Fast Action Beginning to Sleepy Sunday Morning

A RAPID BEGINNING TO A SUNDAY MORNING

Early this morning – around 5 – Dale gets up to go to his part time retirement job at the local golf course. Nevada and I hunker down for some more snoozing. Dale commences his usual routine, which includes opening the door for the dog, which has a large curtain hanging on the frame that serves as our version of a doggie door. A few minutes later, after much stretching and moaning about the early hour, Nevada slithers off the bed and yawning and grumbling, heads outside for her early morning constitutional.

Seconds later she comes torpedoing back through the curtain like the hounds of hell were on her heels. With this dramatic entrance she brings with her the stench of skunk and the doggie door curtain. Dale is racing around trying to catch her. Anyone that knows Dale knows that his only speed is “very slow and relaxed”. When he speeds up it means something drastic has blasted him out of his usual aplomb. Hearing Dale moving frantically about the house, hollering for Nevada ( he never hollers either ) brings my eyes wide open and all senses on full alert. I catch a whiff, discover Nevada hurtling for the bed, door curtain still in place, making her resemble something out of a Halloween Horror Show, and I leap out of her way, tripping and stumbling over the bed clothes. After rather rapidly assessing the situation, I take off after Nevada and she now has two of us chasing her down – me in my nighty and Dale is his – uh, well, skivvies – we finally manage to corner her and toss her out on the deck.

A few seconds later I hear her panicking, screaming and scrabbling, at the door and head out to give her a piece of my mind. Before I could open my mouth, I am face to face with little Mr. Stinky. I am not quite sure who was more surprised – Nevada, Mr. Stinky or Me. I make a quick snatch for the door and Nevada and I take a nose dive to safety pulling the door shut behind us. Before I could grab Nevada she races to the living room and rolls on the chesterfield, then evading my desperately grasping hands, gives the area rug the same treatment. Tripping and stumbling, I chase her through the house, with Dale hot on my heels. She beats us to the bed and has another good roll there before Dale gets his hands on her. She is carried in a very undignified manner to the bathroom and the door is slammed securely in her face. Dale and I look at each other and the air turns blue with our cussing. Dale heads off to get his breakfast. I head off to mix the de-skunking solution, only to find that I am flat out of peroxide. I make do with dish detergent, baking soda and water. I fight my way into the bathroom which now is absolutely unbearable with eau de skunk. I quickly turn on the fans and open the window. Nevada gets tossed unceremoniously into the tub, doused with my concoction and told very firmly to “stay put or else”. Nevada, for those that don’t know her, is a terrible weeny and she hates baths – particularly when it happens so abruptly. She has her legs spread and braced in every which direction. One foreleg is between and behind her hind legs. One hind leg shoved forward to the front of the tub and between her forelegs, to keep herself from sliding forward. The other two legs are anywhere she can find a bit of traction for them. She shivers and shakes, pulls her limp noodle routine, and basically acts like she is being murdered. I get her bathed, dried, the bathroom cleaned up and stripped of anything that may carry the rancid odour. I do the same to the bedroom. And head to the laundry room. Dale happily leaves me to it and deserts me for the golf course. After a bit the smell outside dies down so I begin opening windows. Soon the smell begins to dissipate. And I think “ah – not so bad after all”. Not a direct hit but a spray in Nevada’s general vicinity.

I think things are finally getting better and my son and Grandson walk in. The immediate look of horror on their faces and the grabs for the nose tell me that “no” the smell is still there, I have just become accustomed to it. The two of them do an about face and march straight back out the door, out the gate to the truck and drive away. Halfway home they call me. The hoodie that Caleb had left here the day before and which I had tossed to them on their march to the truck had assumed the vile odour and my son was driving home with it hanging out the window.

So currently, 5 hours later, Nevada is relegated to the floor – no soft surfaces for her till her smell improves. My washing machine is chugging away trying to dislodge the odour from my bedding and towels. Dale has not yet dared come home. I can guarantee he is taking his time with the greens this morning.

I cannot be sure that Mr. Stinky has vacated the yard. It is very securely fenced with only one place where he can get in or out. I left the gate open till daylight hoping to give him another means of escape. My yard is a cottage garden full of shrubs, masses of perennials, deep glades of towering trees and tall decorative grasses everywhere. He has a million hiding places if he hasn’t left the yard.

Nevada will be under very close surveillance for the next few days till we know we have the yard to ourselves again.

Now if I could just find a pleasant smelling spot to have a snooze I’d be all set.