The word for the day, children, is "Stinky." Stinky is the theme, the trope, the motif if you will. Yesterday, driving east into town to get groceries I passed three enormous tankers hauling liquid cow manure. A second later, I hit the wall of smell that those tankers were laying down. Oh my dear lord. Rolling up the windows did no good. An entity, a Presence, a Juggernaut of a smell. Acres and acres, glistening with dark brown malodorous wetness. The speed limit in that section is 35 mph. Nobody was doing less than 80.
Fortunately, the wind stayed out of the west so we were spared the worst of it at my house, although there was a certain "whiff" in the air early this morning. 
Figuring since we're already stinky, might as well get out the deer repellent and spray the hostas, stumpery, etc. That stuff smells bad, but the odor fades pretty quickly. Unless of course you put on the backpack sprayer and then bend Waaaayyy Over so that about a pint of it squirts out the top and into your hair, shirt, down your back, and all over your neck. Then the stinky sort of lives with you until you shower. 
But there were those cookies that my friend dropped off yesterday, leftovers from a wedding reception. Mmmmmm. Sugar cookies. Except somebody had obviously had them too close to a scented candle or potpourri and the first bite tasted like wonderfully expensive soap. 
The chickens got them.
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