A bullet, or a bath?

[PennsyPlinker]

I am not one to believe in superstition, but when things happen on days like today, it is hard to gainsay the naysayers.

I had just arrived at church this morning for our weekly 6:00 AM men's meeting. As we were all sitting down and preparing to start, my phone rang. Now I don't know about you all, but when my phone rings at 6:00 AM, it is hardly ever good news. And when I saw that the caller was "Home", I knew it was trouble. I even had a dread inkling of what it probably was...

It was Mrs. Plinker on the phone.

"Jester got skunked."

That was it - the whole story in three words. Jester is our mixed breed malinois (we think). He is a rescue dog, coming up on two years old, who we have had since last July, when poor old Bubba, our golden/lab mix went on to his final reward. He has caused us considerable heartache for a number of reasons, although he is at heart a lovable dog.

Monday through Thursday Mrs. Plinker leaves the house at 6:00 AM for work. She puts Jester, and our small backup dog Rowdy, outside. Rowdy is usually ready to come in before she leaves, but Jester has two acres of invisible fence in which to patrol. His barking and carrying on usually get me out of bed no later than 6:15 AM. On Fridays we have role reversal when I leave early for our men's meeting.

Yesterday we narrowly avoided the skunk. I awoke to the smell so strong I thought he was walking around on top of the covers. My first thought was of the dog, and I ran down to get him in (hopefully) before it was too late. I was successful, and we chalked it up to an animal passing by at some distance. We had some pretty powerful wind, so I was thinking positively. A lot of good that did.

So this morning I let him out, whereupon he scampered off barking into the darkness, going after birds, squirrels, the neighbor's cats, whatever. It was that "whatever" that proved to be his doom. He ran up to say goodbye as I was getting in the truck, and I drove off experiencing the perverse pleasure of knowing that Mrs. Plinker would soon be the one hauled out of her warm bed by the sound of the dog going berserk. I got a lot more than I bargained for.

"Jester got skunked."

"Do you want me to come home now?"

"What do you think you should do?"

"I think I should come home and shoot him."

"Well don't do that yet. Stay for your meeting. He is running around outside right now." (I could hear the barking and whimpering in the background)

"If I shoot him it would solve a lot of problems." I was thinking of the hundreds of dollars in vet bills, dog store supplies, chewed moldings (early American hand planed moldings, not the junk from Home Depot moldings), bitten visitors, etc. I thought for a second.

"Okay, I will stay for the meeting. Since you are up, how about you do some research on the internet and let me know what I need to get to get this stuff off him. If that doesn't work, we can always shoot him."

"I will do that and text you with a list."

I hung up the phone, and turned to confront the comforters of Job. Schadenfreude is alive and well in the Christian community. After all my friends and co workers for the kingdom had a good laugh, they all commiserated with my plight. I am sure they were all feeling a little bit better about their own sorry lots in life as well. Since I was in attendance openly carrying my SIG Sauer P220, there was no doubt in the minds of most of them that Jester might very well be in glory (or wherever dogs go) before the sun hit its zenith.

I got the list from Mrs. Plinker via the miracle of text messaging. I guess it really is good for something. I went to the grocery store, which seemed to be filled with single men of various ages wandering aimlessly through the aisles clutching bits of paper in their hand, casting their eyes randomly across the shelves in search of whatever it was they had been sent for. Being high tech, I clutched my cell phone, referring to the list repeatedly so as not to forget a necessary ingredient and make a bad situation worse.

I got to the cashier. The bill for cleaning products, and a box of chocolate covered donuts (necessary comfort food) came to $18.00 and change. I said to the cashier, an older lady in her early 60s,

"Eighteen dollars or 25 cents."

"Pardon?"

"Eighteen dollars for cleaning supplies, or 25 cents for a bullet. Our dog got skunked this morning."

"Oh, I won't go there!" she exclaimed.

I told her based on his previous behavior that I was inclined to the bullet, but as she could see, I was buying the cleaning supplies. We had a laugh (more Schadenfreude I think) and I proceeded home.

Now Jester is a very wiry and skittish dog. He is also somewhat touchy. Ole Bubba would stand still for just about anything. Jester has to be put out - i.e. anesthetized - for just about anything at the vet. You can't touch his ears, his face, or anything he doesn't want if he is in his normal mood. We have been slowly desensitizing him to that, but it is a long job and it is not done yet. I arrived home to find him on his line, where we keep him when people come to visit. He was looking very forlorn. He was very happy to see me of course, not knowing my thought process. He also couldn't seem to understand why I would not come over and pet him as I usually do.

In the house, we strategized on how best to do the deed. We ended up leaving him on his line, and bathing him with the prescribed ingredients, rinsing, and rebathing as instructed, until the process was done. There were a few times I thought I was going to be nipped for sure, but he held off and we all made it through the ordeal with our hides intact. We left him out in the balmy 35 degree weather until he was done shaking. He is now in the basement, which is also our kitchen at present (another long story).After we have rested a bit and he has settled down, we are going to put him in Mrs. Plinker's Honda Element and take him to the dog wash down the road. He usually rides in the back of my truck, but those Elements, you can hose them out you know.

I wonder what is in store for the rest of the day? I have a barn door hanging by one support from the wind as well, so that is a distinct possibility. Oh, the joy of country living. As a side note, I do have to get out the .22 rifle and make sure the scope is sighted in where I left it last. Mr. Skunk is not going to receive as much mercy as the dog I think.

[Whiskey Delta]

Only a tried and true gunowner would call a second, smaller dog in the family a "Backup Dog"...that is funny.

Our neighbor has a couple escape artist dogs, who finally got loose and found a skunk.

I think he entertained the .22 solution as well.

[marinakorp]

when Ulysses (our lab / shep / collie mix) tangled with a skunk...I entertained the $ 0.13 solution (I reload).

found the mixture og baking soda, dish soap, peroxide works wonders for the BIG stink...there was stiull some lingering smell for a few days...but not the "WHOLLY CRAP I THINK I'M GONNA PUKE" smell... but tolerable after 2 washes in the solution at 2:00 am.

THe longer the skunk smell stays on...the harder / longer it takes to get it out.

I now keep a stock of those products in the closet for just such an occasion...

[steamtownwelder]

My lab Guinness had been tangling with a skunk almost nightly. I left out some cat food and got the sucker(skunk not the dog) one evening and figured on removing the carcass in the morning. I let the dog out the next morning and got ready to bury the skunk. When I got outside there was Guinness, proud as could be, stinking to high hell with the dead skunk in his mouth like he had killed it himself.

[Dredly]

My dogs (Lab and a mutt who likes like a Coyote) tag team ground hogs routinley... when they went after a skunk it didn't end well, typically the mutt will chase the animals into the lab... well lets just say skunks don't run and the lab caught a face first spray, the mutt didn't get hit as bad but he caught a blast as well.




and then the wife let them in the house... this was months ago and every once in a while I'll still catch a wiff of the skunk... if I ever see another one i'm not even going for the pistol, I want to see what a 30-06 ballistic tip round will do to a skunk.

[Robert Kayland]

I hung up the phone, and turned to confront the comforters of Job. Schadenfreude is alive and well in the Christian community.

That's just plain ol' fashioned 24K gold!

Somebody rep the man... the love monitor won't let me do it.

[offshorebear]

Where are you getting a bullet for 25 cents these days

[WVBob]

Shot a skunk in the side with a .308 using a 110 gr HP. Using a scope I could see 2 equal parts. Shot one with a .22 that was getting into the trash cans. That smell does not go away very fast. Tomato juice works for cleaning the smell.

[PennsyPlinker]

Well the dog is a lot cleaner, although he still reeks some. We did a 50/50 vinegar/water bath, let that soak in, rinsed him off, and then a bath of hydrogen peroxide mixed with some baking soda. Then he smelled like a skunk dipped in vinegar.

After letting everyone relax for a while, we took him down the road to the dog wash. I have never seen one of these outside this one, but it is a car wash, with a dog wash attached. There are four individual rooms with a stainless steel table with sides and a drain. There is a hose with a sprayer head, and a box with a selector switch for things like flea soap, regular soap, rinse, etc. You use the same tokens you use for the car wash, hook your dog to the chain, and off you go. There is even a vac hose that blows air if you want to blow dry your dog!

He has been there before, but he had about had it with bathing for the day. Still, we got him washed with real soap and water, and he smelled even better. The whole area around our house still reeks very strongly of skunk, and Jester is confined to his line when the sun is down until the skunk either turns up roadkill or turns up in my crosshairs.

[dc dalton]

Well I have said it before but I will say it again.

There is NO ONE that tells a story like Pennsy, absolutely NO ONE!




btw, I might have been more inclined to the 25 cent fix ... unless the ground is too frozen to dig