Skunked

"I STINK!"

In the wee hours of this morning—because of course it’s never at a decent hour—I was jolted awake by the unmistakable scent of Pepe Le Pew wafting through the windows. Apparently, some striped opportunist decided our broiler chickens were worth braving two barking dogs and the wrath of a sleep-deprived farm lady.

The night’s tally: 2 dogs skunked (1 Great Pyrenees, 1 English Shepherd), 0 chickens harmed, and 1 entire yard now smelling like a biohazard zone

Judging by the odor level (somewhere between “burnt tires” and “toxic waste spill”), the standoff took place right outside my back door. Remi, the Pyr, got the worst of it—pretty sure she took a direct hit to the chest. The English Shepherd rolled in some of the aftermath like it was high-end cologne.

Naturally, I couldn’t find my giant bottle of Nature’s Miracle Skunk Deodorizer. You know, the one I’ve had for years just waiting for a moment like this. Gone. Vanished. Probably tossed during one of my “I should declutter” moods. Rookie mistake.

I had to wait for the feed store to open, and by then my morning clients had arrived. Nothing says “professional” like smelling faintly of skunk while trying to pretend everything is fine.

While I waited, I quarantined both dogs in a fenced area, hoping to contain the smell. “Hoping” being the operative word here. I managed to get the English Shepherd mostly de-skunked, though I still wouldn’t recommend cuddling him. But Remi? She may need an exorcism. I’m currently waiting for a call back from the dog groomer and praying she has a cancellation, a hazmat suit, and maybe a sense of humor.

Moral of the story? If you own livestock, always keep two things on hand: skunk shampoo and a sense of humor. And maybe a clothespin for your nose. Skunks are the only predator bold enough to pick a fight with a 100-lb livestock guardian and win by weaponized B.O.

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