There are days when I miss living in the country. And then there are days when this happens.

Me:  Hey, Dad!  What are you doing?

Dad:  Oh, I'm trekking up the hill to go bury the deer.

Me: ......I'm sorry, to bury what deer, exactly?

Dad:  Didn't I tell you?  A deer got under the porch at the cabin and died, and now it's stinking up the whole neighborhood, so I've gotta go do something about it.

Me:  No, you somehow failed to mention that tidbit.

Dad:  Oh, yeah, it's pretty gruesome.  I was able to pull it out from under the porch and toss it down the hill, but now the stink's so bad, I've got to bury it.

Me:  Wait, you pulled it out and rolled it down the hill???  Have some respect for the departed, Dad.

Dad:  Well, you know, it's so far gone now that I wasn't able to tell what happened to it.  I'm not sure if it was shot, or just got sick, or what, but the maggots have gotten hold of it, and now it's just a big, festering, gelatinous--

Me:  I'M HANGING UP THE PHONE NOW DAD, PLEASE GOD DON'T EVER SPEAK ABOUT THIS AGAIN.

Dad:  (chuckling)  Okay, hon, talk to you soon!  Let me know how--

And then all communication ended because I could no longer listen to the voice that had just left me with that mental image.