TX- Big Stink

My poor dog, X. He got sick.
Maybe he ate something at the park. Like a twig. Maybe he got too close the the diaper pail. But he got sick.
My poor dog, E. She is so sweet. She empathizes. When X gets sick, why, bless her little heart, E gets sick too.
Luckily, this has happened before, and I know the warning signs. X, standing like a pointer at the back door with his elbow (knee?) aimed at the exit, and E arching her back like a modern dancer, got them a quick trip out back, even if it was past their bedtimes.
I left them to sort themselves out, while my mom and I continued with a serious decorating project.

C: "yes, that will be perfect! Lets move it to the living room."
Mom: "great! I'll ge.....(sniff)....(sniff sniff). Do you smell that?"
C: (sniff) yes! Eew!
Mom: Smells like a skunk!
C: Eww! haha! It does. (sniff)... Definitely.
Mom: (sniff) Oh my. Yes it is a skunk....wow that smell is strong...
C: Gak! Wheeze! Ahaarrg!
Mom: Yes, it must be in the back yard. ....where..... (Both of us suddenly freeze, open our eyes really big, and stare at each other in horror) ....where your dogs are.

I bolted to the back door, the smell getting more toxic with every step. When I opened it, a billow of noxious poison steamrolled into the kitchen. Oh yes. Thank you Texas. The biggest stink I have ever experienced. And I once fed my child cabbage, broccoli, and lentils in the same meal.
Here is a little known and rarely believed fact about me, Peanuts. But it is an actual fact. I am a great, or at least pretty good, outdoorswoman. Quit yer cackling! I am! Among my many naturey talents, I am a modestly capable tracker. I said shut it with the laughter! My father handed down to me a goody bag of stuff, like wrinkly indian skin and the ability to hold on to my side of an argument, whether or not I'm right, like a gila monster to its prey. He also taught me a thing or two about animal footprints.
Now my mother, curiously concerned with our eminent deaths by asphyxiation, cut my forensic research rather short. But here is what I learned from my foray into the fumes with a flashlight:

There was a skunk.
It was minding its business. Some idiot let out some dogs into it's habitat.
The dogs chased the skunk. The skunk ran. The dogs were faster.
They were mightily close to skunk and his stripey tail.
So skunk turned to his left, dug in his nail (this is what they do. If you ever see a skunk dig in his front nail, run, or at least duck), aimed, and fired.
The dogs came to an abrupt. stop. And backed off. E (in her classic style) ran her pansy arse to the back door (which I found her pressed against whimpering).
Skunk ran past the dogs, to the far corner of the yard, where X (in classic style) pursued him and was courageously trying to dig him out of the skunk hole he lives in when I opened the door. Which explains why X came running from the back of the yard when I called him, a strange place for him to be, I thought at the time. And why he hadn't had time to paw the skunk juice off of his forehead.

Peanuts I learned something new about skunks. Maybe I'll teach my dad. Skunk spray is not really the most descriptive term. I had always imagined it to be like a mist of some sort. Like a little stinky puff. Like hair-spray or breath-spray. It is not a mist. It is a gel. If you look really closely at this mug shot:

You can see a nice thick gel of nastiness glistening across X's face. And shoulders. It also ran all the way down the side of E, as her pansy arse was running away. Stabbed in the back! These two looked miserable. They must've been. They can small chocolate, in a container, from two floors away! So as bad as the skunk foul smelled to me (SO BAD, peanuts) it must have been truly overwhelming for them.

Good thing for Little One and Her tear-free shampoo, because poor X had a good dose of it on his face that night. I did an awful lot of rinse, lather, and repeating. Mom contributed by sleuthing the internet, and per its suggestions, the dogs also got bathed in tomatoes (it is hard to bathe something while it is trying continuously to eat the 'soap') and in mouthwash (who knew?). And had a post-stink slumber party in the garage. Poor babies.

Poor skunk! I tried to convince mom to let "Flower" continue to reside under the tree in her backyard. I mean, it hasn't bothered anyone until now, and it was sort of forced. If I was chased by two thugs in the middle of the night, I'd mace 'em too. But the Big Stink was too much for mom to bear. She hired some people to come set a live trap for it the next day.


So far, we have caught a grey tabby cat.