Came home last night with my bags o’ groceries and made a nice little dinner for Yo and myself. Yo cleared and put away leftovers while I did the dishes. Then I went to the study to poke at the blog some more. And then I smelled something vile. And strong. And clinging. And pervasive.
Esmeralda, she who must frolic in the yard with all wild things, had gotten skunked. She’s been winged before. We do, after all, entertain quite the colony of skunks here on our hill. But this time she got a full-on blast. You could almost see stink lines emanating from her.
I had my morning planned down to the minute. I was going to get up at 5:45. Brush my teeth and potty, drive to Burbank and do weight class, skip the cool down and race home, feed the beasts, shower, and breakfast and tidy up and be at the naturopath by 10:00.
Change of plan. Gone was weight class. Gone was tidying up. I got up at 6:45, fed everyone, put on sweats, and leashed Esmeralda to the deck railing. Esmeralda is not just fearful. She’s absolutely a wild thing in certain situations… like if you turn the hose on her. She loves water, to play in. She does not like it directed at her. But my instructions said to thoroughly wet ALL the dog’s fur first. That took 5 huge buckets of warm water while she leapt and yelped and carried on like she was being tortured.
Then I mixed up the potion: a quart of hydrogen peroxide, a tsp. of dishwashing liquid, and ¼ c. baking soda. Makes quite the fizz.
I massaged that into her fur with a sponge s she continued to leap through the air, twist, and squirm. Then I had to leave it on for 5 minutes. She was doing an insane dance at the end of her shortened leash by then.
And then came the thorough rinsing, which meant 7 buckets of warm water over her lovely blonde locks.
Then, of course, she had to stay out there to dry or she’d come in and roll on the sofa, which I had just covered in a clean slipcover. Her long hair takes quite a while to air dry and the thought of approaching her with a blow dryer… I’m thinking that would be a very bad idea.
She is dry and fluffy again at last. Unfortunately she still stinks, though much less than before. And I’m guessing it’ll be a cold day in doggie hell before she lets me chain her to that railing again.
So… you think she learned her lesson?
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
It’s that magical time of year. Time to plant your pumpkin patch. Why, you ask? So the Great Pumpkin does not pass you by when he does his yearly visit, looking for the pumpkin patch that is the most sincere.
I love watching pumpkins grow. How the plants get big so fast, and send out those curly tendrils. How the pumpkins start as little green guys and grown into orange globes. How they come in so many shapes and sizes (and colors).
My dirty secret: at my house, we plant pumpkins around November, when the carved pumpkins start to go rotty. We hurl them (and any spare seeds) on the hill. Some bits feed the birds and some into big pumpkins grow.
I made this set of pumpkin patch jewelry: a necklace, bracelet, and earrings. These, however, did not grow from hurled rotty pumpkins.
Hmm. Maybe I should go toss some beads on the hill?