THE HUNDRED-AND-SEVENTEENTH PAGE

What sparked the bark? Apparently, something in the back of the car because the dog crawled over the backseat and began nosing about the day’s mail haul. And then I smelled something, and the moment I got the scent, it increased fiercely second by second. Nauseated, I rolled down the windows. The odor hardly abated. Nor did the dog’s aria. Never had he been so active.

The ream of paper would have to wait. We turned around at the vegetable stand parking lot and headed back up the hill. By this time the dog was tearing into the packages, the sounds of the tearing paper alternating with his barks.

Back at the garage, I opened the car’s backdoor hatch to let the dog (and stench) out, but he persisted in his labors. I noticed that his attention was centered on a single package. From the front of the car it had sounded as if he was ripping a number of packages, but work was with a single carton bound entirely in silver duct tape--the sort of idiot package the tin woodsman might have made for his girlfriendThe dog was deeply frustrated but seemed to perk up when he got a fang hold on a loosening corner. The odor by this time was overwhelming with its sweetness and sourness, mixed to such a degree that it could have evacuated a kitchen faster than a stove fire. If hell has a smell, it must have been revealed as the dog ripped away a side of the carton.