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ON THE RECORD: A skunk's tale
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By Kathleen Maffetone
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People will remember the snowstorm of 2010 for different reasons. Maybe you lost your favorite tree in your backyard. Or maybe you were without power for a week. My husband and I were fortunate to have none of those problems. Our suffering was short-lived and not life-threatening at all, thanks be to God.
The cause of our discomfort? A small, black and white creature living under my parents’ woodpile beneath their deck.
Phil and I stopped by my parents’ home Sunday night for dinner and to pick up our dog, Finnegan, who they had been dogsitting while we were at Phil’s uncle’s engagement party in Sleepy Hollow. My folks had been without electricity and running water since Thursday, but due to the fact that they have a wood-burning stove to heat the house and they have gas burners on their kitchen stove, they were surviving. We had a lovely stew dinner by candlelight and were on our way to the car when the skunk made his appearance. Finnegan, who apparently had not learned his lesson from the skunk he tangled with three years ago, saw the black fur ball and charged it. Before I knew what was happening, Finnegan was running for the house, spitting with his tail between his legs, and my husband was yelling.
Finnegan and Phil have been getting along better and better since we got married—especially since Phil has been mostly in charge of feeding Finnegan. (He’s been watching a lot of “Dog Whisperer” shows. Phil is, not Finnegan.) But Phil was not prepared to handle a skunked dog. So, while Finnegan rolled around in the snow, desperately trying to rub off the stink, Phil went home to look up some information online as to the best way to clean Finn.
We’ve all heard about pouring tomato juice or sauce on dogs who have encountered a skunk. I had also read that a vinegar/water mixture worked wonders, so I decided to employ both techniques. (I wasn’t waiting for my husband to come back. My mom was betting he was halfway to Mahopac by now. Phil later admitted he thought about going to bed and forgetting the whole thing happened, but the skunk stench permeating his clothes kept him from tuning it all out.)
How does one wash a dog without running water, without electricity, at night?
We (my mom and I) began the process outside. We started with the tomato products. My father was manning the can opener and heating water on the stove, while my mom held the dog leash and I scrubbed.
But it was cold outside and I was afraid of Finn getting sick, so we moved into my parents’ bathroom in the basement. There, I was armed with rubber gloves, vinegar and a bucket of lukewarm water. I put Finn in the shower stall, and after 45 minutes and several baths later, I gave up. My mom came across some baking soda, I doused him in that and started drying him with rags my dad had collected.
Then, my husband shows up — with baby shampoo, hydrogen peroxide and a pie.
We had bought the Swiss chocolate almond pie earlier that day from Grandma’s on Route 202 and forgot to bring it to the engagement party. Phil decided to bring it over to share with my parents. So, as I am standing in the bathroom doorway, dripping with tomato sauce, water and vinegar, Phil is standing next to my dad, eyes lit up with the prospect of eating pie.
Sighing, I sent my father (a pie lover from way back) and my husband upstairs to eat the pie while my mother and I dried off the dog and tried to calm him down by feeding him defrosted peas (Finn’s new favorite snack is frozen peas, but the freezer had long ago defrosted.) Meanwhile, Phil told me the recipe he found includes hydrogen peroxide, but to make sure I don’t get it in the dog’s eyes. I washed the dog one more time, this time using the hydrogen peroxide/baking soda/water recipe. I was careful only to use it on the dog’s back, so I wouldn’t get it in his eyes.
That’s when the dog decided to shake, and I got peroxide in my eyes. With my eyes stinging, I turned on the sink faucet — only to remember that the faucet didn’t work because the power was out. I grabbed a gallon of water, cupped one hand and poured with the other.
After all was said and done, I put on some clean sweats and went upstairs to get my husband, while my mother kept the dog company. I peered into the dining room, only to find my dad and my Phil eating pie and drinking tea, cordially chatting by candlelight.
Phil offered me some pie, and I declined. I was exhausted and I wanted to go to bed. I said maybe we could bring home a slice for later.
“Oh, no, honey,” he said. “I’m full.”
I stared at him.
“Oh you meant for you? Of course, sorry.”
Have a snowstorm story you’d like to share? Write to me at kmaffetone@ncnlocal.com or visit Facebook.com/NCNLocal.
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