If you are a regular reader of this blog (and if you’re not, you should be…come on, follow me! J ), then you know that last week Opie and I had a weird nocturnal visitor that he made me aware of with a note that just said
“DON’T LET BUB OUTSIDE. SOMETHING MIGHT BE OUT THERE.”
Which is not a comforting thing to read at 11:00 at night.
But might be a little better than the text I got when Opie discovered the visitor’s identity Friday morning.
By the way, Bub might stink when you get home. I think he got skunked.
‘Poor Bubba,’ I thought. ‘Sprayed by a skunk and probably forced to stay in the washroom all day.’
Until it occurred to me that the whole “forced to stay in the washroom” part was really just an assumption on my part, a foolish thought that no one would let a freshly skunked dog wander around an empty house for hours by himself.
No one, that is, except Opie.
“I had to get to work,” Opie said and then, “Besides, he hates being trapped in the washroom.”
You know what I hate?
Skunk smell all over the house.
But not as much as I hate skunk smell all over THE BED.
Which, by the way, is where poor old stinky, skunked-up Bub apparently slept all day Friday. At least, that’s where he slept when he wasn’t busy rolling around trying to rub skunk-gunk off himself.
But speaking of Bub, you know what he hates?
He hates having a revolting paste of liquid dish soap, baking soda, and vinegar smeared all over his skunked up body—even if it does manage to get the skunk smell from “eye-watering atrocious” to “bearable as long as you don’t get too close.”
He’s also not a big fan of waiting out in the sun, letting the aforementioned mixture congeal all over his body.
I tried to explain to him that I had the worse end of the deal—since I was the one who was squeezing untold amounts of yellow, oily skunk gunk from his fur and GAGGING in the process—but he was unimpressed.
He was also unimpressed with the fact that I had to soak our sheets in a similar mixture then run around a house filled with skunk-stink, turning on fans, roasting coffee grounds, and boiling an equally potent concoction of vinegar, apples, and cinnamon to cut the smell.
Seriously, that dog is so self-involved.
On the other hand, I think it is a testament to my own giving nature that I managed not to punch Opie in the face when he walked in after work and said “Wow, it really smells like vinegar in here” and then advised me that the last time Bub was sprayed by a skunk, he (Opie) fixed everything with a few squirts of Febreze.
I mean, sure, I said “Febreze, really? REALLY?!” in loud, insulting tones about ten times, but I didn’t get physically violent, that’s what counts here.
It is interesting to note that at the time of this writing, Opie still maintains that Febreze would have done the trick and that I have no proof to the contrary. My response to this is profane in nature and involves suggestions that aren’t all anatomically possible.
It is also interesting to note that, when I left for school this morning, I got another strong whiff of skunk in the yard and am pretty sure that the skunk has decided to make his home in our neighborhood. I suspect this won’t be the last you all hear of dog and skunk entanglements…though, it better be the last you hear of Febreze.