A Skunk’s Butt

It woke me up, fully, completely, at 2:30 the other morning.

There is nothing like the smell of a skunk’s spray.  And once you’ve had it hit you full on, you never forget it.  My Beagle, Sammy, was once sprayed with a gusto normally reserved for firehoses and it was like a bomb went off.  It was hot and awful and overpowering as it overtook the whole house like a comparatively harmless version of a napalm attack.  So when it hit me the other night after wafting in through the open bedroom window, I bolted upright, fully awake from a deep sleep and wondering where the attack was coming from.

Turns out I probably won’t ever find out who or what got sprayed but it was awfully close to our house.  The stench was overwhelming even as I knew it was just a fraction of what someone or something else was experiencing.  In fact,  now, days later, it still smells faintly of skunk in that part of the yard.  After it woke me I couldn’t stay in the room.  I closed the window, grabbed my pillow and padded over to a couch for the rest of the quiet night, the silence broken only by the soft snoring of my oblivious partner.