While patrolling this evening, nose high, itching for a fight, I heard a rustling from the thicket and turned my attention there. Padding over, ears keen, certainly something was coming. Cat. Black shiney nose, golden eyes, oblivious to my presence and soon to learn of my superiority.
Edging from the bramble, the cat comes to full view and I charge, coming up fast upon the interloper, making my fierceness known.
Turning its back and I could not put on the brakes fast enough. Scrambing hard against my own momentum and reeling from the shock of the double white lines down its back.
"Skunk! Woof! ah, CRAPBAG!" tumbles from my mouth as I dig into the soggy winter soil, but it's too late.
"PpppFFFffffTtttt! Pft!" it shoots its rank, dreaded skunk spunk all over my face and into my open mouth.
Elvis Costello once said that writing about music is like dancing about architecture. To describe for you the full intensity of skunk vile is a feat beyond my mere dog words, but I can tell you that I lost full control of my dinner; sneezed and snotted beyond any dignity and rolled in the mud for hours to soothe my eyes. Then came the bad part.
The wine man tried everything: tomato juice, soap, vinegar... all manner of unspeakable cures and finally resulted to leaving me outside to nature. After a week in the barn, shivering myself to sleep on old newspapers and averting my eyes from all inquiries as to the cause of the dire vexation, my odor was calmed enough to return to duties as a wine dog.
The next time a skunk was spotted, it was menacing the cat food and while the wine man called and called me, I did not respond. In fact, I hid in the shadows and watched the drama unfold. It was an academy worthy performance repleat with expletives and interpretive dance. He may be the alpha dog of this pack, but I am the wine dog and thus not attuned to tomato juiced baths.
skunk illustration from http://mbartonblog.blogspot.com/2007/12/skunk.html . used without permission we hope she likes this plug.
