After driving the 165 miles home from the Napa Valley, the thermometer read 102 degrees Fahrenheit in our house. It was 109 degrees outside. As I type this, after midnight, the temperature in the house is still a balmy 88 degrees. We don't have air conditioning. My sweat is sticking to the sheets.
Joni and I took our three dogs for a walk in the evening when it had cooled down under the century mark. Our dog that we call Little One, ran off into the brush. Later I heard a "Yelp". We called for Little One to come to us. No answer. She didn't come. This is quite unusual for her. We waited for an eternity for her to return. Ten minutes go by; Joni started to cry.
I wondered if the Yelp! I heard was Little One making her last sounds as a mountain lion pounced on her.
Just when we had given up hope that our Little One would return, she came happily bouncing along through the woods. She was quite pleased with herself. Joni, got down on her knees and welcomed our wayward dog with open arms. That is, until she realized she was hugging a dog that had just been sprayed by a skunk!
Despite the stink, we decided we were still happy to see that Little One was still alive. This is the third time she has been sprayed by a skunk. She seems to enjoy it. Her Human owners don't care for it much. We walked her home and washed her with tomato juice, followed by a baking soda bath, followed with one last rinse of some lavender wash. It was like a Dog Spa day.
Little One still has a faint stink to her. But it isn't bad. I rather enjoy the smell of skunk. From a distance. The odor reminds me of hot, sticky August nights in southeastern Minnesota, when I couldn't sleep because it was too hot (we didn't have air conditioning in our bedrooms). I'd sit by the window and the smell of skunk would waft through the room. Memories. Good ones.