (Bushington) to the attic where he does something called magic tricks. I don’t get magic tricks. He basically plays with ropes, which he won’t let me tug on, plays with decks of cards, and does stuff with coins, glass, paper, and other stuff. I don’t know why Bob takes me. I get bored and Bob doesn’t give me a treat. I don’t get it.
Then, I start smelling the antithesis of a treat in the attic: Something stinks. It’s only in a small area though and Bob is oblivious to it. But, about once a week, Bob is taking me up there, and the smell is crescendoing. And there are tricks he does every time and tricks he hasn’t performed in years. Why keep tricks you’re not using? But he says I’m his audience and Bob likes me since I don’t boo him (because I can’t speak).
Then, it happens. It’s mid-afternoon and Daddy says, “You know, Bushington’s been sleeping with me and Mommy, but he still gets sore when he’s off our bed, but we could make a homemade bed for Bushington since he sometimes naps in the afternoon. We just need a used box from the attic, some old pillow, and a shmata for a blanket. Daddy heads for the attic. I’m used to the attic, so I follow Daddy. There’s a small rope in the ceiling on the second floor which Daddy pulls on and the stairs appear. Daddy and I walk up the stairs and Daddy stops and smells, so I stop and smell
“Something stinks!” Daddy says and I agree. Something does stink. But what? He looks around and smells and I look around and smell, but we can’t find it, but Daddy says, “Maybe something died on the roof. Can’t do anything about that, Bushington. But, it’s supposed to rain tomorrow, so maybe that’ll wash it off.” I hope so.
But, that night Bob takes me back to the attic to do his magic. I wish he could make this stench disappear, but the stench starts to spread. Instead of just the attic, I start smelling it in Mommy and Daddy’s room and Sean, Bob, and Roberta’s rooms. I got to figure out where it’s coming from, then I could take it outside and bury it with my bones.
But, after a week, Bob, Sean, and Roberta start complaining about the smell too. It almost smells like spoiled food, but there shouldn’t be food in the attic; the attic is for storing old boxes, magic tricks, chests, clothes our family doesn’t fit into, instruments. That kind’a stuff. Someone’d have to be an imbecile to store food there.
Daddy starts using something called, Febreeze, everywhere. He starts by spraying the attic, then spraying the bathrooms, the kids’ rooms, the linen closet, everything on the top floor. Even the carpet, but instead of making the smell go away, everyone can smell the nasty smell and the Febreeze and it doesn’t help. It actually smells worse.
That night, Mommy and Daddy decide to have a family discussion in the basement about what to do. The family talks about buying air purifiers, hiring professional maids, throwing everything in the attic in the trash can, even moving to a new home, but no one can agree.
Then, we’re having this discussion and it happens. The doorbell rings. Daddy opens the front door and the police are there. Daddy asks, “What’s wrong?” and the policewoman explains that the neighbors are complaining about a smell. Daddy explains it’s somewhere in the attic, but we don’t know what or where it is. The policewoman says if the stench isn’t gone in a week, Mommy and Daddy’ll be fined $500. Bob doesn’t take me to the attic that night.
Then, Mommy and Daddy decide to try to have me find it. After all, I am a dog. I’d rather be looking for chicken, though. But, my family’s in trouble, so Daddy pulls down the chain and we all head up the stairs. I sniff around and start getting a trail, and smell it’s coming from Bob’s magic area. I look at the area: There are three yellow ropes of different lengths, a red bag, jumbo decks of cards, and then, at the bottom of the pile, I see a red cookie tin, which Bob put magnets on, with different colored construction paper glued to each magnet. I point to the cookie tin the way a bloodhound would point to their prey. Daddy says, “In there, Bushington?” And I bark to say yes. Bob takes each magic item off the pile until he gets to the red cookie tin. It reeks. Bob opens it and finds half a loaf of white bread with green mildew and black mold growing on it in a ziplock bag. It reeks.
“That’s it alright,” Daddy says. See, Bob used to do a trick where he said dough would appear and the dough was bread, but Bob forgot about it. Mommy and Daddy yelled at Bon and Bob apologized.
After that, the family put the bread in a grocery bag and took it to the diaper garbage Mommy and Daddy keep my poop in poop bags in, in the garage. Now, all we can smell is Febreeze. Thank God. Bob still goes up to the attic with me once a week to practice magic, but he checks his magic tricks once a week now.