Smells Like Paint

Smells like Paint

John wrinkled his nose, sniffing the air.

“What, Kemosabe?” his brother Ray asked.

John raised his eyebrows at the quote, Ray always quoted movies, TV shows whatever, John found it incredibly annoying. “I smell something.”

“Dad fertilized the flower gardens for Mum yesterday, maybe some spilled on the grass?”

“No, it doesn’t smell organic, it smells chemically. We never use chemicals on the plants. Can you smell it?

Ray sniffed the air. “Smells like teen spirit...”

“Ray! I’m serious! There’s a wrong smell here. We better find it.” The two boys walked around sniffing. As they got closer to the barn the smell got stronger. “I smell it now,” Ray said. Then: “Oh crap!!” and he started to run.

“What?”

“It smells like paint! I was painting yesterday, I must not have gotten the cover on tight...’

“Why is that so bad? You can just go shut the can.”

“I put the can up in the loft so Freckles wouldn’t bump it and get paint on himself. You know how Mum loves that dog. But I forgot about the squirrels up there. Maybe they knocked it over, the smell is pretty strong.

The boys both raced into the barn now, looking up. There was the paint can, right at the edge of the loft, overturned, and standing under it was their mare Daisy, covered with green paint.

“Well,” John said, when he heard Ray had started breathing again, “that’s certainly a horse of a different color...”