Sunday, September 26, 2010

To Be Filed Under: I Can't Make This Crap Up

Sam, being the little asshole he is, decided to start barking early Wednesday morning, so I kicked him and Lucy outside, into their big, back yard. Six foot privacy fence, trees, room to run and play. Fresh food and water, and they can stay out there all day while I sleep and not have to worry about what shoes they are destroying, or if they are taking a monster dump on my new area rug.

Because I was slated for a three-day stretch at work, I was sleeping during the day. Around eight or so, I remember waking up to a horrible smell. In my sleepy state, I remember thinking that the cat must have taken a crap on my pillow. So, I stumbled around the house, half asleep, sniffing to find the offending source. I couldn't find one, and by then the smell had lessened, so I figured I dreamt the whole thing and went back to bed.

Around one, I got up for my scheduled potty break, and thought I would let the dogs in. I opened the door and they zoomed in like their asses were on fire. The smell immediately followed. In the middle of the city, my dogs apparently discovered a skunk somewhere in my backyard and tried to play with it. My eyes watering as I ran around the house, rounding them up, to throw them back outside.

Because I had to work that night, the best I could do was call a groomer, but she could only take one the following day. I determined that Sam stunk worse than Lucy, and decided he would be the first to go. Meanwhile, both were banished from the house until further notice.

The following morning, I raced home from work, collected the vile Sam and drove to the groomers. Windows down, gagging the entire way. Some Palin-American in a minivan thought my speeding was an open invitation for a street race. (I won.)
Upon entering the shop, Sam's aroma permeated the entire place. The groomer frowned as I explained the situation.

"Would you do me a favor?" she asked. Sure, it was the least I could do because this woman would have to smell my dog all day. "Go get me douche. Lots of douche. As much douche as you can get your hands on."

Never before has anyone made such a request. After explaining that douche solution worked best for the removal of skunk oil, I high-tailed it to the nearest pharmacy and cleaned out their stock. The sales guy wryly asked me if I had left any for anyone else. Well, I saved a couple of them in case an unfortunate woman with a busy social agenda should happen along. I'm not a total asshole.

Douches delivered, and a very distressed and stinky Sam left in the groomer's care, I went back home. But not before stopping by another pharmacy and depleting their stock of douche. I did, after all, have another dog to tend to.

That morning, I was on my deck, a table full of little blue bottles of douche, and I was drenching Lucy. When I was finished, she smelled more like a summer shower-fresh meadow that had springtime ocean spray waterfalls with just a hint of vinegar. I also smelled douche-like, and covered with dog hair. A quick shower, I crawled into bed. Lucy stayed outside, to cure in a multi-scented douche marinade.

I woke up at 4pm, with serious bedhead, so I hopped in the shower again to rinse off. Threw on some clothes, checked on Lucy (who smelled less like a skunk and more like a woman's flowery vajayjay), tossed some dinner in the oven, and went to the groomer to pick up Sam.

After arriving at the groomer, Sam was brought out, all white and fluffy, smelling like wildflowers and baby powder with just a hint of burning rubber. He was happy to see me, as apparently he experienced a bit of anxiety over the last two days. The groomer said she would quickly trim his nails and we would be off. She picked him up under her arm, and I followed as she carried him to the grooming table.

Funny things about dogs when they get stressed out, they internalize it. In their colon. At that moment that the groomer picked him up, he acted like a little pimple, and a spray of the foulest smelling shit shot out of his ass like he was a super-soaker, onto his Mommy who was standing right behind him. The groomer set him down and he began to walk in a circle, shooting poop-spray out of his ass like he was a water sprinkler. If the gates of hell were to open up, and Satan, having judged a chili cook off, were to fart, that's how bad it would smell.

Covered in shit and blood (product of an inflamed colon), I was instructed to please go to the pharmacy for some Kaopectate. (Did I mention I was covered in raw sewage and blood??) But I did, where the oldest woman on the planet was having problems working the register. There I was, the Douche Queen this morning, covered in eye-watering shit sauce and desperately clutching a bottle of Kaopectate. My rage meter was inching towards an all-time high. I was going to explode, and everyone within 20 feet of me would be incinerated.

Armed with vanilla-flavored Kaopectate (I didn't think Sam would care for peppermint), I went back to the groomers, where she immediately dosed him with it. Meanwhile, I called Mother and tell her to go turn off my oven, and to call work to tell them I was running late. The groomer and I decided that the best course of action would  be to board Sam there overnight and pick him up in the morning after he was bathed for a second time. I would in turn, bring Lucy in for her time for bathing, hopefully sans the projectile diarrhea.

I did about 65 going home, showered again for the third time that day. My dinner baked to a crisp and inedible. I then drove like a bat out of hell to get to to work. One of the few times I can say I've had a horrible day, and it not be related to my job.

The following day, I swapped Lucy for Sam at the groomers. Sam was fully recovered, again freshly washed and dried. Thankfully, Lucy had an uneventful day. The groomer, after careful consideration, decided not to charge me for anything and instructed me to go home and have a bottle of wine. Not a glass, but a bottle. I love my groomer.

Sam still carries a slight aroma of polecat, but he caught the spray in the face, and washing around his eyes and mouth are challenging. The house now smells like my house, and not a skunk den. Life is somewhat returning back to normal, and I am eager for this really lousy week to be over.

And I hope that those dogs have the good sense to leave black and white cats alone.


K2 said...

You poor thing! Although, I about busted a gut reading this post! SO sorry about your week and I hope it gets better!


Nuke said...

The best stories are always true. The skunk thing was bad enough, but the projectile shitting put it over the top into truly legendary status.

Hope all 3 of you are clean and pleasant smelling, and stay that way a while.

Cartoon said...

now that was a great story!!! :) sorry for laughing at your expense!!! :)

me said...

Ditto what Nuke said ~ TFF!!