Iso-cat

"I wish cats were like isopods," N remarked to B the other night. "I wish when they got scared they would curl up in a tight little ball. Then you could just pick them up."

The thoughts of a little boy whose kitty is frightened of him.

The Transformation of Rod - Part 9 (final)

The following weeks held many changes for Rod.  He gave up trying to deodorize his apartment and instead opted to move.  His new place was a little closer to work in a much newer building.  Rod rented a ground floor apartment with sliding patio doors that opened onto a private courtyard.  The apartment building was shaped like a horseshoe with apartments bordering three sides of the inner courtyard.  The building was situated on a small rise and third side of the courtyard opened onto a view overlooking Phoenix.  Rod's apartment was opposite the open side - at night he could stand at his patio door and look out the dazzling city lights.  The courtyard itself was made up of bricks laid out in a mosaic with sections of small pebbles.  The only vegetation was a few potted plants other residents kept by their doors.  The courtyard contained a couple of picnic tables that got little or no use.  In general, people were seldom in the courtyard.  Its design, while beautiful, only served to intensify the Arizona heat.  Still, Rod felt comfortable in his new place.

The apartment seemingly housed a number of young to middle-aged single residents.  This contributed to Rod's sense of ease.  In his old apartment, many of the residents were older, retired couples.  In some respects, this had made Rod feel young by comparison.  In his new place he was far from the youngest, but he found just being in the vicinity of these new neighbors brought forth a renewed energy within him.  In particular, Rod noticed a young woman who lived in the apartment next to his.  She was at least five years younger than he and nothing like the women Rod usually noticed.  She had dark brown hair cut short, almost pixie-like and she wore little or no makeup.  Rod made these observations from quick glances as they occasionally passed in the hallway, going to or from their respective apartments.  Rod was surprised at how attracted he felt to her.  She was beautiful but Rod felt there was something else that drew him to her.  She exuded a certain vitality and freshness that Rod found irresistible.  They had not spoken beyond a quick "hi" in passing.  Rod longed to know more about her, but did not want to risk creating an awkward situation - not with his next-door neighbor.  He did notice from her mailbox that her name was Cindy.  At least he had a name.

Rod also sold his truck.  He cleaned it numerous times but just couldn't completely rid it of its odor.  When he traded it in, no one mentioned anything about a smell, so maybe he was imagining it.  It didn't matter.  Rod was ready for a change.  Rod purchased a small electric car, not so much for the environmental advantages but more because he was sensitive to the smell of exhaust.  Rod found he had a heightened sensitivity to many odors.  Sometimes this was a good thing.  Sometimes it could make life difficult.  He took his garbage to the dumpster daily and never let dirty dishes sit in his sink for long - the smell was just too off putting.

The biggest change in Rod's life was his new job at the park.  He was part of a group of three, tasked with understanding wildlife migration patterns.  His co-workers were young - just out of school.  They were friendly and Rod got along well with them although he kept a certain distance.  He was quiet at work, and they regarded him as a shy, nice guy who knew tons about wildlife.  Rod brought with him his years of log books which proved invaluable in establishing a historical reference for the majority of the park's species.  Rod was soon seen as a valuable asset to the park.  He knew the others thought of him that way although he wasn't sure if he deserved such accolades.

Rod eventually stopped losing weight.  His diet still consisted mainly of fresh fruits and vegetables.  His job afforded him many opportunities for long hikes through the park to check on various animals.  The daily hikes contributed to Rod's overall mental and physical well-being.  He was in better shape than many men ten years his junior.  Rod was aware of this but didn't think much about it.  Sometimes, when he was hiking on a high ridge, he would look down at the highway below and see his old collection truck patrolling along.  Some new kid, Rod supposed.  He hoped whoever it was would take good care of the truck.  Over time, Rod remembered parts of the old job fondly - how soft the feathers were on the underbelly of a young roadrunner, or how a scared armadillo would curl up in a ball, as if that was going to do any good against a semi.  There were some good days, Rod decided.

It was late on a Friday night.  Rod was at his kitchen table, log books and papers strewn all about.  He had gotten into the habit of bringing work home with him on the weekend.  Rod found himself with a lot of free time otherwise.  While everyone else longed for the weekend, for Rod it couldn't get over soon enough.  By bringing the work home, he could essentially continue his work week non-stop.  Rod knew this was probably not a healthy thing to do.  Still there was a part of him that enjoyed the work and he reasoned it was as good a way to spend his time as any.

As Rod sat at the table, he became aware of a tapping sound coming from his patio door.  Rod turned.  It took him a moment to realize what the sound was.  Rain.  It rained so seldom - this was the first time since Rod had been in the apartment.  This was one of those times when having an over-sensitive nose was a definite plus.  Rod was barefoot, wearing jeans and a tee shirt.  He opened the patio door and stepped out onto the courtyard.  The bricks, still holding some of the day's heat, warmed the bottoms of his feet.  Rod leaned back and let the rain pelt his face.  It felt cool and wonderful and smelled glorious.

Rod tried to remember the last time he'd done this.  Not since he was a kid for sure.  He thought of all the rainfalls he'd hurried through, never aware of their beauty.  He'd missed out on much over the years.  And not just because of his poor sense of smell.  That was only part of it.  Rod felt the water running over him and imagined the last of his old self washing away.  He was a new person with a new life.  Sure, he was lonely at times but he was lonely before as well.  He just never admitted to anyone including himself.  He was mostly happy now.  Work was good.  His new place was nice.  If the worst thing he had to put up with was a little loneliness, he could handle that.  He had plenty of experience.  Besides, a lot of people had it a lot worse than he did.  He should be thankful for what he had.  Rod tried to convince himself that the wetness in his eyes was from the rain, but deep down he knew better.

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" a female voice said.

Rod jumped slightly.  He hadn't noticed anyone else outside.  It was dark in the courtyard, but there was enough light from the apartments that he could make out someone standing nearby.  It was Cindy.  Rod looked at her and nodded.  Cindy turned and looked back up at the rain and closed her eyes.  She was wearing a short sleeved shirt and pajama pants.  She was also barefoot.  She had probably been in bed, Rod deduced.  From how wet she was, Rod guessed that she had been outside just a little longer than he had.  Rod looked back up at the rain.  For a few minutes, the two of them stood there silently.

"What's your favorite thing about it?" Cindy asked, still looking up.

Rod thought about this.  He knew the answer, but he took a moment to savor all the qualities of the experience.  He took a deep breath.  "The smell," he said at last, looking over at her.

Cindy turned and smiled at him.  "Me too," she replied as she walked over to Rod.

When she reached Rod, Cindy turned back toward the rain.  Rod did the same.  The two stood side by side in silence once again. Rod could feel her shoulder lightly brushing against his own.  He wondered if he should say more or if she just wanted to enjoy the moment.  As they stood there, Rod could no longer concentrate on the rain.  Cindy's presence dominated his senses.  He longed to say something to her, to at least introduce himself.  But he was afraid.  Maybe this was all she wanted.  It was pleasant.  Perhaps he should try to enjoy it for what it was worth.  Two people sharing a rainfall.  Rod tried to clear his thoughts and focus on the rain.

"My name's Cindy," Cindy said at last, still facing the rain, eyes closed.

"I know," Rod blurted out.  He hadn't meant to say that.  It was in his head and it just got out of his mouth before he could stop it.  He didn't want her to think he was some weird stalker or something.  He was also a little afraid to reveal that he was interested in her, unsure how she would respond.  Was it such a bad thing to let someone know that you were attracted to them?  He doubted he was the only one checking names on the mailboxes.  Rod glanced at Cindy.  She was still looking into the rain.  Maybe she hadn't heard him.  Maybe she was okay with it.  Maybe he was thinking too hard about it.

"I'm Rod," he said at last.

"I know," Cindy replied with a smile.

THE END

The Transformation of Rod - Part 8

Rod felt mild trepidation as he drove into work.  He'd been gone over three weeks but it wasn't the time away that bothered him.  His time at the department had taught him that things there changed slowly.  One week looked much like its predecessor.  In three weeks, he suspected, nothing of substance would be different.  His uneasiness was borne more of the feeling that he didn't really know his coworkers.

Rhonda had informed him that his supervisor, Jerry Davis, had stopped in once during that first week when Rod was unconscious.  Otherwise, in his time in the hospital, he had received no visits or cards from any of the others.  He liked to think that if one of them was in the hospital he would visit or at least send a card.  Rod imagined they were probably enjoying the break, able to breathe freely without fear of stinky Rod fouling the area.

Rod thought about Rita, the receptionist and office administrator.  She'd only been with the office for a couple of years but Rod spoke to her every day.  She was the keeper of the keys for the department's trucks.  Every morning Rod would check in and pick up his keys.  Every morning Rod would also playfully hit on Rita.  Even though she smiled, she always said no, but never in a hostile way.  It was one of the highlights of Rod's day.  He'd always felt like there was a possibility that some day she just might say yes.  Now, he realized what an idiot he'd been.  He imagined Rita waiting for him to leave the building and then bursting into a giggle with the others, laughing at the absurdity of anyone, let alone her, ever dating him.  Rod wished there was a way to start his shift without seeing her but she did hold the keys.

Rod pulled into the employee parking lot and parked his truck.  He sat in the truck for a few minutes, composing himself and checking out his almost bald head in the rear view mirror.  In his opinion, he looked goofy.  Rhonda had tried to convince him that the shaved look was very trendy and sexy.  Rod found that hard to believe.  Rhonda must have just been trying to make him feel good.  She also told him he had a nicely shaped head, that not all guys could pull off the bald look.  Apparently, Rhonda had first-hand knowledge of this fact - a former boyfriend had tried the shaved look only to find that he had a head shaped like an eggplant.  Rod pulled his cap down low on his head and got out of his truck.

Rod had always been one of those loud people.  When he entered a room, it was immediately evident to everyone present.  He was aware of this and actually relished it.  He spoke louder than he needed to with a bit more swagger than was maybe appropriate.  He liked being noticed.  He liked to say that he'd never been late to a party because it aint a party until the Rodster arrives.  He was particularly boisterous at work, feeling that it was his duty to liven up those poor souls who were stuck inside at a desk all day.  He wasn't even sure what most of them did but he reasoned it was probably dull and humorous.  He usually had a joke to share.  It was rarely funny and he knew this but he laughed heartily anyway.  Despite his efforts, the desk group had maintained a sober mood.  Once in awhile, he would get a chuckle or a brief smile but it never lasted long.  Now, Rod realized they were probably dying from the odor, just praying he would leave soon.

Rod entered the office quietly and went to Rita's desk.  She was entering data into the computer and at first didn't notice him standing there.  When she did notice him, she glanced up quickly and then went back to typing.  She had not recognized him.

"How can I help you?" she asked, still typing.

"Hey, Rita, I just need my keys," Rod replied.

At the sound of his voice, Rita stopped typing, looked up and gasped slightly.  Instinctively, she grabbed a tissue and feigned a sniffle.  Could this be Rod?  She squinted slightly at him.  It was as if Rod's cool brother had stopped in.  The uniform was a little baggy, but still, it couldn't hide the fact that Rod was substantially thinner.  Who knew Rod had such a strong jaw line?  And he was wearing a cap, something she'd never seen Rod do before.  It looked like his hair was cut very short.  She wondered about the weird plugs.

"Rod.  Wow, I mean hey...um, welcome back."  Rita struggled to find the right words as she retrieved the truck keys from her desk drawer.  She handed them to Rod.

"Thanks, Rita," Rod said quietly.  "You don't need that anymore," he added, motioning to the tissue.

Rita blushed and put the tissue down.  Rod was right, she did not need it.  There was no smell.  Some of her office mates had poked their heads out of their cubes or stood up like human prairie dogs.  As Rod walked past them, they offered a quick welcome which Rod did not acknowledge.  As Rod left, Rita realized that for the first time, he hadn't made a pass at her.  And, for the first time, Rita considered the possibility of someday saying yes to his advances.

Rod quickly made his way to his desk in the basement and then out to the truck.  The truck was still littered with his past lunches plus it had the stench of death about it.  Rod knew there was little he could do about the stench, but he did take time to clean out the litter.  He laid some old newspapers on the seat and sat on them, trying to keep any stink from transferring to his clothing.  Even with the windows open, he found he needed to wear his plugs to make the situation tolerable.

Rod was unsure how they'd covered for him in his absence.  He'd half expected that they would just let the carcasses pile up on the road.  He was happy to find this was not the case.  The morning went well with just a few pickups.  Rod tried removing the plugs and was surprised at the variety of disgusting smells.  He remembered before it had all been purple with varying degrees of intensity.  It was interesting and Rod considered adding a column in his trusty log book for noting it but he soon found the smells overwhelming and put the plugs back on.  By lunchtime, the carcasses in the back of the truck were reeking powerfully.  Rod found he could not eat in the truck or even near the truck.  He hiked fifteen yards upwind and sat down by the side of the road.  There, he ate a mix of carrots and celery and topped it all off with an apple.

As the day progressed, the blazing sun turned each pickup into an increasingly uglier task.  Even with the plugs, the smell seeped in and Rod was overcome.  He began to wonder if he was really serving any purpose - for every carcass he picked up, he left a pile of vomit.  By late afternoon, he'd completely emptied his stomach but his body still felt the need to heave.  By the time his shift was over, Rod was exhausted.

After emptying the truck, Rod returned it to the department garage.  He took the keys up to Rita's desk.  She would be gone for the day already, but there was a drop box where he could leave them.  He was surprised to find Jerry waiting for him.  Rod liked Jerry and had been pleased to hear that Jerry had stopped by the hospital.  He suspected it was Jerry who brought his truck home.  Jerry had been with the department for over thirty years.  In that time he'd held almost every position imaginable.  His current assignment, supervising carcass pickup, was seen as a courtesy for all his years of service - a place where he could bide his short time until retirement.  The carcass pickup workers didn't really need much supervising.  Jerry knew all this, but still he was determined to be relevant, to help his guys where he could.

Jerry had been worried about Rod today.  He genuinely like Rod and the two had talked often enough that he knew about Rod and his "smeller troubles" as Jerry called it.  He also knew from his stop at the hospital that the doctor had high hopes for fixing all that.  Jerry was a wise man, he knew that a perfect smeller wasn't always the best thing - not when you deal with rotting carcasses all day long.

Jerry was sitting in Rita's chair.  He smiled slightly as Rod walked up.  "How'd it go out there today?" he asked.

Rod looked at Jerry.  He could lie and try to tough it out.  The old Rod would never admit when he was beaten.  But he wasn't the old Rod anymore.  "It was tough.  Really awful, actually," he said at last.

"I thought as much," Jerry remarked, nodding at the pink plugs still on Rod's nose.

Rod hastily pulled off the plugs, slightly embarrassed.  He looked at Jerry.  "Jerry, I love my job, I really do.  But I just don't know if I can do it anymore."  He wasn't sure what he was expecting Jerry to do about it, but he needed to tell someone.

Jerry nodded.  "You're one of the best, Rod.  You know that.  Still, sometimes circumstances change.  I know that better than anyone, I think.  Hang in there, Rod.  Take it slow."

Rod nodded, said goodbye and went home.  The first day back had been grueling.  Rod did not look forward to another one tomorrow.  That night he washed his uniform and took a long hot shower, scrubbing himself vigorously, determined to keep the stench at bay.

The following days were much like the first.  Rod switched to bananas for lunch.  He found they were softer on the return trip.  He was still very quiet around the others at the office, almost sullen.  Rita watched Rod with growing interest, wishing he would flirt with her once again.  He seemed oblivious to her new found interest, taking his keys and hurrying downstairs.

Rod was aware of Rita's changed attitude toward him.  He just wasn't certain what it meant.  His confidence was shaken and he was very afraid of being made a fool.  He no longer felt like he could read people, especially women.  Apparently, he had never been very good at it.  He just hadn't known.  Besides, Rod had already decided that his days with the department were numbered.  He couldn't live like this, puking his lunch all over the by-ways of Phoenix.  He asked Jerry if they could meet after his shift on Friday.  He would tender his resignation.  Hopefully, Jerry would let him forgo the two-week notice.

On Friday afternoon, Rod pulled the department truck into the garage for what he knew would be the last time.  He patted the top of the dashboard before getting out.  He'd spent a good deal of time in this old truck.  Together, they'd cleared a lot of critters.  Rod tossed his log book on his desk and headed up the stairs to Rita's desk.  He took each step slowly knowing it was the last time he would perform this routine.  After dropping off the keys, he continued down the hallway to Jerry's office.  The door was open.  Jerry was on the telephone.  Rod poked his head in and Jerry motioned for him to sit down.  Jerry wrapped up the telephone conversation quickly and looked at Rod.

"So, Rod.  What can I do for you?" Jerry asked, in an upbeat tone.

Rod was somewhat taken aback by Jerry's mood.  Maybe he'd just gotten some good news in the phone call.  Rod figured Jerry must know why Rod needed to see him.  Jerry was usually very perceptive about these sorts of things.  Rod's demeanor remained somber.  "I think you know why I'm here," Rod said.  "I can't do the job anymore."

Jerry nodded as if he'd been anticipating this.  "So, Rod," he said, matter-of-factly, "do you have something else lined up?"

Rod was beginning to feel a little annoyed that Jerry seemed so nonchalant.  He'd kind of expected that he and Jerry would commiserate about things - that Jerry might even try to talk him out of it.  Instead, Jerry seemed almost happy to send him on his way.  Maybe he'd misjudged Jerry just like the others.  He hadn't really thought of what he would do next.  He just knew he couldn't do this job.  He had ample savings, he could afford to take some time and find something else.

"I don't have anything," Rod replied quickly, "I just can't keep doing this."

Jerry smiled, clearly happy.  Rod sensed that Jerry almost seemed even happier knowing that Rod had no new job to go to.  Rod was irritated.  This meeting was not going the way he'd expected.  Now, he just wanted to clean out any personal items from his desk and leave this all behind.  Jerry could tell Rod was confused by his attitude.

"Rod, I think I've got some good news," he said, smiling broadly.

Rod looked at him, perplexed.

"When you set up this meeting, I figured you were planning on quitting," Jerry continued.  "I put in a few calls - after all my years, I know quite a few folks."  Jerry was clearly enjoying himself.  "I remembered all those notes you kept in your log books.  Remember how you used to bend my ear explaining whether the animals were hit entering or leaving the parks?"  Rod nodded.  Jerry continued, "Well, it turns out White Tank Mountain Park is setting up some sort of wildlife study.  They were pretty interested when I told them what I could recall of what you had logged.  They've got a couple of young college grads but they could use someone with some real world experience."

Rod finally realized what Jerry was proposing.  A chance to finally use all that data he'd collected.  He'd always felt that it was important, that someone should care.  Maybe he was that someone all along.  Jerry really was a good friend.

"Thank you, Jerry," Rod said, quietly.  He felt ashamed for ever thinking that Jerry might take pleasure in his misfortune.

"Don't mention it," Jerry replied. "You've earned it.  Besides, it feels good to know there are still some strings I can pull."

The Transformation of Rod - Part 7

Rod spent the rest of the day moping in bed.  When dinner was served, he ate a little, just to prove he could.  He was preoccupied with re-examining his life.  In his mind, he was reliving every recent encounter he had with anyone, trying to recall if there were any signals he'd missed.  What he remembered was unsettling.  He'd always thought that Denny at the office had some sort of breathing disorder.  Now Rod realized Denny was probably holding his breath whenever Rod came by.  And Rita, the receptionist, she always seemed to have a cold or allergies, always a reason to have a tissue over her nose.  Rod saw all of this for what it was now.  He stunk.  Rod asked that his lights be turned off early and he tried to sleep.

By morning, Rod's mood had improved somewhat.  This was helped by news from Dr. Rogers that he could be discharged, although he would need to rest at home for at least another week.  Dr. Rogers gave Rod a baseball cap with the name of the hospital printed on it.  He admonished him to always wear a hat when he was outside in the sun.  Given his injuries, Rod's scalp had little tolerance for additional exposure.  Rod grudgingly took the hat, deciding that having no hair at least meant having no hat hair.

Rod was sitting on the edge of his bed when Rhonda brought him a surprise.  She'd taken his clothes home last night and washed them herself.  After soaking them for a couple of hours in near boiling water she'd been able to finally rid them of any odor.  Rod thanked her for this kindness.  She was a good person.  The old Rod would have confidently tried to get her number, assuming any woman would be grateful for the chance to date the Rodster.  But now Rod was less sure of himself.  Rod had always expressed himself fairly, plainly and openly.  He'd assumed everyone around him did the same.  To find that this wasn't always the case troubled him.  Plus, Rhonda smelled like his Mom, so that was a deal breaker right there.

Rod put on his uniform and found that he'd lost considerable weight during his hospital stay.  He was able to wear his pants at a normal waist level.  It would be good to have a full stride once again.  Rhonda helped him arrange for a cab to take him home.  Rod said goodbye to Rhonda and Dr. Rogers and before he knew it he was on his way home.  As the cab pulled up to his apartment complex, Rod noticed that his truck was in the parking lot.  Someone from work must have brought it home for him.

As Rod opened the door to his apartment he was met with the same horrible stench he'd sensed at the hospital.  Rod stepped back, held his breath and put his nose plugs on.  He entered the apartment and immediately began opening windows.  He set a fan in one window blowing out, trying to expel the smell.  Rod grimaced at the thought of sleeping in this place.  He cautiously wandered around, picking up items, removing his plugs and giving them a quick sniff.  It was difficult work - everything stunk.  He grabbed a large garbage bag and began stuffing it with sheets, curtains, clothing, anything that could hold a smell.  Rod knew that he was supposed to be resting, but there would be no rest until the place was at least somewhat tolerable.

Rod spent the day throwing out most of his clothing and linens.  When he finished with the apartment, he went to work on his truck.  It felt good to be doing something.  He feared he would tire easily but instead found renewed energy.  He was driven to remove all vestiges of his past smelly self.  His reduced weight also made the task easier.  By evening he was still going strong but getting hungry.  Rod kept little food in his apartment and anything in the refrigerator had gone bad during his time in the hospital.  There was a small strip mall just down the street, easily within walking distance for someone with a full stride.  Rod set off for his favorite destination in the mall, Nina's frybread.

As he approached Nina's, Rod detected the aroma of fresh deep-fried bread.  At first, the smell was wonderful and subtle.  But Rod was still a half-block away.  By the time he reached the shop, the smell was sickeningly sweet.  Rod stood outside the shop, leaning over with his hands on his knees.  He felt his mouth watering, but not in anticipation of a savory treat.  Rod vomited on a small bush next to the shop door.  He wiped his mouth and took a few quick steps, trying to get away from the smell.  Rod wandered along the strip mall, looking for something else to eat.  Finally, he entered a small grocery store on the far corner.  He bought a bag of celery, a bag of carrots, an apple and a can of carpet deodorizer.

Rod took a different route home to avoid passing by Nina's.  Munching on some carrots and celery helped get rid of the foul taste in his mouth.  Rod couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten an apple.  With his first bite he decided that this was his new favorite food.  He wished he'd bought more.  By the time Rod arrived home he was done eating and ready to clean some more.  Between the apartment and the interior of his truck, he used the entire can of carpet deodorizer.  Rod wasn't crazy about the smell of the deodorizer but it was better than the stink it masked.

And so ended Rod's first day home.  The rest of the week would be filled with more of the same.  Every time he thought he'd cleaned things sufficiently, he'd awake in the morning and realize he could still detect some odor.  Eventually, Rod made a trip to a large grocery store where he stocked up on various fresh fruits and vegetables, the only things he found he could easily eat.  As a result of all his activity and his new diet, Rod continued to shed pounds.  His hair was starting to grow back but Rod bought a clipper and decided to keep his hair very short.  Not quite bald but close.  If he had to wear a hat, this was one way to avoid hat hair.  Rod hated hat hair.  Plus, he would be seeing Dr. Rogers for follow-up appointments.  The short hair would make it easier to check on his scalp.

It was Sunday night.  Rod had been home for just over a week.  He stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom.  His uniform was a little too big for him now.  He needed a belt to keep the pants up.  He found the hat that went with uniform and put it on.  He hardly recognized himself.  He wondered what the reaction would be when he returned to work tomorrow.

The Transformation of Rod - Part 6

Dr. Rogers took a small scissors and began cutting away the bandages around Rod's nose.  Rod closed his eyes and tried to calm himself.  He felt his heart pounding in his chest.  He was certain it was beating too fast, going into some sort of hyper drive, but the monitor by his bedside didn't raise any alarms.  Rod wondered if maybe he'd accidentally pulled a wire off.  No, then there would be no signal at all.  Maybe he was okay.  He just needed to calm down.  Still, Rod found it difficult to be calm.  In a few moments, he would learn his olfactory fate.  Would he have a full, normal sense of smell?  Or, would he have none at all?  Either outcome was distinctly different than what he'd known most of his life.  Rod waited.

The doctor removed the last of the bandages but Rod sensed that there was still something blocking his nose.  Apparently, he also had some sort of gauze stuffed up his nostrils.  Dr. Rogers put down the scissors and picked up a tweezers.

"Rod, are you ready?" Dr. Rogers asked.

Rod shook his head.

"Okay, Rod," the doctor continued, "I want you to have the plugs ready.  As I pull the gauze out, please continue to breathe through your mouth.  Once the gauze is out, I'd like you to very slowly try inhaling through your nose.  If you feel uncomfortable at all, switch to mouth breathing and use the plugs if you need to."

Rod nodded impatiently.  He was prepared.  He just wanted to get on with it.  Find out his fate.  Dr. Rogers nodded back at Rod and pulled out the gauze.  Rod waited a moment, holding his breath.  Then he exhaled through his mouth and slowly inhaled, mostly with his mouth but some through his nose.  Nothing, not even purple.

Rod exhaled through his nose and inhaled again, this time only through his nose.  Dr. Rogers stared at him expectantly.  Rod was about to tell him that the graft had failed when he detected something.  Faint, but he could definitely smell something.  Suddenly, he was overcome with smells, sweet, sour, acrid, fruity.  Rod thought he remembered some of them, others were unfamiliar.  They flooded in, swirling and mixing.  Rod's brain, so tuned to only purple, was now working furiously to resolve the new information.  Rod felt nauseous.  He fumbled for the nose plugs.  Dr. Rogers realized what Rod was trying to do.  He quickly reached over and pinched Rod's nose with his fingers.  This brought Rod enough relief that he could manage the plugs.

Dr. Rogers smiled at Rod. "I take it you were able to sense something?" he asked.

Rod nodded and took a moment to compose himself.  "At first, there was nothing," he said, "then all sorts of smells, I mean, tons of them.  I think I recognized some of them."

Dr. Rogers was clearly pleased.  He sat back on the stool, picked up Rod's file and scribbled something down.  He was still scribbling as he spoke. "Well Rod, this is wonderful news," he said.  "I suspect that since you've gone so long without a full sense of smell that you may have a heightened ability to discern individual odors now."  The doctor looked up at Rod.  "Except maybe purple," he added, grinning.

Rod nodded and considered this.  The experience was different than anything he'd ever felt before.  Dr. Rogers finished writing in Rod's file and prepared to leave.  He suggested that Rod periodically remove the plugs, take a couple of quick sniffs and put the plugs back.  This would give his brain a chance to process and learn.  He assured Rod that after a few days the plugs would probably not be necessary at all.

"Well Rod," said Dr. Rogers, "it's been an eventful day, hasn't it?"  The doctor didn't wait for a response.  "I'm going to have the night nurse come in and give you something to help you sleep.  I want you well-rested for tomorrow."

Rod nodded.  He was exhausted, physically and mentally.  He pushed his head back into the pillow and closed his eyes.  He heard Dr. Rogers step out of the room but he was too tired to say goodbye.  He heard the footsteps of someone else in the room.  The night nurse, he assumed, probably adding something to his I.V. line.  Rod kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep.  Soon, he felt himself drifting away.

Rod heard a scratching sound.  He opened his eyes.  The room was mostly dark, illuminated only by the glow from the monitors and a little light seeping in from the hallway.  Rod noticed a large raccoon sitting on the stool next to his bed.  The creature had a stethoscope around its neck and it was holding a clipboard.  Rod looked blankly at the raccoon.  It looked back at him for a moment and then turned its attention to scribbling something on the clipboard.  The scribbling task seemed difficult and the critter performed it with its tongue sticking out just a bit, concentrating intently on the job at hand.  Given the urgent, frenetic way in which it wrote, Rod imagined the output would be largely illegible.

Rod noticed that besides the stethoscope, the raccoon also had a collar around its neck with a leash attached.  The leash lay across his bed and Rod followed it with his eyes.  He was startled to find the other end being held in the left hand of a man standing very close to him.  Rod wondered how he hadn't seen him before.  The man's clothes were dirty and torn.  A thin trickle of blood ran from his left nostril.  Rod did not recognize him.

Rod stared at the man's face.  The man leaned in slightly, staring intently at Rod's face.  He lifted his right hand, pointing at Rod's nose.  "My nose," the man said through gritted teeth.  "My nose."

The man moved his hand closer to Rod's nose.  Rod tried to turn away but found he couldn't move.  The hand moved closer.  Rod felt an icy finger enter his left nostril.  Rod gasped and the man and the raccoon disappeared.  The icy sensation remained.  He opened his eyes.  It was morning, the room was bright and Rhonda was sitting very close to his bedside.

She smiled at him.  "Hi there mister sleepy," she said as she pulled a silver tube out of his nostril.  The icy sensation subsided.  "Just taking some pictures," she explained, "doctor's orders."

She held up the silver tube.  "This here's a little camera." She pointed the tip at Rod so he could see the lens.  Then she pointed it at herself, smiled broadly, and pushed a button on the cord.  "I like to leave Dr. Rogers a little surprise every now and then," she explained, smiling at Rod.

Rod was no longer paying attention to Rhonda.  He was searching around the bed for his nose plugs.  So far the smells weren't too overwhelming, but he wanted to be prepared.  Rhonda noticed Rod's actions.  She reached over to the nightstand.

"Here's your little pink plugs," she said, chuckling.

Rod took them and held them in his hand.  Rhonda reach across the bed to untangle the camera cord and Rod caught a whiff something familiar.  He sniffed again.  What was it?  Rod searched the far recesses of his brain, back to the time before purple.  He knew that smell.  He closed his eyes.  Rhonda leaned over him to check the bandage on his head and he got another whiff.  Slowly, a memory came bubbling up to the surface.  Mom, Rod thought.  His mother wore a lot of makeup and Rod now remembered its smell.  That's what he was smelling on Rhonda.  He put the plugs on.

It was late morning when Dr. Rogers stopped by.  He first picked up Rod's chart, studied it and scribbled on it.  Then he talked quietly to Rhonda.  When they finished, Rhonda looked back at Rod and then left.  Dr. Rogers sat down on the stool.

"How are you this morning, Rod?" Dr. Rogers asked.

"Pretty good, I think," Rod replied.

"I was just looking at the pictures Rhonda took of inside your nose," Dr. Rogers commented.  "It looks really good, only minimal scarring."

Rod nodded.  That sounded like a good thing.  But Dr. Rogers looked like he had something else on his mind.

"Rod," began the doctor, "you're very close to being ready for release.  There's really just one more thing we need to tackle."

Rod wondered what else he needed to "tackle".  He knew he felt much better today than he had yesterday even.  Rhonda had commented that the top of his head was healing nicely.  He was anxious to get out of the hospital.

Dr. Rogers looked at him.  "We've got to get you unhooked from this thing," he said, nodding toward the I.V., "right now, you've been getting all your nutrition through it."

Rod thought about this.  It was true.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten.

"As you probably know, Rod," Dr. Rogers began, "the sense of smell is tightly coupled to the sense of taste.  I suspect that you've been putting up with a pretty bland diet up to now."

Rod nodded.  He remembered the frybread, his one savory salvation.

"Well," said the doctor, "I doubt it will be bland anymore.  I've asked Rhonda to get a lunch for you to try.  If that goes well, we can get rid of the I.V. and get you out of here.  Sound good?"

Rod nodded.  He was determined that it would go well.  If eating a hospital lunch meant that he could go home, then he was sure he could handle it.  Rhonda entered the room with a stainless steel tray and set it on the bedside table.  She then set about adjusting his bed so he was sitting upright.  Dr. Roger looked over the tray and nodded approvingly.  He looked at Rod.

"Rod, you're welcome to try this with or without the plugs at first," Dr. Rogers said as he pulled the tray in front of Rod.

Rod looked down at the food tray.  It had three compartments.  In the large bottom section was a mound of macaroni and cheese.  The noodles were bloated and torn, as if they'd been left to cook too long.  The upper right section held a dark brown lump - chocolate pudding, Rod guessed.  The remaining section held an assortment of celery and carrot sticks.  Rod pulled off the plugs and took a tentative sniff.  He was hit by a powerful sour odor followed quickly by a sweet one.  He remembered these smells, vaguely.  Rod glanced at Dr. Rogers.  He and Rhonda were both staring at him like new parents waiting for their baby to try solid foods.  Rod took the fork and hooked a single noodle.  It was dripping with cheese or some sort of orange cheese-like substance.  Rod carefully put it in his mouth.

Rod's mouth filled with a salty sour cheesy flavor.  He swallowed and quickly took a sip of water.  He glanced at the doctor and gave him a tight, forced smile.  Rod dipped his fork in the pudding, hoping for better results.  This time, his mouth filled with bittersweet so intense he almost spit it out.  But Rod persevered and managed to swallow the pudding.  Again, he followed it with a sip of water.

Dr. Rogers could see Rod was struggling.  "Perhaps, you'd like to put the plugs back on," he suggested.

Rod shook his head.  He wanted them to see that he was ready to leave - that he could eat a meal just like anyone else.  He picked up a celery stick and bit into it.  Rod braced himself for a flavor explosion but none came.  The celery had flavor, to be sure - subtle, succulent flavor.  Rod chewed happily, quickly finishing all the celery on the tray.  He moved next to the carrots.  Stronger flavor than the celery but tolerable, even enjoyable.  Rod munched a carrot and smiled easily at Dr. Rogers.

Dr. Rogers stood up.  "Well Rod, you've shown me a lot here.  Rhonda, let's unhook the I.V..  Rod, we'll monitor you today.  If everything looks good, we might be able to discharge you tomorrow."

Dr. Rogers left the room and Rhonda began working at removing the I.V..  Rod thought about getting out of the hospital, all the new smells.  It was both exciting and a little frightening.  He was determined to keep the plugs off as much as possible.  He would will his brain to adapt.  He took a slow, careful sniff.  He smelled Rhonda, the antiseptic she was putting on his arm, where the I.V. needle had been.  He smelled something else as well, something unpleasant.  He sniffed again.

"I smell something bad," he said at last to Rhonda.

Rhonda smiled at him but Rod could tell it was forced.  She glanced at the door as if hoping someone would come in.  She glanced over at the closet.  Finally, she looked back at Rod.  "What's it smell like,dear?" she drawled.

Rod wasn't sure how to describe it.  It was bad but he didn't have a good reference for it.  "It just stinks," he said at last.

Rhonda bit her lip and walked over to the closet.  As she opened the door, Rod sensed the smell intensify.  "It's getting stronger," he called to Rhonda.

Rhonda closed the door and walked back to Rod.  "It's your uniform, I'm afraid," she said, "I sent it out to be washed twice, but it still has a little smell to it."

Rod looked down at the blankets.  He raised his right arm and sniffed his forearm.  Nothing.

Rhonda watched Rod.  "Oh, you stunk pretty bad too when they brought you in," she said. "I scrubbed you over a few times before you smelled right."  Rhonda smiled at Rod, apparently quite pleased at her accomplishment.

Rod sat and thought.  He wondered if the odor was the result of his being out in the sun so long or if it was just how he usually smelled.  He had an uneasy feeling he knew the answer.  He thought about the sweet lingering smell of purple that had accompanied him everywhere he went.  He had always assumed it was Old Spice.  He recalled Debbie's words to him when she left him at the restaurant.  He thought he'd smelled like Old Spice then, too.  But she had smelled dead raccoon.  And what about the special office his coworkers had set up for him in the basement?  Was it really so that he would be closer to the garage, or did they just want to get away from his stink?  Rod felt a cloud of depression swallowing him.  He'd never liked it when people laughed at him or made fun of him.  He wondered now how many "stinky Rod" jokes had been made at his expense.

The Transformation of Rod - Part 5

Rod spent the afternoon with his gaze focused on the doorway, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dr. Rogers.  The nose comment troubled him deeply.  Nurse Rhonda spent the day popping in and out of the room, always smiling.  Rod asked her about his nose but she was either unable or unwilling to divulge anything.  She did remove the straps from his arms after cautioning him to be careful about not accidentally pulling out his I.V. or any of the myriad of sensors attached to him.  Rod felt the bandages around his nose but he could glean little information.  It seemed like there was still a nose on his face, so that was good.  He would have to wait until the doctor returned.

Rhonda turned on the television, ostensibly for his enjoyment but Rod suspected she had ulterior motives.  She tuned it to a soap opera that Rod had never heard of.  When she asked Rod if he was familiar with the program, he shook his head.  He hoped this revelation would cause her to change the channel, but instead she took it as an invitation to remedy the situation.  She began a detailed explanation of the current and past relationships of the various characters as they appeared on the screen.  She did this while flitting about the room, filling his water pitcher, adjusting monitors.  When the program ended, another one started.  It was so similar to the first that Rod was unaware there had been a change.  Rhonda was apparently an expert on this show as well and continued her drawling monologue.  Rod lay there, looking at the door not the television, hearing Rhonda but not listening to her.

It was late afternoon when Dr. Rogers finally stopped by.  Rhonda's shift was nearly over and she seemed happy that he'd come back before she left.  She greeted him with a big smile as she adjusted Rod's I.V..  After waiting so long for the doctor, Rod now felt sick to his stomach, not sure if he wanted to have the nose discussion the doctor alluded to earlier.  It didn't help any when Dr. Rogers asked Rhonda to leave so he could talk to Rod alone.  Rhonda left with a smile, waving goodbye to Rod.  Rod gave her a quick nod and turned his attention to the doctor.  Dr. Rogers waited for Rhonda to leave.  He closed the door behind her and sat down on the stool next to Rod.  He had a thick file with him which he opened.  He took a pen from his pocket and began
writing.  Rod waited.  Finally, Dr. Rogers looked up at Rod.

"So Rod, did you get some rest?" he asked cheerfully.

Rod wanted to give the good doctor an earful.  To tell him that, thanks to the nose comment, he hadn't rested at all.  Instead, he decided he'd better stay in the good graces of the guy tending to him.  He looked at the doctor and shrugged.

Dr. Rogers nodded.  "It can be hard to rest in a place like this, I'm sure.  But we'll have you home in no time," he said reassuringly.

Dr. Rogers' demeanor became more serious.  "Rod," he began, "I'd like to discuss the condition of your nose.  Actually, your nasal cavity and sinuses to be precise."  He paused and glanced at something in the file.  "When you were brought in, you presented with extreme damage to the inner lining of your nose and sinuses.  This was undoubtedly caused by the exposure however I've never
seen such damage to internal surfaces.  It's almost as if hot air was being blown on the membrane."

Rod recalled lying against the boulder, too tired to move.  The hot sun burning down on him.  No relief, just the hot sun and the sweet smell of purple.  He remembered breathing deeply, getting lost in the aroma.

Dr. Rogers continued, "It could be that you were susceptible to this sort of thing due to the previous damage you suffered as a child.  Your mother filled me in on your loss of olfactory discrimination.  Fascinating case, really.  I sent for your medical records, as a reference."

Rod sensed that Dr. Rogers rather enjoyed the fact that Rod was his patient.  This annoyed Rod a little.  Still, having an over-interested doctor caring for you was probably better than the reverse.  The doctor paused to look at something in the file again.

"How bad is it?" Rod asked.

The doctor looked up.  "Well, we don't know for sure.  I mean, it could have been really bad.  You see, Rod, all of your smell receptors were destroyed, wiped out, gone."

Rod thought about this.  It seemed so unfair.  He'd gone through most of life detecting just one aroma.  He'd learned to live with that, even enjoy it.  But nothing?  He was...he was...What was he?  If he'd lost his sight, he'd be blind.  His hearing, deaf.  What are you when you lose your ability to smell?  Just his luck to get a disability that didn't even have a decent name.  Good grief, as far as he knew even Helen Keller could smell.

"So I can't smell," Rod said with a sigh.

Dr. Rogers smiled at Rod.  "Oh Rod, don't give up so easily.  I've got more to tell you.  Much more."

Rod expected Dr. Rogers to continue, but instead the doctor went back to looking at the file, humming to himself.  After scribbling a few more notes, he got up and took Rod's chart from the foot of the bed.  He studied it for awhile, then scribbled something on it.  Next he opened the file again and scribbled something more.  This doctor sure likes to scribble, thought Rod.  Finally, Dr. Rogers sat down on the stool and looked at Rod.

"Okay, Rod," Dr. Rogers said at last, "everything on your chart and in your file looks great.  You're recovering well."

Rod nodded.  This was good news, but he could tell the doctor had more to say.

"As I said," Dr. Rogers continued, "your ability to smell was greatly compromised, destroyed really.  If we would have done nothing more then you would have completely lost your sense of smell, as you suggested.  However..."  The doctor paused and made sure Rod was attentive.  "We did something more."

Rod wondered what the 'something more' could be.  He didn't have to wonder long.

Dr. Rogers took a deep breath and began, "About the time you were brought in we had another fellow arrive in our emergency room.  Tragic story really, hit while walking his pet raccoon.  Apparently, he wasn't paying attention and the raccoon led him right into traffic.  Those creatures seem drawn to traffic, but I probably don't need to tell you that."

Indeed, he did not.  Rod had scooped up more raccoons than he could count.  The story was interesting, Rod didn't know people kept raccoons as pets, but he still wasn't seeing how this pertained to his nose.

"Well," Dr. Rogers said, "the fellow didn't make it.  He was just barely alive when he arrived at the hospital and there was little we could do for him."  Dr. Rogers looked intently at Rod.  "I'm sure you're wondering what this has to do with you.  Well, you might say this fellow's misfortune was your salvation.  You see, Rod, we couldn't save him but he had signed a donor card and his nose was perfectly fine."  The doctor paused to let Rod comprehend what he was saying.

Rod was suddenly acutely aware of what the doctor was implying.  They'd taken part of a dead guy and stuck it to him!  A road kill no less!  He'd never live this down if the others at work found out.  Rod looked at the doctor.

"You gave me his nose?" he asked, somewhat upset.

"Oh no."  Dr. Rogers chuckled at the absurdity of it and then paused as if to consider the feasibility.  "You still have your nose," he assured Rod.  "We did, however, graft the donor's smell receptors to the inner lining of you nasal cavity and sinuses.  Pioneering work, really.  The procedure had never been done in a human before, only squirrels.  The receptors seem to have "taken root" quite nicely.  If all goes as planned, you should have a full and normal sense of smell.  Of course we won't know anything for sure until you test your sniffer."

"When can I try it?" Rod asked.

"Well, I think your nose is ready now, once we remove the bandages.  The thing is..." Dr. Rogers paused.  "Rod, how many smells do you remember from before you suffered your first accident?"

Rod thought back.  It was so long ago.  "I don't think I remember any," he said at last.

Dr. Rogers nodded.  "I was afraid of that," he said.  "Rod, the world is a smelly place.  If the graft worked, I'm worried that it might be a bit overwhelming for you.  I would like to take things very slowly until you adjust."  The doctor pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to Rod.  "Here, take these, Rod.  They're nose plugs.  If the smells get to be too much, put the plugs on.  It should help a little bit."

Rod took the plugs.  He appreciated the doctor's concern although he didn't think the plugs were necessary.  Plus, he would have preferred a color other than neon pink.

The Transformation of Rod - Part 4

Rod shoveled coal into the furnace of the locomotive.  It was hard work and the heat radiating onto his face was almost unbearable.  Still, if he was going to escape the giant rabid jack-rabbit he would need more speed.  There was nothing worse than an injured animal and this one was angry.  Rod could hear someone calling his name.  Far away, male.  His father maybe?  Suddenly, Rod was eight years old and the heat he felt was from a fire.  He was in his bed and the flames were all around him.  The old Minnesota farmhouse had always seemed like a tinderbox.  Rod couldn't move.  The voice got louder and Rod realized it wasn't his father.  The bedroom of his youth, engulfed in flames suddenly vanished.  Rod awoke.  He turned his head toward the voice but kept his eyes closed.  The voice must have noticed the change in Rod's consciousness for it stopped just repeating his name.  Now, it sounded much closer.

"Hello Rod," said the voice, "my name is Dr. Rogers.  Do you know where you are?"

Rod wasn't an idiot.  He could tell he was lying in a bed and he was talking to a doctor.  It seemed likely that he was in a hospital.  He could feel bandages around his head and over most of his face.  He couldn't breathe through his nose.  Yes, he had a pretty good idea where he was.  Still, the details as to how he got here were missing.  He shook his head.

"You are in the Maricopa County Hospital Burn Unit," Dr. Rogers began.  "You were brought in with severe burns to your head and face due to extreme sun exposure.  You were also very dehydrated."

The doctor gave Rod a moment to absorb the information and then continued.  "Because of the painful nature of your injuries, we've kept you in an induced coma until now.  You are recovering quite nicely, by the way.  But it will take time."

Rod remembered leaning against the boulder.  He remembered the hot sun, the jack-rabbit, resting for a moment.  Rod tried to open his eyes and look at the doctor.  His vision was blurred.  His throat felt dry and his lips were chapped and cracked.  Rod struggled to get his voice back.  "My eyes," he said in a hoarse whisper (as opposed to a horse whisperer).

"Oh, your eyes are fine," the doctor assured him.  "We put some salve on them to protect them and keep them moist.  Nurse, could you clean Rod's eyes a bit?"

Rod had been unaware of anyone else in the room but a female voice now spoke.  "Yes doctor."

Rod sighed.  Even though she only spoke two words, Rod detected a drawl.  Rod detested people who drawled.  They always sounded like they were trying to be cooler than they were, so laid back and everything.  There should be a law, Rod thought, no drawling.

As Nurse Drawl wiped his eyes, Rod was gradually able to make out objects in the room.  Dr. Rogers had blond curly hair and looked much younger than he sounded.  He was sitting on a stool with his arms crossed waiting for the nurse to finish.  Nurse Drawl had brown hair, tied back in a ponytail.  She wore purplish eye shadow and bright red lipstick.  Rod approved.  He liked a woman who wasn't afraid of makeup.  As she wiped his eyes she smiled a large toothy smile, as if this was her favorite thing in the world to do.  Rod imagined that if she'd been taking care of him she'd probably seen and handled parts of the Rodster reserved for only the finest ladies.  No wonder she was smiling so much.  Maybe he could get used to the drawl.

Finally, Rod's eyes were clear and the nurse stepped back.  Rod looked at Dr. Rogers.

"How long have I..."  Rod didn't finish the sentence.

Dr. Rogers knew what Rod was asking.  He started to explain.  "You were brought in two weeks ago, found by a colleague.  I think his name was Roy?  For a while there, we weren't sure if you were going to pull through.  I spoke with your mother, she was planning to come but her cat fell ill.  I'm sure she's very worried about you, though."

Rod looked up at the ceiling and tried to take it all in.  Two weeks!  It felt like just yesterday.  Roy found him?  What was Roy doing in his area?  Rod remembered the coyote.  No doubt Roy had come looking to claim it.  Oh well, it didn't seem so important now.  After a two week hiatus his collection numbers would be off anyway.  He grimaced at the thought of being indebted to Roy, though.  And Mom, good old Mom.  It wasn't surprising that she'd be more concerned about her precious feline.  Miss Trudy had always held most favored status.  When the first Miss Trudy died Rod thought maybe then he would become her favorite.  But no, Mom went out and bought another cat, similar in looks to the first.  The new Miss Trudy was immediately elevated to the status of her predecessor.  Rod was unsure how many cats had come and gone since then.  He rarely spoke to his mother anymore.  Still, when he was filling out the emergency contact information at work she was the only one he could think to name.

Dr. Rogers waited for Rod to look back at him and then continued.  "Ah, about your hair," he exchanged a quick glance with the nurse. "Apparently, you had hair plugs?"

Rod did not like the doctor's use of the word "had".  He nodded but said nothing.

"Well..."  The doctor paused and sighed deeply.  "The skin on your scalp was burned pretty badly and it sort of..."  The doctor searched for the right layman's word.  "It sort of puckered.  And when it did that, the plugs just popped right out."

As he said the last part, he flicked his middle finger against his thumb, like he was flicking off a booger.  Apparently, this was meant to symbolize Rod's scalp ejecting the plugs.

Nurse Drawl stepped forward with a small dish she'd picked up from a table.  "We saved as many as we could find," she drawled.

She thrust the dish toward Rod, but Dr. Rogers put his hand on her arm and motioned for her to return the dish to the table.

"I'm afraid we had to shave the rest of your head in order to treat you," Dr. Rogers added, regretfully.

"But that part will probably grow back," Nurse Drawl blurted out, smiling broadly - trying to be helpful.

Dr. Rogers gave the nurse a stern look.  Then he stood and started walking toward the door.   He looked at Rod.   "Try to get some rest, Rod.  If you need anything, just ask Rhonda here."

Rod nodded.  Rhonda still smiled.

As the doctor was stepping through the doorway, he looked back at Rod one last time.  "I'll stop by later so we can discuss your nose," he said as he disappeared.

Rod lay on the bed.  Discuss my nose?  The doctor's last words were unsettling to say the least.  Rod tried to touch the bandages around his nose but found his arms were strapped to the bed.  He was bald and burned.  The plugs were gone.  And the doctor wanted to discuss his nose.  There would be no rest for the Rodster.

The Transformation of Rod - Part 3

Roy had been in a foul mood for most of the day.  The morning encounter with Rod had soured his disposition.  As he mulled over what had transpired he got angry at himself for not confronting Rod at the time.  It was clear now what had happened.  Rod had entered his area and stolen the coyote.  The thought of it was so objectionable to him that he'd had trouble comprehending it at the time.  Sure, he and Rod had a rivalry, but there were rules, a code all pickup guys lived by.  Rod had violated the code.  Rod had violated him.  That coyote was his!

It was late afternoon and Roy decided he could not let Rod get away with this.  He grabbed his radio handset and put in a call to Rod.  He would demand that they meet at the boundary.  He would give Rod a chance to put things right.  If Rod refused, Roy was prepared to take more drastic measures.  Roy's attempts to contact Rod with the radio failed.  Rod was either out of his truck or avoiding Roy.  Roy waited fifteen minutes and tried again - still no answer.  Pickups never took as long as fifteen minutes.  Evidently, Rod was planning on ignoring him.  This only angered Roy more.  He called into the dispatcher to inquire about Rod's location.  Apparently, Rod had been unresponsive for much of the afternoon.  Roy pictured a cowardly Rod sneaking down the highways waiting for his shift to end so he could dump off his ill-gotten gain.  Roy decided to take action.  He got on the radio to the dispatcher again.

"This is Roy.  I'm heading over to Rod's area.  I need to talk to him a second."  Roy tried to sound matter-of-fact.

"Okay," said the dispatcher, "have him check his radio, maybe there's something wrong with it."

This hadn't occurred to Roy.  Maybe Rod was oblivious to all of this.  No, more likely he was hiding on some back road.  "I'll let you know what I find," Roy said at last.

As Roy drove into Rod's area he took a deep breath.  It felt strange to be there.  Every morning he passed through Rod's area to get to his own, but he'd never ventured back until his shift was over.  He assumed Rod would be hiding on a back road.  To Roy's surprise, he spotted Rod's truck on Sun Valley Parkway, a fairly major roadway.  The truck was pulled over onto the shoulder but he didn't see Rod anywhere.  The passenger side door was open and there was a shovel laying on the shoulder a few yards in front.  The scene didn't seem quite right but Roy couldn't put his finger on just what was wrong besides Rod being absent.  Roy got out of his truck and looked around.  It was quiet out there.

About the only reason a pickup guy would leave his truck is if he needed to make an emergency bathroom break.  Roy reasoned that Rod was likely doing just that.  There weren't a lot of places to go for privacy except for a few large boulders.  Rod was probably up there right now.  Roy decided to take advantage of the situation and get his coyote back.  After a day of baking in the Arizona sun, this was a grim task.  Roy took a deep breath, held it and quickly pulled the carcass from Rod's truck and dumped it in his own.  He jumped back and took a big gulp of air.  He felt better than he had all day.  That'll teach Rod to break the code!  Roy contemplated driving off but he decided he would leave Rod a little note in his logbook - maybe erase the coyote entry.  He walked over to the passenger side door of Rod's truck.  Rod's logbook was lying open on the front seat.  Roy scanned the day's entries and realized there wasn't one for the coyote.  Maybe the guilt had gotten to Rod after all.  Maybe he was planning on returning the carcass on his own.  Or maybe he'd been so preoccupied with sneaking off that he'd forgotten.

Roy was trying to decide if he should leave a note or not when he noticed the open glove box.  Rod's pistol was missing, not a good sign.  He stood up and looked toward the closest large boulder.  "Rod!" he called out.  No answer.  Roy ran back to his own truck and retrieved his Desert Eagle Blowback pellet pistol.  Something was not right.  Roy headed toward the boulder, calling Rod's name every so often.  It was difficult terrain and Roy had trouble imagining Rod hiking it - what with his odd stride and all.

As Roy approached the boulder, he could make out a boot and part of a leg around the other side.  Roy felt the blood drain from veins.  He froze for a moment, not sure what he was going to find when stepped to the other side.

The Transformation of Rod - Part 2

Rod crumpled up the foil wrapper and stuffed it in the lunch bag.  He did the same with the Diet Coke can.  He then tossed the bag on the passenger side floor.  There it joined other bags, evidence of previous identical lunches.  Even though the truck was state property, Rod treated it like it was his own personal vehicle.  Indeed, his own truck had a similar pile of trash on the floor from weekend and after hours meals.  No one had complained about the mess so Rod figured it was not a problem.  Rod was correct about this.  The road kill trucks already reeked from hauling rotting carcasses.  The department saw no advantage in enforcing any sort of interior cleanliness.  When it came time to replace these vehicles, it would be difficult to unload them due to their foul odor.  A little bit of trash on the floor would not make much of a difference.

Rod pulled out on the highway and began to plan his afternoon route.  He was required to travel each of the major highways in his coverage area at least twice during his shift.  He tried to time things such that he would check the busiest roads just after the busiest traffic times.  No matter how carefully he planned things, the execution was often disrupted by a dispatch.  The department policy was that if someone called in a road kill incident, it should be cleaned up within twenty minutes.  After all, they were servants of the tax payers and people liked to see an efficient use of their money.  In reality, it would have been more efficient to have each truck stick to its route and make the pickup as part of the normal course of their activities.  But then, sometimes perception trumps reality.  Rod didn't mind the dispatch policy.  He rather liked the notion of dropping everything and rushing to the scene.  He only wished he had more commanding lights on the top of his truck so he could race through traffic like a fireman.

Rod turned east onto Sun Valley Parkway.  This stretch of road often yielded a critter or two.  Rod reasoned this was due to the proximity to White Tank Mountain Park.  Over the years, he'd kept detailed records about this particular section.  He was particularly obsessed with whether more animals were killed trying to get into the park or trying to leave it.  He felt like this was valuable data that someone should care about although he had yet to find that someone.  According to his data, the vast majority of critters were killed leaving the park.  Rod had a number of theories about why this was so.  He dutifully expounded on these in his log book, which few others ever looked at.  He had been on the road less than a mile when he noticed something on the shoulder ahead.  Even from a distance Rod could make out the unmistakable ears of a black-tailed jackrabbit.  It was laid out on the right shoulder as he approached, it's head just crossing into the lane, it's distinctive dark tail pointing back toward the park.  Rod nodded knowingly.  Why did this creature feel the need to leave the park?  Rod parked about ten yards away from the rabbit and flipped open his log book - he'd wait to make the actual entry after he had the carcass in the truck.  "On board", as he liked to refer to it.  As he looked down at the book he realized he never made an entry for the coyote - a serious oversight on his part but given his desire to get away from Roy, understandable.   Oh well, he'd just fill it in when he did the jack-rabbit.

Rod stepped out of the truck, hiked his pants up a bit, and grabbed the shovel from the back of the truck.  Sometimes he handled the critters by hand, sometimes by shovel.  It all depended on his mood.  Right now Rod was in a shovel sort of mood, for no particular reason.  As he stepped toward the jack-rabbit, it kicked its rear leg.  Rod froze and stood motionless watching and waiting for any further signs of life.  Another kick.  Rod dropped the shovel and hurried back to the truck as quickly as his shortened stride would allow.  Every couple of steps he turned and looked back at the rabbit.  This really was turning out to be a special day.  When he reached the truck, he went to the passenger side door and opened it.  Rod leaned in and opened the glove box and pulled out his weapon.  It had been four months since he'd had occasion to transition a creature from road maim to road kill.  Rod relished any opportunity to brandish his Desert Eagle Blowback pellet pistol.  Sure, it didn't fire actual bullets but it looked like it could.  Rod felt like it completed his uniform.  Years ago he had petitioned the department to get permission to wear a holster so he could have it with at all times.  Much to his dismay, the department denied his request and stuck with its glove box policy.  Rod was disappointed at the time but the policy only served to make the allowable usage times all the more special and sweet.

Rod pulled the pellet gun out of the glove box and checked his ammo.  Plenty of pellets.  He stepped around the door and looked at the rabbit, or at least where the rabbit had been.  There was no sign of the creature anymore.  Disheartened, Rod shuffled along the shoulder, pellet gun in hand.  When he reached the spot where the rabbit had been, he stopped.  There was a little bit of blood on the shoulder but not much else.  Rod scanned the side of the road figuring the creature could not have gone too far.  The terrain was covered with bowling ball sized rocks and a few larger boulders scattered about.  Rod was torn.  Technically, the jack-rabbit was no longer a road concern and he should just leave.  On the other hand, if it was near the road there was a reasonable chance it would wander back out again.  Why make a second trip when he could just get it now?  Rod stepped off the road and began searching.  Up ahead he thought he saw what might be blood on a rock.  Rod clutched the pistol and headed toward it.  The ground had a slight incline to it, and stumbling over the rocks was difficult work.  Having a restrictive stride did not help matters.

Eventually, Rod reached the blood stain and stopped to look around.  There was no sign of the jack-rabbit anywhere.  The sun was in full force by now and Rod was drenched in sweat.  The intense smell of purple filled his nose.  Rod was aware of his breathing, much more labored than he was accustomed to.  He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to relax.  There was a large boulder nearby, nearly as big as his truck.  Rod stumbled over to it, looking for some degree of shade.  The sun was directly overhead and he found little relief.  Rod sat down next to the boulder and leaned against it.  He decided he needed to rest before trying to make the hike back to his truck.  The sun was blazing down on his face and he closed his eyes against its glare.  His uniform included a hat but Rod refused to wear it, claiming it mussed up his locks too much.  How he wished he had it now.  Rod sat there, drifting in and out of consciousness.  He never noticed the crippled jack-rabbit hobble past.

A Poem By B

When B was in 3rd Grade, he came up with this poem:

Where is my cat?
I never know where he's at.
I see a hairball, but he isn't there.
Now I see some cat fur over there.
Now I see him in his tight little ball.
Maybe I should have left him alone after all.
Purrrrrrrrr!

The Transformation of Rod - Part 1

Rod loved his job.  Others might find picking up road kill along Arizona's highways to be offensive or boring but Rod knew better.  He saw himself as providing a public service - doing the work that few others dared.  Plus, he got to spend most of his days outdoors enjoying the beautiful sights and sounds of the Phoenix area.  The one thing he could not enjoy was the smell.  A childhood accident had left Rod with a severely distorted sense of smell.  Everything smelled about the same to him - "purple" is how Rod described it.  This shortcoming was actually an advantage when picking up carcasses in the Arizona heat.  Just another thing to love about the job!

It was the start of his shift, but already it was warm.  The blazing morning sun gave notice of a hot day ahead.  As Rod meandered down the highway, a dispatch came through about a possible coyote pickup.  Rod had only picked up a couple of coyotes in his career and he was anxious to see this one.  The location given was not real specific, near the limits of Rod's coverage area.  The adjacent area was covered by Roy, Rod's nemesis at the department.  Rod and Roy often vied for top monthly honors in the "most pounds" and coveted "species diversity" categories.  Rod raced toward the pickup, knowing that Roy was likely doing the same.

As Rod neared the end of his area, he saw the coyote, just beyond his boundary.  Rod stopped his truck at the mile marker denoting the edge of his coverage area.  The animal was another twenty yards away, well into Roy's domain.  So close, thought Rod.   Close enough that he could see the flies crawling over the tongue that hung out between fierce fangs.  Rod looked up the road, still no sign of Roy.  Rod chuckled. "Well, well.  The early bird gets the dead coyote, I guess," he mumbled to himself.

Rod took one more look down the highway and then jumped out of his truck.  He moved to the coyote in short, quick steps keeping one hand on the waist of his pants lest they succumb to gravity.  Rod had gained quite a bit of weight and his pants no longer fit properly.  Rod had adjusted for this by wearing his pants lower and lower.  This interfered with his stride and had resulted in one unfortunate exposure incident during a raccoon pickup near a very busy rest stop.  Since then, Rod had been mindful of any detected slippage while out on the job.

Rod reached the coyote, took one last look for Roy and then grabbed the animal's tail.  Rod proceeded to drag the coyote along the shoulder back toward his truck.  This was not an easy task given the weight of the animal, the warming Arizona sun and the slipping pants.  Rod could feel the sweat growing on his face and the smell of purple intensifying.  Still, he carried on and eventually crossed the mile marker into his territory.  He dropped the tail and waited.

When he saw Roy's truck on the horizon, Rod set about the task of picking up the coyote and putting it in the truck.  He wanted Roy to witness him making the pickup.  Roy pulled up his truck at the opposite shoulder and climbed out.  He stayed over by his truck, in his area.

"Ya need any help with that?" Roy asked, watching Rod pick up the animal.

"No, I think I can handle this fella," Rod responded confidently.  He enjoyed seeing the envy in Roy's face.

Roy looked down at the spot where Rod had picked up the coyote.  "Looks like he was just barely in your area," Roy observed.  Roy looked back up the road into his area.  What was that smudge on the shoulder?

Rod noticed Roy looking at the spot where the coyote had originally lain.  He tried to think of something to say to get Roy's attention.  Roy was looking a little more intently now - first at the smudge and then at the lack of smudge where Rod had made the pickup.  Rod needed to do something.  The coyote was in the truck.  It was his.  He was not going to let Roy ruin this.

"I guess I'll be seeing you, Roy," Rod said.  As Roy turned to look at him, Rod let his hand slip from his waist.  His pants fell in heap around his ankles.  "Darn it!" Rod shouted in mock anger.

The distraction worked.  Roy started laughing at Rod and momentarily forgot about the smudge.  Roy's dispatch radio squawked to life and Roy climbed into his truck to get the details.  Rod hiked up his pants, climbed in his truck and headed back deeper into his own area.

The rest of the morning was not nearly so exciting.  An armadillo here, a road runner there - hardly worth the trouble, really.  As lunchtime approached, Rod looked for a place to pull over.  He usually brought his lunch and ate in the truck.  He preferred to park away from any developments, where he could enjoy some nature.  There were a few places he frequented.  He headed toward a favorite stretch of road near White Tank Mountain Park.  Rod pulled his truck far over onto the shoulder and stopped.  Because of the heat, he left the windows up and the truck running.  Definitely a day for air-conditioning!

As Rod looked across the open plain, he reached into his lunch bag and pulled out a large object wrapped in foil.  The foil was imprinted with the image of a plump woman with long black hair and the text, "Nina's Original Frybread - So Good, You'll Want More".  Rod paid little attention to the foil; he'd seen it many many times before.  Because of Rod's olfactory shortcomings, most foods tasted the same to him.  For most of his life, Rod had regarded food as necessary for survival but not particularly pleasurable.  With Nina's Frybread he discovered one of the few foods that could cut through veil of purple and stand out.  This was largely due to the incredible amounts of sugar and saturated fat used in the recipe.  For Rod, it was the one food he truly enjoyed eating.  It soon became a staple of his diet, serving as breakfast, lunch and dinner.  He reached under the seat and found the plastic bottle of honey he kept there.  He drizzled a little honey on the edge of the frybread and took a satisfying bite.  And so Rod ate his lunch, alternating between drizzle and bite, drizzle and bite.  He washed it all down with a warm can of Diet Coke.  The whole process took less than ten minutes.

Rod still had twenty minutes left of his lunch break.  He put the time to good use, trying to burp the word "coyote".  It proved too difficult a task for him but he was able to burp out "dog".  He reasoned that this was close enough.  Rod looked at his prize in the back of the truck.  This was turning into a stellar day.

I Sure Showed Him

I was cut off in traffic the other morning.   Well, maybe 'cut off' is too strong a term.   Let's say I was inconvenienced by the rude and illegal behavior of another driver.   I was waiting at a red light, needing to take a left turn.   I was watching the lights for the opposing traffic and was aware when their green light shifted to yellow and finally to red.   Just as my light turned green, this car enters the intersection from the right.   I'd seen this guy coming so I'd been a little hesitant to take my turn.   As he entered the intersection, he turned right.   So, technically he didn't cut me off as we should have both been able to execute our turns simultaneously.   He did, however, break the law as he ran the red light (and failed to signal his turn).   I was inconvenienced because I had to wait for him since I didn't know he was going to turn.

As I entered the intersection, I watched his taillights heading up the road in front of me.   I was mildly annoyed but usually I just keep this sort of thing to myself.   This time, I figured I'd let him know that I was not happy.   I'd give him a little shot of the high beams before I made my turn.   Just send a little message to the miscreant.   As I mentioned, I usually don't do this sort of thing for fear of winding up on the receiving end of some ugly road rage incident.   In this particular case, however, I figured even if I did anger him, I'd be long gone before he could even get turned around.   It was the ideal situation for some "light" retribution.

All of this reasoning and deciding happened in an instant.   I had very little time to decide and then act.   After all, I was moving, he was moving.   Once the decision was made, I hastily reached down, grabbed the lever and gave it a couple of quick tugs.   What the heck, if I'm going to flash him once, I might as well flash him twice.   That'll teach him real good.

Sadly, in my haste I grabbed the wrong lever.   Instead of flashing my high beams, I squirted washer fluid on my windshield.   I guess I could rationalize that, figuratively, I spat at him.   I'm not sure he got the message, though.

Llama Update

I drove by the llama house this morning.    This time of year it's still pretty dark but not as bad as a month ago.    I can make out some darker shadows in the grayness, mostly trees probably.    I did see one other thing - a bright yellow reflector.    My first thought was, "Llama eyes!"    But no, it seemed too large to be an eye and there was only one.    I suppose the llama I saw before might have been a one-eyed llama but I find that just a bit hard to believe.    I figure the odds of seeing a llama at all in the city are remote.    The chance of seeing a one-eyed llama?    I would guess it's pretty unlikely.

Seeing the reflector did give me some hope, though.    I mean, if I had a llama that I was taking for walks in the dark I would probably affix a bright reflector somewhere on the beast for safety.    Hope lives!

Spit

As I arrived at work the other morning I saw this guy just getting out of his car.   As he slammed the door, he spat.   It seems like there are a lot of people who spit these days.   I've never been much of a spitter and I have to say, I find it a tad gross.   Okay, maybe more than a tad.   Do these people really have that much excess saliva slopping around in their mouths?   What do they do at work?   Maybe I don't want to know.

You see a lot of athletes spitting.   Exercising makes me sweat, not spit.   Maybe if I spat more there would be less liquid for me to sweat.   I remember when I used to run around Como Lake there was a guy who also ran and was spittin' all the way.   I figured maybe I was missing out on something so one day I decided to give it a try.   I worked up some saliva in my mouth but then I couldn't decide where I should let it go.   I felt very self-conscious and dirty, like I was contemplating public urination.   I really didn't want to spit where anyone would see me.   I finally found a patch of the run where I was alone and so I spat.

I don't know if spitting is a learned skill or if some people are just born good at it.   It turns out I am not a good spitter.   My attempt while running had insufficient force and trajectory.   Most of the output ended up on my chin.   The whole experience was unsettling, to say the least.

I was curious what Minneapolis and Saint Paul had fot spitting ordinances.   It turns out Saint Paul's is a bit more stringent, banning the floors of many public spaces.   Minneapolis' is constrained to the parks.   Minneapolis does, however, have an ordinance outlining proper conduct in theaters, specifically banning the wearing of hats that interfere unreasonably with another's view or enjoyment.   This has nothing to do with spitting, but I think it's kind of nifty.

Clone Wars

They remodeled our local YMCA a couple of years ago.   Before the remodel, the exercise room was pretty small.   There were a limited number of treadmills and other machines.   Because of this, you had to sign up for a machine on a whiteboard.   You could only sign up for thirty minutes at a time.

Now, the sign-up board started with the five-thirty slot but the Y opened at five.   So, if you got there right when it opened, you could reserve a machine for five-thirty but start using it at five - a little loophole to get around the thirty minute maximum.   This was actually pretty common practice.   We'd all stumble into the Y at five, stop at the board and claim a machine, and then put our stuff in a locker and come back and work out.   It was also common practice that if you saw that a machine was reserved at five-thirty, you stayed off it if it happened to be unoccupied when you entered the room.   The person who reserved it was somewhere in the building and would likely be showing up soon.

Well, one morning I entered the room a little after five and signed up for my favorite treadmill, number five.   I then went to the other end of the room to stretch a little - a perfectly sensible thing to do, really.   I only spent maybe five or ten minutes stretching but when I turned back toward treadmill number five, there was this guy using it.   There he was with his goofy sweatshirt, loping along like an idiot.

Man, was I mad.   I knew I had no legal claim to the treadmill - not until five-thirty.   Still, there was an understanding and he was violating it.   I said nothing.   I just stood there, focusing my anger and disgust his way.   I began inching, ever so slowly toward him, waiting for five-thirty and my chance to boot him.   He left by twenty-five after, robbing me of that opportunity.

In the days after that encounter, I stretched at the treadmill.   And I kept a watch out for the man who had wronged me so.   When I saw him, I would feel a darkness grow inside.   I would focus all that negativity toward him.

One morning I was running and he was on an exercise bike.   I was plodding along, focused on the back of his head, sending my bad vibes his way.   And then, he entered the exercise room.   That's right, as I was staring at him on the exercise bike, he walked into the room.   There were two guys, and while they weren't twins, they were very similar looking and they dressed the same.   Worst of all, I couldn't be certain which one had wronged me.   I wasn't sure what to do.

In the weeks that followed, I made a point of studying these two clones, trying to discern which had unknowingly been so rude to me.   What I learned was that they both seemed like nice enough guys and it was hard to build up any animosity toward either.   Whichever one had used my treadmill had probably just not noticed that it was reserved.   I learned something else as well - focusing all your negative energy on someone while running on a treadmill can be incredibly draining.