Sight Seeing

Yesterday was a nice day here in Maine. Sunny, nearly 60, very little breeze.

Come to think of it, it's the kind of weather we should be having right now, but since winter won't seem to leave, it's like a this great big treat when we actually get there.

But in Maine, because our winter season seems to last forever, people get a little crazy when the weather gets warm. And not really in a good way.

There are the high school girls wearing minis and tube tops the first day it hits 40, and this weekend, that effing ice cream truck decided to come out of the garage and start cruising the neighborhood. I wonder why there are so many self-medicated moms in the neighborhood; one can only hear the tinny version of "Pop Goes the Weasel" so many times in a day before you want to run outside and jam a knife in the truck speaker.

Ah...but I got off track.

So the weather was nice yesterday and when I drove into the Old Port I got an eyeful. Male, straight, 6' - 6' 2", 180+ pounds, big beer gut, bald, chest hair and full back hair wearing a wife-beater screen printed with "Who's Your Daddy?" and walking a Chiuaua.

This, of course, is a HUGE issue for me.

If you're a gay man, having a small dog might be fitting - it's a little more feminine. But if you're a straight man, you should NOT be walking a Chiuaua. I don't care if it belongs to your wife/girlfriend/mother/kid. You just shouldn't be walking it. If you're a straight guy, you need a big dog. One that looks mean even if he is really friendly. A dog that looks like it could rip your face off at any moment, even if he's an 80lb lap dog. A dog kinda like my Dodger. And never, under any circumstance should you be wearing a wife beater that says, "Who's Your Daddy?"

Which is why I know that the guy was straight and not gay. Gay men are always the best dressed people in a crowd. A gay man wouldn't be caught dead in that shirt. He might have a small dog but he would never let anyone see him in that shirt - especially if he had that kind of back hair. Gay men wax.

Oh how I wish had I snapped a picture.

I Think I Give Up.

So, after the skunking last Sunday, things really only got worse.

Is that possible?

Indeed, it is.

Animal control informed us on Sunday that they would not come pick up the skunk. "We only deal with domesticated animals and we only work on Tuesday's and Wednesday's." Ok, great. So what if Kujo is prancing around my neighborhood on a Monday morning, then what? They informed us that we could either put the skunk out with our trash on Friday, or bring it downtown and put it in the police departments dumpster.

When they said "out with the trash Friday," I laughed. Right there on the phone. One of those deep, throaty, sinister laughs. The guy on the other end must have known what was coming because that was when he offered up the dumpster option. But thank God we own a truck, because I sure as shit wasn't putting that thing in the back of the VW.

After leaving the dogs outside for the entire night, in which they howled, whined, barked, and were general assholes, our neighbors were kindly waiting for us in the driveway with pitchforks and torches the next morning. One would think that they would understand, given the fact that we have never left our dogs outside overnight, but since they're not dog people, it was pretty much a lost cause. In the end, I baked some pumpkin chocolate chip bread and tried to make nice.

We finally found a vet to make a house call, since a) I was not putting the smelly heathen beasts in my car, and b)Dodger gets car sick anyway and the thought of cleaning out not only skunk smell but doggie barf too was not high on my priority list. Well, lucky us, Dodger was two months over-due on his rabies vaccination. Guess what? Animal control actually DOES work on Monday's, because they were at our house faster than you can say "shittle skittles."

"Well, since he's two month over-due, and the skunk could potentially be rabid, we are recommending, and asking, that you euthanize your dog."

I might have slapped him. I'm not sure. I am pretty sure that I blacked out for a second.

"Well, sir, while I respect your information, that's not going to happen, so why don't you tell me what the next option might be."

Needless to say, we've been quarantined. The skunk wasn't rabid because it's been living under our shed for months. It's walked by Dan in the driveway. It wasn't acting rabid when the dogs bit it. The fact of the matter was, the fat skunk was just too damn slow to get out of the dogs way.

So, how could we have possibly ended such a fantastic week? Oh, this is classic. My ex-husband came in to town to visit with the kid for two days. Arriving on Thursday night, late, he took a cab to his motel, but when Sunday arrived, he asked me for a ride to the airport, because he wanted to save himself the extra $17.

I'm pretty sure you know what my answer was.

And so the boy stepped up to the plate. He offerred to take the ex to the airport. He says it was in an effort to show the kid that her dad and her step-dad could get along, maybe ease some anxiety. I think it was more likely that he was trying to prove something. Either way, I'm pretty sure that it was probably one of the most uncomfortable moments he's ever had.

I felt so sorry for him that I actually gave him permission to smoke in the car on the way home.

Murphy's Law

"When you think things can't get any worse, you're probably dead wrong."

And so was the story of yesterday. After the dogs were both sprayed by the skunk, we thought the day could not get any worse. We used some pet-store remedy twice on them and left them outside to dry off.

The boy left to run errands and the kid and I started painting her room.

But then I heard Zoe barking.....a bark I had never heard before......in my gut, I knew something was wrong.

So I run downstairs, paint roller still in my hand and poke my head out the kitchen window. And there lay the skunk, half-dead, with the two dogs standing over it, wagging their tails, wanting to play.

Needless to say, things went downhill from there pretty quickly. The stench of being sprayed by a skunk, not once, but twice, plus shoving their faces in it after they ripped open its belly, is almost too much to bear. Our entire neighborhood smells like skunk, my office smells like skunk, our skin smells like skunk, and our dogs are living outside on the deck until I can figure out how in the hell to get the smell off of them.

Dodger got it so bad that his normally white paws are yellow. Yellow for Christsakes!!

And so today I will try Rachel's method with the peroxide, baking soda, and dish soap. However, I did read online that if you don't treat it within twelve hours, your kind of effed and that the smell, at that point, will stay with them for two years. Yikes. I'm hoping the first, second, third, and fourth treatment of the Skunk-Off counts for something.

And here I thought I would get some work done today.

And We Dance Again

Two weeks ago, I talked about our friendly skunk and his love of the boy's shoes.

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.

 

Flight Risk

This goddamn dog is going to be the death of me; honestly.  It's not bad enough that he can physically jump a 4 1/2' fence without any effort, it's that he continues to do it ALL. THE. EFFING. TIME.

And each time, one of us chases him all over the neighborhood, until he decides that he's so tired he just can't go on and he lays down, with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.  But once he lays down, he won't get back up again.  Like, "Oh, but my 70-pound fat ass just ran all over the neighborhood and now I don't have enough energy to prance back to the house. I guess you'll just have to carry me."

And I want to scream, "Yeah, well my fat ass just ran all over the neighborhood too you stupid shit.  And I got in a fight with a short fat woman with a lab who swears you were trying to bite her damn dog, when in all actuality you were just trying to play.  Oh, and you see that black and white f*ck-face? That's the cops. The same cops that the fat lady with the lab called because you're running around the neighborhood, loose, acting like an asshole.  So, YES, you will get your fat ass up and you will WALK home Mister, RIGHT. NOW."

Of course, if I actually say that out loud, the random neighbor whose yard I'm standing in the middle of with a piece of cheese in one hand and a hot dog in the other will likely think that I'm far nuttier than I actually am.  But, the thought ran through my head.

Why, oh why, can't this dog stay in the yard?  I mean, it's not like we've got a postage stamp out here; it's a big effing yard. Ugh.

What You Want vs. What You Get

I've always been a big believer in "you get what you ask for."  Even before that damn movie "The Secret" was out, I knew inherently that, if you put out bad vibes, you'd get them back; if you put out happy ones, you'll get them.  It's called karma.

So, in general, I try to be pretty good-natured.  But, over the course of the last several days, I've been beaten down into submission from the karmic-Gods and I don't even know what I did to deserve it.  Here's how it's gone down in my little game of "What You Want vs. What You Get."

What I Want :: To make people laugh.

What I Get :: My brother calling my dad and tattling on me after I blogged about stuff I'd already said to him in person.

What I Want :: A nice little fence around the back yard so the dogs can frolic happily.

What I Get :: A nice 4 1/2 foot fence that took twelve hours to install, multiple trips to Home Depot, hundreds of dollars out of our checking account, and a dog that is apparently crossbred with Super Man because he can jump over it like it's nothing. 

What I Want :: One day to work completely uninterrupted.

What I Get :: 3 hours of chasing a loose dog around the neighborhood while he proudly carries a dead squirrel in his mouth.

What I Want :: To serve my time on jury duty in peace.

What I Get :: A seat next to chatty-cathy whose breath always smells like cat poop.

So what did I do to piss off the karma Gods anyway?  I can think of about 10 people that are going to email me right after they read this and list all the reasons I'm being justly punished.

Meet Dodger

Yes, we've added to the brood.