The problem with men and dogs, as it turns out, is about the same. I specifically mean when you throw a skunk into the mix. Several years back, my sister’s German shepherd, Sage, was put through a skunk’s rinse cycle and absolutely and completely lost her mind. She ran, yelping and barking and dog-screaming, to the back door, and when my niece opened it to see what in the world was going on, Sage barreled right in – to hide, I assume, from herself. My niece was understandably motivated to get her out, but Sage was just as motivated to stay in, and they ended up chasing each other through the whole house. The whole house.
Fast-forward to October of this past year when David was out irrigating one morning in the dark. By October, the sun is as slow to get up as I am, so irrigating before sunrise is inevitable. David was also trying to text and walk, which was probably his real problem, so he didn’t see the black and white “cat” before he was literally on top of it. Mind you, Dave has been skunked before, and he has been second-hand skunked via the dogs more times than I can count, but until that morning, he had never been hit straight on at toe-to-tail proximity. It was a full chemical assault.
Dave was actually irrigating in his dad’s pasture when the attack went down, and he logically figured that the skunk was technically and legally his dad’s property. As such, he felt certain his father would like an update on the skunk’s well-being and geographic location. So, just like my sister’s dog, Dave headed straight for the house. Unfortunately, he didn’t bark at the back door but walked his toxic self right in. It was 6:30 in the morning, and Grandpa Coleman was innocently sitting in his recliner when Dave invaded and came and stood right next to him, announcing his presence as it were with olfactory trumpets. Dave’s brother-in-law was also in-house, and both he and Dad kicked David out as fast as he had walked in, but the damage was done. The house was compromised, the air was compromised, and even Grandpa and Reed were compromised. It took hours to get the house smelling skunk-free again, but to this day I’m not sure that Dave really understands why they were so upset.
From there, of course, Dave made a beeline straight to our house. The fates weren’t with me that morning. I wasn’t inside, and he gained entry before I could lock the doors, board the windows and call animal control. To his credit, he left all his clothes – every last stitch – out on the porch. When I got home, I was met with a wall of stench that nearly took my eyebrows off. The evidence clearly told me that Dave had gone into the house, so I charged after him. Too late. He’d already walked his “nastified” feet across my floor, grabbing door handles and faucets and shower curtains with his oily hands. He’d left a blazing trail of smell that I didn’t exactly need a hound dog to sniff out. Had I been in charge of the situation, he would’ve been washed down a la carte with a garden hose three or four times before he even thought about touching the carpet.
I found him in the shower, scrubbing away like mad at his top layer of epidermal crust. At that point, all that was left for me to do was take what recovery action I could. In case you are interested, the University of Nebraska – Lincoln has a recipe for eliminating skunk odor. Mix 1 quart of hydrogen peroxide with a quarter cup of baking soda and a few drops of dish soap. I am now fully qualified to give a review of the efficacy of their treatment. First off, I’m glad I found the recipe before I soaked David for two days in a tub of tomato juice. Apparently, tomato juice just masks the skunk smell temporarily, and the odor will be back. To be upfront, the smell will be back no matter what you do, and anyone who says otherwise has limited experience. Still, the degree of putridness is a measuring stick worth applying, and the hydrogen peroxide solution isn’t half bad.
David tried to exit the shower at least once before I had the potion mixed up, but I sent him back in and made him suds himself down with it until he was properly singed. He scrubbed and scrubbed until the hot water ran out, and when he finally emerged, he said he felt as sanitized as he had ever felt in his life, almost like he had no skin left. That was halfway acceptable. I gave him the once-over smell test, and he smelled fine. But I just couldn’t be sure. Could I safely send him back into society? After all, olfactory fatigue is real.
Since the deskunking recipe had worked pretty well on Dave, I pulled out a big tote and filled it with all the hydrogen peroxide I had in the house. I had more on hand than I probably want to admit, and it all went in, every drop. I added the required amounts of soda and soap, stirred it all up with a broom handle, and then threw Dave’s clothes in. That whole day, I braved returning every few hours to stir the pot.
Next, I let the clothes really soak. For days. Then I hung everything out on the clothesline. For days. His T-shirt and underwear recovered pretty well, but after nearly a week, his Levis and jacket were still awful. David thought maybe we should throw them out, but I couldn’t do it. After all, the jacket was almost new, and the Levis were his best pair. So I rewashed and rerinsed and rehung until both jeans and jacket reached the point that I was willing to throw them into my washing machine. As for his leather boots, they still haven’t completely recovered.
Despite the whole awful experience, David is well aware that he is a lucky man – lucky that the skin-peel solution worked better on him than it did on his clothes. Otherwise, he knows darn well that he’d have been left hanging outside on the clothesline for a very, very long time.
