We headed to one of our favourite trails – Quarry Rock – in Deep Cove. We love it not only for its beautiful lookout but for the donut we always have at Honey's when we're done.
The weather was a little Ontario-ish: muggy, humid, threatening to rain. But it was still a balmy 22 degrees as we set forth on the wooded trail. The girl was getting over a cold and I was still ailing from herniated discs, so our pace was slow. Which was nice, because we had a chance to look around and see and watch and be amazed.
Two minutes into the hike a tree fell. Yes, a tree. A massive tree fell (and for those who wonder: Yes, it does make a sound!) Harley was spooked and attempted to dart back to the trail head. A few other hikers stopped, their hearts beating as fast as ours, "Did you see that?! WOw!"
We carried on.
Harley was happy.
We all were.
It was a perfect day.
The girl led the way, while Harley sniffed hear and there, and M and I pulled up the rear.
We heard an interesting chirping noise and saw a chipmunk 10 ft up chirping on a tree branch.
We watched a 4 year old mini-hiker dart after a snake he saw slither by.
We waited while Harley smelled the bums of every other hiking dog that passed by: a malamute, a couple of spaniels, a german sheperd mix, a terrier, a pekinese, three boxers ... the dogs came in droves.
We stopped for a water break just after a small bridge and parked ourselves on a log by a small creek.
Harley was anxious to get to the stream, trying to jump over, then go under our log.
"She's thirsty!" I said, laughing at her antics.
M pulled out the water bowl.
She had a small sip then went back to wildly finding a way to scale the log and get into the creek.
We just watched and laughed.
And then it happened:
She jumped over the logo and into the creek and into the path of a skunk.
She was not attacking, just checking it out.
We wish this particular skunk had chose not to judge a book by its cover and get to know Harley a little first, but alas, it did what any other unsuspecting skunk would do: It sprayed our poor pup straight in the face.
Harley was dazed.
For a moment she looked paralyzed. Like she couldn't figure out how to work her legs.
She sneezed and coughed 1, 2, 3, 10 times. over and over.
I grabbed her by the collar and pulled her out the creek.
Instantly, I reeked.
I started to cough.
It was potent.
It was WAY worse than the normal skunk smell you come across while your driving on an old country road. It was skunk x 1000 + a tear-worthy burning smell. It was making all of us ill.
She tried to lick it off.
It could definitely NOT be licked off.
So, we did what any other hikers with a smelly dog would do, we encouraged her to walk it off.
We carried on.
Every time we passed someone they'd pull they're shirts over their noses: "Can you smell that?" "God, it reeks!" "Smells like a skunk just sprayed!" and so on.
Each time, we smiled sheepishly, shrugged and said: "Sorry. It's us."
When we made it back to the car, Harley Le Pew was emitting skunk fumes. And she was starting to feel self-conscious, I think. No one wanted to pet her, come near her, associate with her. Poor puppy became an outcast.
We wrapped her like a pig in a blanket in an other green blanket, put her in the car, opened all the windows, and accelerated to 100 all the way home. We stopped off at the pet store to pick up some Skunk Off, then rushed to our garden where we conveniently used the community hose to wash her down.
A woman at the pet store had warned us as we bought the shampoo: "Listen, this will help but know this: every time she gets wet it'll stink like it just happened. And she is going to stink for a long time."
"A week?" I asked.
"A month, sister."
Ouch.
Thinking we could sway fate, we used nearly the whole bottle of shampoo and vigorously tried to scrub the "Skunk Off".
But the skunk did not come off.
It stuck.
It expanded.
It infiltrated our lives in a big way.
Now, poor Harley Le Pew is sitting dejected on her bed (which is now located in front of an open patio door 24/7. She's sadder than sad. No pets. No love. No friends. It's tough being a stinky dog.
Her green blanket is hanging over the balcony in the wind. So is her collar. And her leash. And, well, every article of clothing that we wore today. But the wind is not "airing" them out at all ... it's just blowing the stink into the house, into the neighbourhood, all the way to Timbuktu, likely.
So we stink.
The dog.
The house.
The carpet.
The furniture.
Our clothes.
Our stuff.
Us.
We are a big ball of smelliness.
And, to tell you the truth, it's kinda hilarious.
Smell you later.
