In all my years of dog ownership, I have not had to deal with skunk. Porcupines, yes, and that was stressful enough, for me, the dogs, and I guess the porcupine. Skunk, however, brings a different set of challenges. It happened Friday night: John and I were settled in front of the TV, the kids were out, when I got up to let the dogs in from the back garden. I immediately noticed a strong chemical smell, like burning rubber. I assumed it was coming from outside, and John and I wandered around the yard, wondering if it was some kind of gas leak, while the culprit (Due, of course) ran around INSIDE rubbing himself against the furniture. John decided to take a walk around the neighborhood to see if the smell was wafting around anywhere else, and opted (this is the really funny part) to take the dogs with him. He left, and the smell, of course, lessened. Upon his return, he reported that the smell was out there, but only coming in whiffs. Due was now foaming a bit at the mouth, and rolling around on the carpet, but we took no notice.


Now the smell was strong enough for me to suspect that the gas leak was coming from inside the house. I called 311, the city’s information line, to get some advice. At this point, Due had travelled though the house, and was waving a sign that read ‘SKUNK! SKUNK! I WAS ATTACKED BY A SKUNK!”  but we paid him no mind. The city informed me that no, there was no gas leak. Due was now Google imaging “skunk” and barking at the results. We finally got the message, the message being more tomato juice and less merlot.


John took both dogs to the shower, even though Asta, as usual, was blameless. She always LOOKS guilty, though, so why not. We had no tomato juice, and for some reason I didn’t think to use Clamato, as that is usually reserved for Sunday Caesars.  He washed Due three times, once with a paste of baking soda, dish detergent, and hydrogen peroxide, which seemed to do the trick. Had we added some vinegar, he would have erupted like a little canine volcano. The dogs are fine now, but the house, of course, smells like fermented cabbage.

This is why we can’t have nice things.
This is why we can’t have nice things.


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