Don't Like my Writing? Tell Me About It.

Here is a short essay I wrote many years ago, before I even started taking writing courses.  So, don’t be too critical..it’s just a funny story based on a real life situation.

Living in the country.  So many desire it, so many enjoy it.  I’m not sure I’m one of them anymore.  Perhaps it’s because I’ve lived in the country all my life.  Yes, I raised animals, I know the difference between a Holstein and a Jersey (those are cows by the way) and of course, I was even in 4-H.  Not to mention I can recite the words to way to many country music songs.  Being that I live in what many commonly refer to as “the sticks”, I have come across several reasons for packing it up and moving, but one in particular will forever stick in my head.  (Not to mention the fact that my loving husband insists on telling it to every person he feels deserves their laugh for the day.)

Being the country-bumpkin that I am, I of course have a dog.  Not some fluffy little cutesy pup that requires a tiny crocheted jacket in the winter, but a big, loud, overactive, German bred, huntin’ dog, a Weimaraner. Who from this point on, I will refer to as “Dog”, so as to protect the innocent. Now, I don’t hunt, but I have Dog should I ever want to. Good logic right?  Well, it would turn out, if you have a big ol’ huntin’ dog, you yourself don’t actually need to go hunting.  Your dog will do it for you.  No gun and ammunition or bow and arrows needed. 

Towards the end of last summer, not too long after dark, my niece and I head on out to the car to retrieve my five year olds hidden birthday presents.  Well, of course Dog had to go with us.  Now, many of us have dogs for protection, or at least for a “something’s wrong sensor”, so, why not take her out with us.  What could it possibly hurt?

So, out the door we go, my niece, the now bouncing with excitement Dog, and me.  I should have known something was going to go wrong.  Dog always gets excited, but not quite this excited.  Oh well, we’re just walking out to the car, right?  Remember, this is in the country, no handy dandy streetlights to light our way, and of course the kids used the flashlight for some puppet show and it’s now lost in the “I don’t know where” land forever.  Anyways, we get no more then 5 steps onto the porch when Dog lets out the hunting dog howl, the howl only a Weimaraner owner can appreciate, and she darts off into the night.  (Mind you, Dog is sitting next to me watching me type right now, I’m certain she is making sure I don’t forget any good details. Those would be of course the ones that make me look stupid and her superior.) 

Thinking nothing of this situation, my niece announces, “You know that dog is going to come running at us in the dark and scare us to death, right?” That brought a laugh to both of us and we continued on. 

Well, it would seem I spoiled my child way too much that birthday, because we both had our hands full of bags, as we head back to the house.   From behind me, I can hear my best friend Dog running through the yard towards us.  “I told you she’d come running….” Is as far as my niece got before the smell hit me.  You know that smell, the one you pass on the roads that lingers with your car for hours.  The smell that you can’t help but breathing in when you go past it.  You see the remnants of the black with the white stripes, you know you shouldn’t smell, but you do.  You know you should plug your nose, but you don’t. 

Now we all know what I’m talking about, my dear, dear Dog had brought me a present of her own.  Sticking out from each side of her mouth was the trademark black and white. Dog was so proud of her catch that she was going to bring it to me.  So, my niece and I did what any normal person would do.  We screamed like little girls and ran like mad.  Here is where we get the big “L” for “Loser” marked on our foreheads.  We didn’t run for the house, we ran back to the car.  I’m not quite sure how that was going to help, but we did it anyways. 

Dog was however okay with this idea.  She loved to ride in cars so she came over to join us.  Up on the side of my car she jumps and presses the biggest skunk I had ever seen up against my window.  Ah, I think I can still taste the smell.  I’m not sure that’s possible, but yes, I can remember tasting it. 

I’ve got it!  I know what to do!  My husband is getting ready for work, we’ll beep the horn and make him come out and shoot it!  (Don’t worry, he’s a police officer, he trained with his gun)  I know what you’re thinking, “Doesn’t the dog still have the skunk in its mouth?  How’s he going to shoot it?” Yeah that was a good idea. (Can you see the big “L” on my forehead?)  It didn’t matter, he didn’t hear the horn and I had to come up with another brilliant idea. 

So, we will recap up to this point.  Here you have two adult women sitting in a car, in the dark, arms full of birthday presents and a very, very proud dog bouncing up and down outside of the car with a huge skunk in her mouth.  Okay, no problem, we’re adults, we can handle this.  Idea! We will simply drive the car through the yard getting it as close to the door as possible and we will sprint inside.  Sounded good to me. 

Now, after driving the car through the yard, pulling up to the porch and gathering all of our bags, we’re ready to go.  At this point, my niece takes note of a very important factor, “where’s the skunk?”  Obviously, Dog realizing I was not pleased with her generous gift, had let it go, and she was waiting patiently to be let back in the house.  All right, where is the skunk? Is it dead?  Did it run off?  Did she swallow it? (If the swallowing it part does not sound realistic, you definitely don’t own a Weimaraner huntin’ dog)  We allowed probably another five minutes to pass, and after seeing nothing move, we were continuing with our plan to flee, I mean sprint, into the house. (I still haven’t figured out why my husband never wondered why it was taking me so long to return from the car.)

Ready? Go!  I don’t believe I have ever run so fast in my life, nor had I ever seen my niece hurdle a dog in heels before, but we made it into the house.  No skunk in sight, just that notorious smell lingering around the now drooling, proud hunter begging at the door to come inside. Of course I couldn’t leave her outside, she might hunt down something else for me, you know, like the neighbors cat. 

Now, it’s late evening.  Birthday presents need to be wrapped, a cake needs to be baked, the house needs to be air freshened and Dog needs a bath. Do you think I have tomato juice? Of course I do not.  So, being that I tested it myself, should you ever find yourself without tomato juice, vinegar and designer shampoo works fairly well.

Are you wondering yet where this monster skunk ran off to in the dark of the night?  Being the country girl that I am, and being married to a city boy by the way, I am the chosen one to go out the next morning and see that it’s gone.  We can’t after all have a skunk running around a birthday party.  So, out the door I go, shovel in hand, husband watching out the window. (Laughing at me I’m sure) 

The smell is still lingering, therefore I’m pretty sure it’s there, dead, somewhere.  By this time, I’m having a hard time understanding why I can’t find it. It was, after all, huge!  After a few minutes of dedicated searching, I finally see little tuffs of black and white fur sticking up above the grass.  Being the country girl that I am I buck up, hold my nose and head on over.  Now we all know how you “gain” ten pounds on camera or in pictures, well, it would seem, so do skunks in the dark.  My ever so huge skunk of terror, the trauma of my nose, the de-freshener of my house, the trophy of my Dog, was nothing more then little, pint sized handful of fur and stink.