There's nothing quite like knowing you have a visitor coming to spur you into action.
Even if it's only your son.
Conor, on the family WhatsApp wrote on Friday two words 'Lunch Sunday?'
It's understood that he is not paying nor is he inviting. He's announcing his intention, and we need to be ready.
I didn't see it until Saturday. Only 24 hours to get ready.
"Neil, you'll have to go to Aldi."
Neil shrugs, "We'll get take away."
Great, that only leaves the house to clean up. Better get started.
The smell hits you as you're coming down the stairs.
It's not quite a stench but not welcome either. Like an overripe blue cheese; rank and weeping.
Careful where you walk. Then I see it as I reach the last step, a fresh turd in the middle of the hall floor. Usually, it's the kitchen.
"Joe, Alan has just shat in the hall."
"Ah, for fuck's sake," grumbles Joe, "He's only just come in."
"What are you feeding him these days?"
"Venison."
"He's better fed than we are."
Joe snags two sheets of paper towel.
"This time put it in the bin outside; it stinks up the whole kitchen."
Joe grumbles under his breath as I wrestle open the kitchen windows.
"What's that?" I say turning away from the sudden blasting of January wind and rain.
He ignores me as he makes swipes at the hall floor.
Taking one of three bottles of vinegar from the cupboard beneath the kettle I sprinkle it freely across the kitchen floor, the dining table, countertops and tiled walls above.
Joe's head jerks up, "Mum, you know I hate the smell of vinegar."
"The trainer said it masks the smell of his urine and will stop him from pissing there again."
"He's not going to piss on the table, is he?"
I grab an old tea towel and vigorously polish the table.
Joe doesn't know it, but when I make honey, lemon and ginger tea, I give the puppy one half of the lemon. It drives him berserk as he asserts his 'alpha male' and tries to show it who's in charge.
It's my revenge for the mess he creates. No harm comes to him, and the kitchen smells of burst
lemon.
No comments:
Post a Comment