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Once is a mistake, but finding several like this just seems rude. And odd, honestly.
They could’ve escaped the B&B’s trash, I guess, though we bag up everything before we put it in the garbage. It wouldn’t have blown back here, either. The wind would have to be raging for that to happen, and we haven’t had that kind of big October windstorm yet.
We walk to it and Weston picks it up. “Dammit. Herc must’ve gotten a hold of this one too. I hope he wasn’t rummaging around in your trash.”
I hadn’t thought of that, though I doubt it.
“We should check. I wouldn’t want him to get sick eating something from there.”
“He’s never done that before,” Weston says. “I fill his trough up with feed after you give him scraps in the mornings.”
Some days, there’s still a small amount of feed in the trough leftover, so I know the pig can’t be so hungry he’d go rampaging after covered trash. Unless that’s just something the little hellraiser decides to do.
We check both cans by the parking lot, but there’s nothing out of sorts.
No obvious dents or scuffs or chew marks.
They’re both upright with their lids latched down tight, and none of the trash bags inside them are torn.
“I’ve never heard of infused almonds before. This stuff smells like a ten-year-old fart,” Weston says as he drops the shredded bag inside one can.
“They’re kinda gross,” I say, laughing. “To each their own.”
“They weren’t yours?”
“No way—gag.” I make a comical face like I’m choking so I don’t have to explain further.
There’s no good reason to remind him of that night he got all growly over a bad date.
Or perhaps it’s because I don’t want to show him I’m freaking out over total nothingburgers.
“I did try one once. They taste as good as they smell and I spit it right out,” I tell him.
“Not sure Herc would agree. You saw how he bowled that dude over going after those things. They’re pungent enough to get him riled up.”
I nod and offer a grin, but still feel weird about Carson.
Something isn’t hitting right.
“While we’re on the subject, what do you call a laundromat for pigs?” Weston bumps my shoulder again as we’re walking to the house, pulling me from my thoughts.
I’m too slow to even groan at what’s coming, and ask him numbly, “I don’t know, what?”
“Hogwash.” He pauses. “Did you really not guess it?”
I burst out laughing, stopping midstep.
“Oh, man, that’s bad. I think your jokes have gotten worse since you were a teenager.”
“Bull. You laughed your ass off, Shel. Don’t even try to deny it.”
“Duh, because it’s so stupid. Are you channeling the spirits of every lame dad in Dallas?”
“Don’t know. Do I look like a daddy to you?” he growls.
Oh.
Ohhh, snap.
