The dead-animal smell infusing their bedroom was well timed since it coincided with Steve being in the bad books.
After another night of Julia complaining about inhaling death, Steve dressed for combat, adding gloves, safety glasses, a head torch.
Julia was still asleep when he went outside and began belly-sliding through the dry, rubble-strewn, spider-webbed under house.
He followed his nose to a rank, matted mound. He was outside, bagging it, when Julia emerged in her dressing gown, mouth agape at an errant tail poking out.
You beautiful man, she said, and all was right in his world again.
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