Last Sunday's little mishap with a skunk reminded me of some misadventures of my childhood.

In 1972 my parents decided that I, and my siblings, needed to move from a cushy life in the city to a farming community. They purchased 17 acres in Farmington and we moved. I learned to milk a cow, raise and care for chickens and pigeons, prune fruit trees and water and weed a large garden. It was "good" for me, according to my parents.

For Christmas 1964 my parent got me a cute little dachshund puppy. We named her Toastie. She and I were close friends. When we moved to Farmington Toastie was an old, fat, lazy dog. She was having back problems and had been given several cortizone shots to help relieve her pain and give here some mobility. The move was very healthy for Toastie.

You see, there was a big, wild hill behind our house. My sisters, brother and I loved to run up that hill to play. Toastie tagged along. She also discovered some interesting things on that hill. Squirrels. And she loved to chase those squirrels around, helping her to shed some pounds and giving her better health. She chased those squirrels for hours every day.

One Saturday, after my work was done, I went to the local amusement park with my friends. Dad continued to work around the house, accompanied by Toastie. While working he heard the dog barking. He was close by and wandered over to see what was causing the commotion. Toastie was frantically barking at half of a 50 gallon drum that was turned over and lying in the orchard.

Well, Dad was curious to see what was under the barrel. He also wanted to see what Toastie would do about it. So he lifted the corner. Toastie ran under the barrel. A second later out she came, locked in combat with a skunk.

It was at that point that Dad immediately dropped the barrel and the shovel he was holding, and ran back down the path away from the scene. He could immediately tell that the skunk had been surprised. It was the smell that filled the whole neighborhood.

Later that night, after dark, I was on my way home from Lagoon. In those days there was a back gate. We walked from that gate up Lagoon Lane. Tim, my best friend, noticed the smell of skunk when we got just about to Main Street. That was a little more than 2 blocks from my home.

I remember remarking that someone was probably pretty unlucky. Then about one block from home Tim said, "That smell is getting stronger." We all nodded and indicated that he was right. At the corner by my house Tim and Kim said goodnight and turned north for their houses. I walked up to the porch, noticing that the smell was really strong. I also saw Toastie. She was on the side lawn and she ran to me as I stepped onto to porch.

As I opened the door I bent down to pat Toastie on the head. At that exact moment my Mom yelled. "Don't let the dog in the house. She's been sprayed by a skunk." I pushed her away and stepped into the house. Dad told me his story and Mom said that we were going to the store.

We bought vinegar, Fels-Naptha soap (Mom had heard that it was good for getting rid of skunk odor), milk, (Mom had heard that worked, too) and tomato juice (another curative for skunk smell). I was given the assignment to wash the dog with each of these ingredients. I went through several baths that night and again the next morning. Toastie spent several nights sleeping in the bed of our old Ford pickup.

The next morning Dad and I went back to the barrel to see if there was any sign of the skunk. It was lying dead on the path. I was amazed. Toastie didn't have a scratch on her, yet she had killed the skunk. And, this was not the last skunk that she tangled with and killed. I wish that the internet was around then and that my Mom had the recipe that I used last Sunday on Bomsa. Life would have been simpler.......
10:05:29 PM    comment []