Darcy's Day

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.

I hope.

Fan-freakin'-tastic.

I had about an inch and a bit of ribbing done with the Malabrigo Worsted (about to be a pretty hat) when Mom asked me to take Darcy, our dog, for her night walk

We always walk Darcy to the tulip tree at the end of our property and back, so she can have the opportunity to handle any pressing business before we all go to sleep. The familiarity of this routine has caused me to need no flashlight as I walk across the property, I know where all the branches are. It has also led to the development of a little song I sing to her, or myself, as we walk.

And because I have no shame (think the Andrews Sisters):

Don't go sniffing the tulip tree
With anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me.
Don't go sniffing the tulip tree
With anyone else but me,
Til we go romping home.

Believe it or not, there are several other verses.

Well, Darcy likes to run ahead, explore the area by the river, then come back to me and walk up to the house. Tonight I called her at the tulip tree, and she didn't come. It was unusual, but I just walked up to the house.

Then I heard a funny noise. Again, this is not unusual. Darcy sometimes freaks out possum, the occasional raccoon, large herons that make sounds that convince you someone has just been stabbed, mice, chipmunks, squirrels, and other animals. She likes to run up and bump them with her nose, as if to herd them. We are used to it. She herds me every day. Apparently I belong in the front room by the gas fireplace.

I got to the top of our little hill and saw Darcy rolling in the snow. It took a moment for me to realize something was wrong, she kept rubbing her face with her paws. She loves a good roll, but the face rub was weird.

Ladies and gentlemen, my dog had been skunked.

This is a first for us, and we have lived here for 22 years, almost always with pets. Most of them have run around outdoors almost freely, as there is no one around us for miles and the people near enough to notice wouldn't care.

Not only had Darcy been hit with the spray, she was hit full in the face, in her eyes, mouth, nose...you get the picture. It was like doggie mace, and it was unpleasant. We spent the last hour and a half calling vets and scrubbing her and searching the net for help. Now my poor girl is asleep in the basement; she cannot come upstairs because she--well, you know. It is not as bad as it was, but it is still aromatic, pungent, obscene (if odors could be that, this certainly is).

Strangely, it does not smell the same as when someone hits a skunk with their car. Still very nasty, but different. And not the worst scent in the world. That was when Darcy rolled in the spill from when we had the septic tank pumped. Then she came tearing into the house as my brother, who had opened the door, looked on in horror.

It took a lot of cleaning to fix that.

So guess how I'll be spending tomorrow? Poor pup!