My poor husband was far from perky last night, so I took the last dog duty of the day. Einstein was pretty pooped, change that to tired, so I was encouraging him to hurry up and “do his duty”. The weather was fine, and many neighbors were giving their electric bill a break by opening up their windows.
We had only gone a few houses when Einstein ventured into the grass. His best buddy lived at this property, so Einstein always left his mark to tell his pal he had stopped by the house. My dog was approximately two feet from me when I saw him pounce. This is his way to invite a friend to dance. That sounds charming, but his new friend didn’t like the idea. It didn’t take me long to find out his dance partner-to-be was a skunk.
Yep! You figured it out! Einstein got sprayed. I must pause here to explain a strong character trait of my little pooch. One of the reasons he was named Einstein was his investigative skills when he heard, saw or smelled something unknown. His little head would quickly swivel to survey the area and determine the cause of this disturbance. Mind you, our first dog would run and hide in the bathtub when he heard any noise new to him. Einstein instead sits on top of the vacuum and enjoys the joy ride. The smell of any body lotion or shampoo sends him into a tizzy. He’ll roll and bark and roll some more. Anything cooking on the stove gets him sniffing away and immediately settled behind your heels. Now return to the beginning of this paragraph.
This is not the ideal dog for a spray. He practically rolled the entire way to our home. Thank goodness we were only three houses away. I left him on the back stoop as I went inside in search of tomato juice and help from a husband. Bob had been sleeping on the couch. He doesn’t wake up very easily, particularly in the evening. Meanwhile, Einstein was barking away, I stunk and my body was reminding me that I’m diagnosed with fibromyalgia. Strong odors also quickly bring on a migraine and vertigo. I soon stood alone on our poorly lit back porch with a large bowl, tomato sauce and a whimpering dog (or what resembled six whinpering dogs since the vertigo was in action.)
Bob has our hose hooked up with 356 devices so it more closely reflects his testosterone level. You have to flick this and pull that before any water comes near the faucet. There I attempted to stand clad in old shorts and a T-shirt next to a crazy and confused dog. I didn’t have tomato juice, but I was praying that watered down tomato sauce would work. I did my best to wash Einstein down. Bob soon appeared in time to try to hold Einstein in one spot and provide me with suggestions. We needed to now go to stage seven and shampoo our unhappy pet upstairs in the spare bathroom. Bob felt it best for me to carry up this whining and wiggling monstsrosity.
At that time, I was sure those hidden cameras were getting fantastic pictures. Einstein does not like to be carried. He was wet, pink and confused. His dignity was now questionable. I merely needed to wrap him in a towel, lift him, open the doors to go through the house and then carry him up a flight of stairs. My body was reeling, my head was pounding and my dog was not happy.
I somehow managed to get upstairs without killing the dog or myself. I got all the things Bob would need to bathe him and changed out of my wet clothes. I had already replaced my smelly clothes from our earlier walk. By now, I wasn’t trying for any stylish points. When Bob made it up, I headed to the store to purchase hydrogen peroxide, the recommended solution to rid skunk sprays. The caring cashier also ran for Dawn, apparently the best dishwashing solution for such incidents. I dashed home and deposited the treasured bag next to Bob.
Needless to say, Einstein did not sleep with us. We put a slightly damp dog with minimal pink fur in his cage while wishing him happy dreams. I tossed in a pig ear to hopefully amuse him and provide us with some escape time before the barking would begin.
At 7:00, I was on the phone to beg our groomer for help. She agreed to bathe our dog, the fifth canine in three days to encounter skunks. She luckily took him in but warned me that he better not get wet in the coming months. Water apparently brings back the distinct smell even stronger than the initial odor. It stays in the pores for at least two to three months. We will therefore be using umbrellas and dog galoshes anytime there is a dark cloud in the sky.
Later that morning, I found out that our neighbors are more cognizant of smells than fire engines blaring in the night. My two-year-old buddy next door awoke to a bad smell and called for his mom. (Why is it that kids so often call for moms instead of dads late in the night?) His mom got bombarded with the smell as soon as she opened the door. After closing all the windows, Dean got to sleep with his folks.
The woman across the street came to question us about the nighttime surprise. She got up to shut the window and feared that skunks were once again residing by her garbage cans. Wiggling her husband to ask his opinion, he mumbled that it must be those crazy neighbors across the street. I guess we now have an image to live up to.
I realize that this post is starting to grow slightly longer than usual, but I’m dreading the conclusion. When I’ve posted my latest escapade, it’s time to take Einstein for a stroll. I think we will go in the opposite direction.
God Uses Chronic Pain to Prove Life is Good:
- These crazy escapades are increasing our chat time with the neighbors. Fellowship is delightful, and life is good.
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