I was sitting at my usual window table in an Oregon Tavern Age (OTA) joint. I was alternating between drinking a beer and writing a Western with a mask on.
A big pickup truck pulled up in front of the window and parked. Its bed was loaded with a king size mattress, box spring and mattress topper. A crazy white mutt was in the passenger seat barking at the sidewalk.
Seconds later, a large OTA man walked in the joint. He’s a jovial regular and ordered his usual and then raised his voice and asked, “Does anyone want a mattress? I’ve got a king out in the truck.”
He went to tell the story of how the previous night his dog had mixed it up with a skunk late at night, got skunked (for the fifth time) then bolted back inside the doggie door and jumped into bed with the man and his wife. The bed and the bedding were ruined right there.
So the whole stinking mess was going to the dump as soon as he drained a few beers. He and wife were sleeping in the camper until the new bed arrived. As for the mutt, well he got doused with all sorts of hokum cleanup solutions be he still reeked.
No one wanted the bed.