Polecat Pitching
Yesterday at about ohhh...7:32:44 I was headed into the yard looking for a photo-op or two.
Tess had been acting crazy about wanting out all morning, "let me in", "now let me out", now let me in", etc. She was devoting these brief forays to fruitless sniffing around the patio. We had concluded she had a case of temporary insanity.
Despite my attempts to block her this time, she shot outside as I opened the door, making a bee-line for the planter next to our deck. She raced to the far end, then back to the near end and suddenly stopped and flipped a little black and white bundle out onto the cement stunning it only slightly more than me!
From inside Bonnie put voice to my thoughts and yelled "SKUNK!" I grabbed the dog and we scurried back inside only a few seconds behind an odoriferous pall as he raised his tail (while still unconscious) and let one go! Luckily he was pointed to the left, as seen above.
Nonetheless, belying our haste, a small cloud of that unmistakable September stench followed me through the house as I headed for the office to exchange the Kodak for a Colt -- .22 that is. (We were able to aerate the house before the weather got hot again.)
The rest is history, especially for this little guy. Skunks are one critter I really have no compassion for. They have intruded into our lives almost every September for over 14 years now. They are early this year but nearly every year we enter October with a dog mildly reeking of that unmistakable lingering aroma.
Don't tell me dogs learn about skunks, mine don't, and don't tell me about tomato juice. Only time completely eliminates that smell. Last year our skunk soap blew a hole in the patio roof, remember? (see below)
Probably no more than six inches long, nose to butt, this one is/was a kit, maybe a yearling but certainly not the size you normally see as roadkill. Of course, we are hoping mama and the rest of the litter moved on to other counties!
So, you see, you never know what's around the next corner. Crazy acting dogs are not always crazy.
I got my photo-op and Tess invented a new event for next year's Hope Watermelon Festival. On the main stage, right after the Miss Hope Large Melons contest and just before the politicians have their ritualistic melon nuzzling contest, I submit to you: The First Annual Hope Watermelon Pooches Only Polecat Pitching Contest!
Tess, of course will be the defending champion and the Politicians will never notice the lingering aroma over their own stench!
Tess had been acting crazy about wanting out all morning, "let me in", "now let me out", now let me in", etc. She was devoting these brief forays to fruitless sniffing around the patio. We had concluded she had a case of temporary insanity.
Despite my attempts to block her this time, she shot outside as I opened the door, making a bee-line for the planter next to our deck. She raced to the far end, then back to the near end and suddenly stopped and flipped a little black and white bundle out onto the cement stunning it only slightly more than me!
From inside Bonnie put voice to my thoughts and yelled "SKUNK!" I grabbed the dog and we scurried back inside only a few seconds behind an odoriferous pall as he raised his tail (while still unconscious) and let one go! Luckily he was pointed to the left, as seen above.
Nonetheless, belying our haste, a small cloud of that unmistakable September stench followed me through the house as I headed for the office to exchange the Kodak for a Colt -- .22 that is. (We were able to aerate the house before the weather got hot again.)
The rest is history, especially for this little guy. Skunks are one critter I really have no compassion for. They have intruded into our lives almost every September for over 14 years now. They are early this year but nearly every year we enter October with a dog mildly reeking of that unmistakable lingering aroma.
Don't tell me dogs learn about skunks, mine don't, and don't tell me about tomato juice. Only time completely eliminates that smell. Last year our skunk soap blew a hole in the patio roof, remember? (see below)
Probably no more than six inches long, nose to butt, this one is/was a kit, maybe a yearling but certainly not the size you normally see as roadkill. Of course, we are hoping mama and the rest of the litter moved on to other counties!
So, you see, you never know what's around the next corner. Crazy acting dogs are not always crazy.
I got my photo-op and Tess invented a new event for next year's Hope Watermelon Festival. On the main stage, right after the Miss Hope Large Melons contest and just before the politicians have their ritualistic melon nuzzling contest, I submit to you: The First Annual Hope Watermelon Pooches Only Polecat Pitching Contest!
Tess, of course will be the defending champion and the Politicians will never notice the lingering aroma over their own stench!
posted by GemDandy | 9/10/2010 03:09:00 AM
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