Friday is always the most exhausting night of the week. Even though Saturdays are filled with soccer, grocery shopping and farm chores, Friday nights are when the frenetic pace of the week hits me like a ton of bricks. The fact that I could look forward to three days of sleeping past 5:30am made this Friday fatigue even more severe.
When I arrived home Friday afternoon, the dogs were in the house and the Husband was outside finishing the first coat of stain on the back deck in anticipation of the long, cold, wet winter. Since there was a no pooches allowed rule until the floor dried, Prince and I brought the dogs outside on their leashes for a wee.
These are not well behaved dogs on a good day, but add a leash to the mix and you might as well tie them to a sled and enter the Iditarod. They jumped and pulled and panted their way into the backyard. Athena got down to business pretty quickly because she wanted to go back in and curl up on her pillow. Pepper did the semi-squat about a dozen times but was always distracted by a sound or the sight of Athena mocking him from the back door. The sun was setting and the futility of my endeavor was apparent so we headed inside.
Dinner was made. Laundry was started and I was all set to fall asleep while watching, "The Million Dollar Arm." The dogs came down and were wiggling and whining to go out. Since the deck was for the most part dry I decided to release the hounds. I called to them about five minutes later but they were nowhere to be found. Hmm. Unusual. I started shaking the food bowls. Still no sign. A few pieces of food sprinkled in their bowls and they came barreling up the stairs. I opened the door and was assaulted with the most noxious aroma. It was pine tar, raw onions and fresh asphalt all rolled into one: Skunk.
I had laughed with a woman from swim lessons who told a story about getting sprayed while trying to get her dog out from under the porch one night. Her tale had that amusing, "In retrospect it wasn't so bad" air that is usually reserved for stories women tell about giving birth the first time. Getting sprayed by a skunk is bad. It is awful. I sobbed. At least when you give birth you get a cute baby out of it.
I filled the tub and collected every soapy substance I could find in the bathroom. Prince held one dog as I scrubbed the other. Every towel in the house was wet and stinky, as was I. The stench was merely masked by the perfumes in the shampoos. I was convinced my olfactory receptors would be forever stuck in skunk mode.
I dragged myself upstairs. Sniffling past the living room, my swollen eyes caught sight of the end credits of the movie.
It is actually pretty amazing that this was the first time the dogs had been sprayed. Since the incident with the chicken killing skunk a couple of months ago, the husband has trapped no fewer than a dozen. He drives them ten miles away and releases them where they probably become someone else's problem. It was starting to seem like some sort of skunk civil disobedience in response to the shooting of one of their own: Occupy the Farmette.
Putting the chickens in at night has become a real challenge. For the most part our occupiers have taken a non-violent approach to their mission. They just like to hang out by the chicken coop munching on whatever leftover feed is scattered on the ground. Oh, and don't try to scare a skunk. It doesn't work. It just pisses them off and they go into spray position.
One night when Prince went out to close up the chickens, he came rushing back to the house because there was a skunk holding vigil by the door to the chicken house. The husband was away so I grabbed the BB gun. The other two boys were not going to be left out of the adventure so I held them back and instructed Prince to shoot at the skunk and not the cats who somehow always avoid getting sprayed. The first shot got his attention. The second shot made him charge. The four of us went running and screaming into the house. I then had Prince cover me (I watch way too many cop shows) as I jumped into my car and flicked on the high beams and honked the horn wildly to scare him away. It worked and the chickens were closed in safely.
Last weekend I watched one saunter out of the barn at dawn after enjoying a cat food breakfast. I called for the husband who grabbed the shotgun and headed out in his boxers and muck boots. Stinky had taken off. War was declared.
James Dean and I pulled into the driveway the other night after play rehearsal. I scanned the area for glowing eyes before I turned off the headlights. All clear. The lights were off downstairs in the house. As we walked toward the front door I heard a whisper, "Do you smell skunk?" I looked toward the house and saw the Husband's silhouette in the dining room window holding his gun.
Earlier in the evening the Husband had found one skunk in the barn eating the cat food. He took aim just as another came from the direction of the chicken coop. He shot the one coming toward him as the unfazed cat food thief continued munching.
Knowing there was a skunk around, I made sure Pepper was wearing his perimeter collar when he went out to pee that night. He came back a few minutes later with his head low and his tail between his legs. This time he had been sprayed right in the face. I took a deep breath, grabbed the hydrogen peroxide, dish soap, baking soda and gallon jug of vinegar and headed outside. I learned after the first spraying that a solution of hydrogen peroxide, baking soda and dish soap helps to get rid of the oily skunk spray.
I added the baking soda and soap to the big bottle of peroxide and dumped it all over the dog. I lathered him up and sprinkled more baking soda over him and poured the vinegar on. The science experiment bubbled all over his back. His body seemed to be clear of the stench, but his face reeked. I wiped it as best I could with the solution without getting it in his eyes.
After showering and starting another load of skunky laundry, I lit incense and broke out the Yankee Candles I had won at a raffle. I have a new angle for the kids who sell Yankee Candles for school fundraisers: "For use in homes with dumb ass dogs who keep getting sprayed by skunks." They will make a fortune.
Four days later, Pepper's face still stinks and the husband has reverted back to trapping and relocating the skunks. Cleaning up a dead skunk is way more work than the Have-A-Heart method. Last night he set a trap in the barn with a bowl of cat food as bait. This morning the food was gone but there was nothing in the trap. Touché Pepe le Pew. Game on.
No comments:
Post a Comment