When I woke up, I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed my Crabtree and Evelyn Rosewater Room Spray. I then sprayed my room repeatedly with the hope that it would defeat the growing scent of Dog V. Skunk.
Although there was nothing in my house that had been touched by the skunk spray, it did not matter. The scrubbing of my poor dog, which had taken place in our basement, was enough. We couldn't wash Darcy outside because it was below freezing, dark, and there was no way we could carry enough water outside to make it happen.
Darcy had two baths last night, enough to keep the stench from killing us. Then she slept in the basement for the first time in her puppy life. When Dad woke up, she was crying down there. Mom took her outside for a bit, then started on the baths again. She had a "shower" which consisted of Mom, fully clothed, holding her up and letting the water rinse away all the doggie shampoo.
Poor Darcy still smelled a bit after all that. You had to lean in and smell her fur up close, but there it was: Skunk. So I grabbed some money and drove in to Wabash's local pet store with the intention of buying the best De-Skunker they had. As I did this, Dad called me.
Dad likes to call me when something is going wrong for him that is out of my control with the implication that I should fix this wrong thing though I cannot and will never be able to, at all, ever. Today he called because he had noticed he smelled a bit like a skunk. He wanted to tell me that I did, too, even though I was miles away from him and he had not smelled me. Even if he was right (How could I tell? The scent was on me!), you do not call a girl just to tell her she smells. That is what you call a no-go. If you want the girl to stay happy, to like you, and not to secretly (or vocally, in my case) wish you were dead. You, as a guy, ought to tell the girl that, though the skunk smell is a setback to the world as a whole, she is still lovely, smart, kind, and you are filled with joy that she has devoted the last day and night to correcting the problem.
You should not call someone on the phone, tell them they stink, and that you do and you've just finished telling all your friends about it. You also should not call the person later to find out what they have done about the problem, unless you also are working endlessly to combat the stink.
Instead of going to get food, I decided to keep myself sequestered from the general population. Just in case Dad, miles away, had been right about the aroma issue. Curse him. I bought the Skunk Stuff, then drove back home. Then I cried, because I am a girl who was called by a guy and told that she smelled. And, let's face it, that wasn't very nice.
By the time I got home, I was mad at Dad for being a mean, vicious, smell-accuser. Punk. So I scrubbed my dog with De-Skunker and ended the skunk's reign of terror.
Meanwhile, the house didn't smell like Dad was saying it did. Nope. And Darcy was cured.
Before I go to sleep tonight, I have to wash her one last time, to get the De-Skunker out of her fur. Then, life can go back to normal.