Last night Chris and I went out to dinner at our favorite sushi restaurant. On our way home, he reminded me that it was trash night and asked if I would help him drag all of our party trash from this weekend to the curb when we got home. Knowing there was a good chance that he would forget that he asked me before we got home, I said sure.
We pull into our driveway and before I know it, he has pulled the shed door open and is cashing in on my earlier promise to help take out the trash. Oh, poop. But as I’m walking into the shed, he grabs my arm and tells me to wait a minute. There in the middle of our 500 bags of party trash is a skunk. A giant, black, wild, beast of a skunk with fangs dripping venom. (Editor’s Note: He was actually the size of a small cat. There were no fangs.)
Chris started shaking beer bottles at it (which is more effective than it sounds like it should be) and I immediately started screaming for my dogs, who were nosing around the backyard completely oblivious to their suburban wildlife friend. But as soon as my voice registered that frantic screech, Lucy knew something was up. Molly came doping along into the house without a care in the world, but not Lucy. She started sniffing around and it wasn’t long until she picked up da funk of da skunk and started pacing the perimeter of the shed like the blood thirty, 18-pound chihuahua that she is.
And I panicked. The skunk would attack her, giving her rabies, and she’d turn on the family, foaming at the mouth… My mind can really wander sometimes. So I started screeching even louder, “TREAT, LUCY! COME GET A TREAT!” This caught her attention for about 2 seconds, which was long enough for her to look up and realized that I didn’t have anything in my hands. I could see her thinking, “There’s an unknown wild smelly thing in my backyard kingdom that must be killed. And my mom’s a liar. Perfect.” And then she went right back to stalking the skunk.
At this point, Chris had ventured somewhat into the shed and was trying to…actually, I don’t know what he was trying to do. But he kept whispering, “Be quiet or it’ll spray me!!”
Feeling like Chris was in control of his situation, I ran inside to find something to temp my hunting lap dog. I grabbed a peanut butter cookie and took off. This time when I called her name and showed her the treat, she came running so fast her tiny 2 inch legs were a blur. For a split second I thought maybe she had a future as an agility dog and maybe I should enroll her in classes, but then my mind snapped back to the issue at hand. Peanut butter cookie. Focus, Katie.
With Lucy and Molly safely inside, I turned my attention to Chris. He needed a flashlight, he said. Now, for those of you who have not moved in the recent past, let me tell you about the items in your house that seem to disappear when you move. Suddenly every can opener, remote control, cell phone charger, and flashlight are no where to be seen. The frustrating thing is that you KNOW you have seen them somewhere, you just can’t remember where they were. By the time I gave up my search for the missing flashlight, Chris said he didn’t need it any more. The skunk was gone. Drama over.
Oh, good. So I cuddled up in my chair with my new book. That is, until Chris came in and reminded me that I still needed to help him take out the trash. Oh, poop. I thought I was off the hook with all that skunk drama. But I guess in suburbia it takes more than a little wildlife to curb a domestic goddess…