I was unfortunate enough to have contracted giardia, more commonly known as 'Beaver Fever', as these aquatic rodents contribute to its spread, as do the birds who frequent their ponds.

I had taken a drink from a fast flowing river which i had mistakenly thought was free of the parasites...oops.

Giardia involves much cramping, loose stool and malodorous miasmic but especially malicious farts.

A former student had tried to inform me that in a Cantonese dialect 'fart' or 'bom-pi' can be translated to 'trouser ghost'.

That made sense to me because during a sleep over at a friend's country home, two days after my initial interaction with giardia, the woman of my dreams 'Cherie' was curled up across the spacious living room in her own sleeping bag.

At the time, I only had some cramping, which I put down to the dinner.

She smiled at me and asked if I'd like 'just a cuddle mind you, nothing more."

I was up in a flash or something like that because the damn zipper on my sleeping bag was stuck, forcing me to strain and finally kick the damn thing free of my legs.

Just as I stood up there came a long sustained howl from my nether regions...a 'call of the wild' if you will.

I had never heard such a thing. I pretended it came from outside and turned in that direction, making sure to kick the bench to create a 'creaking' sound.

Then I looked back into the startled eyes of my cuddle partner, just as another long winded clarion call awoke the dogs outside and started them barking.

I heard my hosts upstairs begin to argue over who would quiet the 'f-ing' dogs down.

"They are your lawn fouling dogs...you wanted them. You tell them to shut the fuck up. "

I pointed upstairs, shoulder shrugged and was about to say something when, as it almost always is with things done in triplicate, a sound not unlike the horn section of a grade 5 band class clearing their lead mouthpieces, erupted once again.

Only there was no maestro's baton to 'tap-tap-tap' quiet the class down, not that it would have helped, as my legion of trouser ghosts were about to haunt the whole room, if not the house.

My cuddle partner pulled her sleeping bag right up to her widening eyes just as the wall of shame hit her olfactory senses with a level 10 intensity tsunami of scent.

She started to cough. Shaking her head. And then while barely able to articulate her 'Oh my God', she pulled the bag over her head.

Her whimper was drowned out by the 'thump thump thump' of my host angrily descending the stairs.

And so I was unable to warn him before he opened the door to walk through his living room to get at his dogs...who were of course still barking.

He had created a draft and so it hit him hard.

His eyes watering, he looked at me at he tried to gain strength by locking on to the door frame with both hands.

I put my finger to my mouth and pointed at my cuddle partner...clearly indicating the guilty party while I motioned myself out to the kitchen, indicating that I would quieten down the beasts...after all, I had just the thing.

Denouement:

As my father once told me, 'You never get a second chance to make a good first impression.'

Alas, I knew that I had to drive myself to the nearest clinic, hours away, and so since I had already packed up my gear, I left a note on the kitchen table thanking all for understanding my need for medical attention, and that once their dogs regained consciousness, they would be able to track me should I get lost.

I left a P.S. that I would pick up my sleeping bag on my next trip.

As to 'Cherie'...she's happily married with three children and I'd like to think that I gave her the training to deal with all those diapers.