CAMPING STORY
CAMPING -
WHERE WOLF?
The
southern winds had kicked up a breeze that sent
a horrific odor wafting over the Smith's campgrounds.
Mrs. Smith
quickly pinched her nostrils together with a thumb and
index finger and in a nasal whine, asked Mr. Smith,
"What is that horrific smell?"
"I
am uncertain, my darling, but it smells a bit like wolf
knife, doesn't it?" He paused, scratched his head,
then continued, "You don't suppose that the dreaded
child from the neighboring camp took use of the tree
in the trail, do you?"
Ms. Smith
widened her eyes in horror. "Idiots! They just
don't realize what ground dumping does to the ecology,
do they? The first rain, and it all runs off into the
river. That fish one catches will then be polluted with
heaven knows what!"
"Yes,"
Mr. Smith added thoughtfully. "Hum, do you think
it could be that rotted fish that we spied on the river
bank during out moonlight stroll, darling? I remember
one of us stepping on it."
"Why
darling, I believe that you're right," Mrs. Smith
echoed, reaching to pull off her shoe and sniff. "Poo.
Yes, that's the smell."
And once
the shoe was disposed of, all was content in the campground
of Mr. and Mrs. Smith.
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