Well, he's arrived again. In fact, he's living under our shed. Which in the grand scheme of things is a nuisance, but as long as he doesn't spray anything, I really don't care.
Keywords, "as long as."
This morning, when the boy let the dogs out, they immediately bee-lined for the back of the yard; at first, he thought there was just a dog on the other side of the fence. But then he saw Dodger shaking something in his mouth.
Dear Sweet Gentle Jesus; it was the skunk.
And so now, we've got two dogs that smell like a skunk. And they're not happy to just be sprayed and then sit at the back door, begging to be let in. No, they're instead laying in front of the shed, with their noses as far as possible underneath it. Like, "please, just come back out to play. Please? We were having such fun."
Are dogs are such idiots that they're not even phased by the fact that they've been sprayed. While my friend Rachel had this happen not so long ago, her dog apparently was upset at being sprayed; ours not so much.
And here I thought it was going to be a quiet day of painting the kid's room.
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