Gatsby & The Baby Skunk

L̶a̶s̶t̶ ̶m̶o̶n̶t̶h̶ , n̶o̶p̶e̶,̶ ̶a̶ ̶c̶o̶u̶p̶l̶e̶ ̶m̶o̶n̶t̶h̶s̶ ̶a̶g̶o̶…… let me try again (and this is a prime example of why it’s prudent to write about things shortly after they happen, because this one has lost some of its luster simply because I can only remember the broad strokes at this point, but I’ll do my best) - back in June, I surprised Jack for his birthday and rented the cute little cabin (same one that he’d rented for my birthday last year) on the golf course for a couple of nights. I had to go to Gladstone for a chiropractor appointment, and surreptitiously had packed his car for a couple nights and asked him if he wanted to go with me so we could go grab a drink at the golf course after. When we got to the golf course, I just kept driving until we got to the cabin. Since it had been a surprise and we’d had some things to do prior, we didn’t have adequate provisions.

We unloaded the car, with plans to go grab some supplies at the mini-mart and then go to the golf course for drinks. I hadn’t even finished closing the door behind us when I saw Gatsby foaming at the mouth and shaking his head around in what appeared to be his best Ray Charles impersonation. It wasn’t until the aroma of skunk (I was wondering who had the good weed!) hit the olfactory senses that I realized this motherfucker had a baby skunk. In. His. Mouth.

Now the bright side is that while he’s somewhat obtuse and insolent, one command he’s largely consistent with is, “Drop It" & "Leave It,” so when he got both of those commands, he heeded them.

I immediately started laughing, because really, at this point, what good is getting mad? Jack did not feel the same way at the time, and the grumpier he got about it, the more I laughed about it. We took G over to the hose at the side of the house, but wouldn’t you know, it had a trickle resembling an 84-year old man with prostate issues. The only other option was to take him inside to the rather palatial bathroom (seriously, the bathroom at this cabin is bigger than my living room at home), grab a washcloth to get as much schmutz and bloodstain off his muzzle as we could, and open the windows to air him out while we went to do our errands. I’d say it gave him time to sit there and think about what he’d done but let’s be honest, he was quite pleased with himself other than the continuous excessive salivation.

Off we went to the mini-mart! When we walked in, the first thing we asked the cashier was do we smell? No? Awesome. Then we told her the story and proceeded to make our rounds grabbing food. As we walk by the meat counter, we hear someone asking, “WHAT is that smell!?” We realize that clearly we’ve gone nose-blind, finish up real quick, and when we get back to the front of the store, the cashier is spraying air freshener in copious quantities.

That’s really the meat and potatoes of the story, although we learned that it wasn’t just the hose that was trickling…..it took about 40 minutes to get enough water to lather shampoo and rinse conditioner out.

The dog aired out enough that Jack didn’t make him National Lampoon it on the way home two days later, and all was well.

​The End.

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