Armadillon

If you are a squeamy sort, don't read or look further because this is one of my adventures. I went outside yesterday and suspected foul play based on the scent of danger that was coming from the side yard. The temperature was hovering around 100. Following my Inspector Clouseau nose, and stepping delicately to the tune of the Pink Panther, I approached what appeared to be a dead prehistoric creature. Imagine, in my yard, a species from time forgotten. The smell was atrocious up close. I decided to get my camera as it wasn't everyday that a connection to the land of dinosaurs washes up in my domain. Alas, it wasn't anything more than that damned armadillo that has dug up huge mounds of dirt around my yard. He had finally met his match in the mighty Rebel.
Rebel just circled it once then did the strangest thing. I guess that he decided that the slain enemy still presented some danger to me. He wouldn't let me near.

I really needed to get the varmit and its sparkling entrails into a bucket and moved somewhere closer to armadillo heaven. By this time, sweat was dripping off my nose like a shower of blessing on the dead species. My hands were slippery, Rebel is barking like a manic cartoon character, and the smell is getting real close to vomit level. But how often will I get to capture upclose shots of guts and more importantly, I assume, maggots?
I could have taken my specialty which are real up close shots like bee's butts, but I wasn't for sure which end was which on a maggot so holding my camera in one hand and my t-shirt pulled up over my nose with the other, I did the best that I could. The problem with holding your nose is that you have to breathe through your mouth- a somewhat difficult task with Rebel jumping up in my face. The sweat was stinging my eyes and now I had a bucket full of dead armadillo, an insane dog, a bewildered pregnant dog, 3 cats and my shirt pulled up revealing my Macy's lacy bra when I heard an ominous sound. Roaring through the fence were my father-in-law's 2 black lab mixed dogs. Rebel decided that he would protect his kill and jumped for the bucket. Down we went, bucket, maggots, guts and all. Then I got squeamy. The minute that the slimy innards hit my hand and clothes, I screamed. Did not vomit. Big plus if I'm ever to get a job with CSI.
I'm now minus 1 t-shirt, 1 pair of shorts, 1 lacy (brand new) bra, and 1 green bucket.