Edgar's "Frienemy"

It's a balmy 25 degrees here in Boston and yet I have all of my windows open. Why, oh why? Let's go back to last night.

After an evening of icky leftovers (go us being thrifty) J and I decided to watch an episode of "Scrubs." As he got the DVD ready I let Edgar out while I finished the dishes. I expected Edgar to be waiting for me at the back door but he wasn't there. As soon as I opened the door I heard scuffling in the bushes by the fence and frantically began to call his name. Sure enough he came running towards me shaking his head, grumbling/growling, and foaming at the mouth. It seriously smelled like he doused himself in paint solvent. Let the panic begin!

I yelled for my husband to come help because Edgar had been skunked. But then I smelled him. It didn't smell like skunk. It smelled like some volatile chemical compound. All things being common and me being uncommon, I began catastrophic thinking - or not thinking as the case may be. Racing thoughts of neighbors deliberately poisoning our dog (although everyone LOVES Edgar) ran through my head. Or perhaps our landlady (who also loves Edgar) left out some chemical solvent in the backyard even though she is not the handy type. I wanted to scoop Edgar up into my arms and rush him to the vet. By now I just knew he was poisoned and we needed to get him help to immediately induce vomiting. After all, he was foaming at the mouth so perhaps he ate something. As you can see, I am not the rational person in our marriage. Thank God I have J to balance me out.

J stopped me from embracing our paint solvent pet and offered to get a towel. He then wrapped our highly pissed off surrogate child into the towel and put him in the bathtub. I'm rushing around finding suitable clothes to rush Edgar to the vet. I had my purse out, keys ready, and was freaking out why J wasn't hurrying. Instead my husband was outside with a flashlight trying to find the source of this chemical nightmare. I began to rinse Edgar off, who was now trying to barf unsuccessfully. J came back inside and suggested the whole skunk idea. I'm checking Edgar's eyes, his gums, and his nose like a good ex-vet tech would. J also began to do a physical exam. Skunk, huh? Ok, but it still didn't smell like a skunk. The smell was stronger on his face than on his back. I've never seen gray squirrels until I moved back east - only brown ones - perhaps the skunks here are different too. I was set on going to the vet when J decided to call one of his best friends for advice who happens to be a vet...but he lives in Australia. It was mid-afternoon there, but he was probably doing something fun like sea kayaking and J did not leave an emergency message. We thought about calling his wife who is also a vet, but J pointed out they don't have skunks in Oz - where she is from - so she wouldn't have a clue.

I've only had one other skunked dog experience: Henry. I think I was in junior high when this happened. Our Scottie roamed free in the neighborhood because Dad didn't want to fence the new house he built up on the mountain. He thought it would be ascetically unsound. Henry found more trouble than he was looking for. Once he ate a whole turkey carcass after Thanksgiving he found in a neighbor's compost pile and I swear I've never seen a more bloated dog in my life. Then he got into a cactus. Dad duct taped his mouth shut so he wouldn't bite while Mom pulled out the spines with pliers. The whole time Henry was making noises like a wounded cow. That was highly traumatic to watch. And then he got skunked one night. Remember, Dad didn't want a fence so he certainly didn't want to stink up the house by bringing Henry in to get bathed. Like a good protector of the family domain, Dad slept in his comfy bed and had poor Mom sleep outside on the flimsy lounge chair with Henry chained to the deck rail. What kills me is that Mom never objected. We laugh about it now, but inside I've got issues. The next day I think we did the tomato juice routine with the hose outside and then the groomer. When Henry was put down, Mom insisted a fence was put in with locks before getting another dog. Dad acquiesced.

All I can say is thank God for the Internet. My rational side began to emerge and I sought out home remedies for the noxious pooch who is now looking like a drowned rat in the bathtub. I'd also like to give a shout out to "Mythbusters." J and I love this show because its all about putting science to crazy ideas. Things like will an airplane take off on a conveyor belt or will bullets go off in a stove (because people do stupid things like store their loaded guns in the oven) or are bulls really attracted to the color red? These are all fantastic questions and highly amusing to watch them try to debunk or confirm the myth. Sure enough they had conquered the skunk issue.

Ladies and gentlemen, always and I mean ALWAYS keep hydrogen peroxide in your house. Not only is it good for cuts and scrapes, but it is an essential part for de-skunking a dog. You will also need dish soap and baking soda. J carefully applied the solution to Edgar's skin and fur avoiding the eyes at all costs. Hydrogen peroxide can also cause blindness, FYI. It was a relatively smooth venture. I acted like a scrub nurse and J did the procedure. Edgar, our patient, was actually highly patient. We repeated this several times and it took us about 90 minutes. By now I'm also noticing that our house stunk. We opened windows, burned candles, and searched the Internet again. Edgar was freezing, but what are you going to do? His eyes were red, gums swollen, but he was breathing fine. The whole time this is happening J keeps asking me, "And you are sure you want to have kids?"

Females have a higher sense of smell than males so I was the designated sniffer to see if anymore skunk anal gland "perfume" remained. We did the best we could and while J dried him off a second time after passing my test for "good enough," I did laundry. It was midnight by the time we finished.

The smell lingered through the night, but I don't think it was from Edgar at that point. I slept terribly and Edgar kept having nightmares where he was crying/growling/running. Poor little guy. And to think he was probably just trying to make friends with the big black and white striped nocturnal "squirrel."

This morning I'm typing in gloves, wool sweater, and socks with slippers. I have bowls of vinegar set around the house, the shower curtains are being washed, and I have cinnamon in the oven. I've also hand washed the vacuum filter and am letting it dry before putting vacuum beads in and running it through the house.

It was another bonding adventure instead of our boring Friday night "date."

Swift Kick from Karma in the Keister

I've gotta stop bragging prematurely or giving out advice like I know what in the hell I'm talking about. Remember that whole clutter jag I was rambling on and on and on about? Why didn't anyone tell me to shove that swifter duster into my mouth (or at least jam my keyboard with it)? My enthusiasm dwindled. My attention had to be diverted to another pressing project called doing my masters thesis.

Years ago I thought I had a hint of an idea worth exploring. And I did. A little bit. And then it got put on hold. But see I was just waiting for THE time to pull out my folder o' research and delve knee deep into it again. Years later and months into my masters I'm clavicle deep and there is no end in sight. See, now I've let others onto the idea and it has taken a life of its own. As one of my classmates put it ever so eloquently, "I've swallowed an elephant."

So while I would rather be dusting, boxing up books that no longer reflect who I want to become and tossing out things that literally are bogging me down, I'm instead re-reading titillating titles like, "Qualitative Research Methods for the Social Sciences." I seriously thought I would never ever have to use these books again. Oh, how wrong I was. And, lesson learned (again), never say never. I also said I would never follow some guy because I had my own career (then I fell ass over teakettle for someone). I said I would never move back east (where I am now a proud resident.) Any other lessons there Universe? No, you think I have my hands full? I wouldn't know because I can't see my hands as they're beneath my clavicle.