Despite feeling fatigued and all-around punky from my illness I decided to shuffle to work anyway -- especially since I'm taking time off to hang out with The Kids when they visit from Florida.
Anyway, I was in the shower defunkifying myself from a day of sickbed inertia when a familiar foul smell wafted through the bathroom window. Yeccch, I thought. Some morning commuter must have run over a skunk. But the smell was eye-wateringly powerful. That smells like it's coming from behind the garage. My virally compromised brain cells, normally slow to connect in the morning anyway, were particularly sluggish today; it took a good 30 seconds, and the jangling of dog tags outside, to put together the puzzle.
Oh. My. God.
"Hodey," I called out to my equally disease-ridden partner, in the living room trying to revive with a cup of coffee, "I thig dere's a skug oudside. Add da dogs are oudside."
I heard a screen door. More jangling. Finally FT spoke.
"I hab sub good dews," she breathed. "Odly wud dog god skugged. Add I cad sbell id addyway."
I, however, could.
Now, Cassie can be a smart dog -- even scary-smart, like when she spends hours lying on the porch in a mysterious, thoughtful reverie, or when she plays practical jokes on us that actually make her smile. On the other hand -- just when you start anthropomorphizing her a little too much, she does something so utterly doggy that just it takes your breath away...sometimes literally, usually involving deer poo generously self-smeared all over her back and head. But this morning it was skunk. Lucky us.
And these doggy incidents always -- always! -- without fail occur right before we leave for a trip, or before company shows up, or before I go to work.
FT -- probably because she has the life experience of living with small boys -- was matter-of-fact about the whole thing; my head literally hurt from trying to figure out the logistics of fixing this odiferous problem, so I hurried up and went to work before I found myself, long after the fact, yelling at Cassie for the crime of being a dog. Thank God I don't have children, some of you are probably thinking.