The new after-Christmas rug was Wedgewood Blue and bristly in touch, almost like the back of a porcupine. In the center of this spectacular piece of decor that everyone hated but me was a delicate white snowflake. I cherished this new acquisition and opened the door several times to gaze at my precious find. This rug would last for many years I thought to myself, was invincible, and on sale.
The next day I could immediately smell what was on that festive mat before I opened the door to admire it. As I walked to the front door in slow motion, my nostrils filled with a scent so putrid that I immediately threw on the exhaust fan on my way over. Sitting in the centre of my inexpensive prize was a pile of joy the size of metropolitan Toronto.Who and what created this perfect masterpiece perched on top of the delicate snowflake? Did this animal not share my thoughts on the Holidays? The rug now had no where to go now but the dumpster. Who would ruin my treasured mat? What or who could do such a thing?