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I don’t want to talk about it

Because it was terrible.

I know – I know – there was a friend in the backyard last night wanting to play with me. We all knew. I begged and cried and pleaded with Betty to let me out. She refused (she’s stone cold). So I went to Poppy to make my case; he just kept snoring. I never got to play with what I’m sure would have been a wonderful new friend, based on the noise in the yard.

I’m just so disappointed.

A treat

We haven’t gone outside to play¬†the hose game since Piks was skunked, but she’s been so (surprisingly) cooperative about wearing t-shirts during allergy season that we just couldn’t turn her down one more time.

Of course the water revived those last bits of skunk, making her smell like a tire fire or a garbage barge or a pile of armpits.

Oh, well.

Skunked. Again.

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The backyard reeked all night long. Everybody knew there was a skunk outside.

Pickles knew.

Betty knew.

Poppy knew.

Roz knew from next door.

So when Poppy acquiesced to the whining and agreed to take Pickles out around 5 am, nobody knew why, instead of grabbing her leash and taking her out front, he just opened the back door for her to run into the yard.

Where the skunk was waiting for her.

There’s not enough baking soda in the world to clean her up.

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