Holy shit.
While I was getting to it (and I will), the Fonz, who was resting by me out in the cabana, started barking and ran off – before I could stop him. Now, I already had words with him about the neighbor dog – an exhaustive topic of conversation – so, I was taken aback when he ran towards our back door. Barking ensued, and because he stayed so close (and not run up the back of the yard, as was his signature move) I realized something else was happening. I got up and drew back the curtains. The Fonz was confronting a skunk!!! Who had already sprayed him!!! And I can only wish that you had been here to see my reaction. I picked my dog up and started hollerin' HOLY HELL to the skunk. Like a real mad woman, or – rather – a mother, protecting her young. “GET OUT! NOW!!!” I SCREAMED, at the top of my lungs, at this furry rodent, his tail positioned-at-the-ready towards me. He wasn’t budging, and I wasn’t having it. Although the Fonz already REEKED, I wasn’t about to have another demonstration. I told the skunk where to go, and how high to jump getting there, my blood popping through the veins in my neck. I was literally daring him to make another motion towards the Fonz, and now me. My focus never left this skunk’s eye. He skuttered away.
Now, The Stinkiness prevailed. Allow me to interject. I have always loved the smell of skunks. Especially when they are hit, unseen, near the side of a deserted highway. When that glorious aroma wafts in through the cracks of my windows, I'm wide open to receive. Of course that sounds terrible, in lieu of prior tragedy. But as I get a sense of it’s intoxicating smell, I cannot roll both windows down fast enough, breathing in deeply. Call it taste. That smell has always appealed to me... However, the actual fight or flight scent is very different. Not unlike what gasoline would smell liked if it turned sour. And worse than that. It penetrates. Into everything.
Into the shower, I rush us, with the cans of tomato soup, juice & paste (surprisingly, there were many in my cupboard) scrubbing us both down, clothes, shoes, & towels - anything we might have touched. The Fonz shivers under such an unknown solvent. Still, after everything, there’s something in the house that lingers. I’m continually blasted with the smell. No amount of scrubbing floors and cloth will guide me to it’s source. If I am to believe that a single patch of hair carries THIS potency, well then, I have a new-found respect for that creature, the skunk. No wonder that poor cat in the cartoons was always trying to get away. I now understand it. After all these years, only now I get it.
