You know those uncomfortable moments when you just know something bad has happened, but you see no evidence.
Last night I took some garbage to the street and let my dog go with me. As we headed out the front door, Buddy (our all too cliche-ly named Golden Retriever) ran around to the garbage cans on the side of the house at breakneck speed. After a little banging of cans, I called for Buddy, but he did not immediately return like all good Goldens do. When he came from the shadows, I saw a frightened dog seemingly trying to finish off something he was eating. Then I had the terrible revelation that he was trying to get a bad taste out of his mouth. You know. That "I can't believe that something so bad could be in my mouth" look complete with lip smacking and spitting and spewing. He hadn't eaten anything; he had tried to bite a skunk and got a big dose of skunk smell right in his mouth.
In less than two minutes, I had called for my wife to join me and Buddy in the upstairs bathroom. Paula came from the basement but figured out the problem long before she made it to the top floor. I traded with her and ran to the pantry to get the tomato juice. (This is one of those times that you want the old wive's tale version of life to work out.) After tomato bathing, shampooing, conditioning, drying, and pampering, our wonderful Golden seemed to be no worse for wear. Although he was a little upset that we wouldn't let him go back out and defend his honor. With the whole thing in the rear view mirror, the only hold over is the smell on my hands as I type this blogpost.
Skunkmageddon is not really that big of a deal, but how two people who have been together for 25 years can seamlessly work together to tackle any and all problems is a huge deal. In a strange way, the whole experience was really kind of nice (not the smell of course). We rose to the challenge and slayed the dragon. We demonstrated our effectiveness together. We came. We smelled. We conquered.
Weird, I know.
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