As You Like It: Skunked

The day we brought Snoopy home from the animal shelter was memorable for all the wrong reasons. After years of hearing our two girls constantly harangue us with, “Please can we get a dog, please, please, please can we get a dog, please we’ll take care of it please!?” I finally gave in because Mariel worked so diligently at the Dedham Animal Shelter putting her money where her dog was, so to speak.

Years of reading Charlie Brown comics had convinced her that her pooch had to be a beagle and she would name him Snoopy, of course. I figured it would take months for anyone to bring a beagle into the shelter, so I was safe. And I was until the fateful rainy Saturday when I got the dreaded call from Mariel: “Mom, he’s here, he’s here, he’s finally here!” For a moment I was confused — who was here? The Messiah? Elvis?

Then, suddenly, before she answered, I knew — “Snoopy, Mom! He’s at the shelter barking like crazy!”

Oh joy. Good fortune had whacked me in the head. I had hoped that perhaps a few years would pass by and Mariel would get over her dog fixation, but no such luck. The dog was here.

When I went to the shelter to meet our long awaited beagle, Mariel told me that we had to make our minds up quickly since there were two other people who wanted him. I almost told her that they could have him, but then I saw her face. A mom can’t go back on her word — like Horton the elephant, she’s faithful 100 percent. So I patted the yelping, nervous, skinny little dog on the head, looked him in the eyes and sighed, “Welcome to the family Snoops.”

The shelter expected us to take him home immediately, but after much panicky pleading on my part, they agreed that we could pick him up the next morning so that we could stock up on doggie necessities. When we walked into the pet store I had no idea what we were supposed to buy him — a receiving blanket? A trust fund? But soon enough our cart was filled with all kinds of requisite pooch stuff and the necessary Excedrin for me.

The next day, after a panicky night when I told Steve that there was no way I could take care of a dog, and he convinced me that if I had raised two kids I could surely deal with a dog, we brought him home. It’s funny that I have no memory whatsoever of the day, but the night is burned into my memory, never to be forgotten no matter how long Snoopy and I may live.

I took him out for his first nighttime walk around the block. He was no great pleasure to walk — always tugging at the leash, anxious to smell the entire world immediately — when suddenly he went nuts, barking hysterically at something under a car. Before I could stop him he managed to get under, and then I suddenly saw what it was he was barking at. There was no way this could be happening, I thought wildly. I haven’t even had the dog for a day and already he’s arguing with a skunk! And before I could react, that unmistakable scent filled the air and Snoopy was right in the middle of it.

I dragged him home yelling, screaming and crying. Steve took one look at me and then the dog and just shook his head. The only thing that saved us was the advice that our friends Wayne and Roxy gave us that night seven years ago. Forget tomato juice — Roxy gave me the only recipe for skunk deodorizer that works: one quart hydrogen peroxide, ¼ cup baking soda, and one teaspoon dish soap. I scrubbed the shaking, shivering, scared-out-of-his-wits animal, wishing I could return him from whence he came.

Ever since then I’ve kept a supply of hydrogen peroxide around in case Snoopy ever decided to tackle another skunk, but thankfully he never has. Silly thing that I am, I thought he had gotten older and so very much wiser in the ways of skunks. Then last week Shatz was letting him out for his final nighttime visit to the trees when I heard my husband yell, “Oh no! No! Snoopy! No!” I raced down, sure that the dog had run into the woods, but instead saw that it was much worse.

It seems that a skunk had been calmly feeding at the bottom of our bird feeder when Snoop took off after it, expecting it to run as animals usually do when he chases them. I’ve often wondered what Snoopy would do if the animal he chased stayed put and didn’t run. I found out that night because this critter didn’t budge, just kept calmly munching while Snoopy charged headfirst into his hindquarters. And there it was — the odor that could sink a thousand ships — all over my dog’s head.

I told Shatz to keep him in the garage while I prepared the royal hydrogen peroxide bath for my idiot dog. As I scrubbed him down, I looked at my poor, shivering Snoop and asked, “Don’t you ever learn?” Oh well. If it’s any consolation, at least he waited seven years to get skunked again. Tomorrow I’ll have to restock my hydrogen peroxide.

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Posted by Joan Florek Schottenfeld on Aug 17 2011. Filed under As You Like It, Featured Content, Opinion. Both comments and pings are currently closed.