What lies beneath

Today I was digging a hole to plant a potted rhododendron in the back yard. The yard, it is said, was part of an old Victorian dump back in the day, and this would appear to be borne out by the amount of dated garbage I dig up every time I even scrape the surface.

This time, I hit what appeared to be an old plastic bag. Things got stranger when I saw that there was knitted material inside that plastic bag. Things got stranger yet when I poked the material with the shovel and found there was something hard inside that knitted material.

Now, I grew up in the pacific northwest at the time of Clifford Olsen and the Green River killer, and I've seen my share serial-killer TV shows, so -- while I knew the odds were against it -- I did immediately think that it was possible that this may be a foot in a sock, or an infant cranium. Meanwhile, Ben -- who was "helping" me dig the hole -- started whacking at the hard thing with a trowel, saying "Oh, a mitten! Look Patrick, a mitten!" I could feel the very beginnings of a panic onset.

I decided to do what any stiff-lipped, steely hombre would do; I went and got G., who just happens to have a passing professional interest in forensics, bodies, and The Gruesome in general. She looked at it, and said "oh", and after a minute of discussion I decided "we should see what it is". I also decided that she should be the one to check.

G carefully unwrapped the still-half buried fabric and -- sure enough -- it was a skull, probably of a small dog.

"Oh, good," said G. "It's not human" and walked away.

I filled in the hole, moved over a few feet, dug a new hole, and planted the bush there.

Rest in Peace, friend.