I've gotten a number of comments on some of my stories/posts, so here is one I wrote about our dog almost 10 years ago. For the faint of heart, this story mentions Christians, guns, black humor, dry humor, and perhaps worst of all, DOUGHNUTS as comfort food! So if anyone here is triggered, you have been warned. Oh yeah. Jester is still living with us, so no dogs were harmed in the making of this story.

I titled this story A Bullet or a Bath. It has been put up on a couple of different sites.

This event took place on Friday, Feb 13.

I am not one to believe in superstition, but when things happen on days like today, it is hard to gainsay the naysayers.

I had just arrived at church this morning for our weekly 6:00 AM men's meeting. As we were all sitting down and preparing to start, my phone rang. Now I don't know about you all, but when my phone rings at 6:00 AM, it is hardly ever good news. And when I saw that the caller was "Home", I knew it was trouble. I even had a dread inkling of what it probably was...

It was Lisa on the phone.

"Jester got skunked."

That was it - the whole story in three words. Jester is our mixed breed chow. He is a rescue dog, coming up on two years old, who we have had since last July, when poor old Bubba, our golden/lab mix went on to his final reward. Jester has caused us considerable heartache for a number of reasons, although he is at heart a lovable dog.

Monday through Thursday Lisa leaves the house at 6:00 AM for work. She puts Jester, and our small backup dog Rowdy, outside. Rowdy is usually ready to come in before she leaves, but Jester has two acres of invisible fence in which to patrol. His barking and carrying on usually get me out of bed no later than 6:15 AM. On Fridays we have role reversal when I leave early for our men's meeting.

Yesterday we narrowly avoided the skunk. I awoke to the smell so strong I thought he was walking around on top of the covers. My first thought was of the dog, and I ran down to get him in (hopefully) before it was too late. I was successful, and we chalked it up to an animal passing by at some distance. We had some pretty powerful wind, so I was thinking positively. A lot of good that did.

So this morning I let him out, whereupon he scampered off barking into the darkness, going after birds, squirrels, the neighbor's cats, whatever. It was that "whatever" that proved to be his doom. He ran up to say goodbye as I was getting in the truck, and I drove off experiencing the perverse pleasure of knowing that Lisa would soon be the one hauled out of her warm bed by the sound of the dog going berserk. I got a lot more than I bargained for.

"Jester got skunked."

"Do you want me to come home now?"

"What do you think you should do?"

"I think I should come home and shoot him."

"Well don't do that yet. Stay for your meeting. He is running around outside right now." (I could hear the barking and whimpering in the background)

"If I shoot him it would solve a lot of problems." I was thinking of the hundreds of dollars in vet bills, dog store supplies, chewed moldings (early American hand planed moldings, not the junk from Home Depot moldings), bitten visitors, etc. I thought for a second.

"Okay, I will stay for the meeting. Since you are up, how about you do some research on the internet and let me know what I need to get to get this stuff off him. If that doesn't work, we can always shoot him."

"I'll do that and text you with a list."

I hung up the phone, and turned to confront the comforters of Job. Schadenfreude is alive and well in the Christian community. After all my friends and co workers for the kingdom had a good laugh, they all commiserated with my plight. I am sure they were all feeling a little bit better about their own sorry lots in life as well. Since I was in attendance openly carrying my SIG Sauer .45 automatic, there was no doubt in the minds of most of them that Jester might very well be in glory (or wherever dogs go) before the sun hit its zenith.

I got the list from Lisa via the miracle of text messaging. I guess it really is good for something. I went to the grocery store, which seemed to be filled with single men of various ages wandering aimlessly through the aisles clutching bits of paper in their hand, casting their eyes randomly across the shelves in search of whatever it was they had been sent for. Being high tech, I clutched my cell phone, referring to the list repeatedly so as not to forget a necessary ingredient and make a bad situation worse.

I got to the cashier. The bill for cleaning products, and a box of chocolate covered donuts (necessary comfort food) came to $18.00 and change. I said to the cashier, an older lady in her early 60s,

"Eighteen dollars or 25 cents."

"Pardon?"

"Eighteen dollars for cleaning supplies, or 25 cents for a bullet. Our dog got skunked this morning."

"Oh, I won't go there!" she exclaimed.

I told her based on his previous behavior that I was inclined to the bullet, but as she could see, I was buying the cleaning supplies. We had a laugh (more Schadenfreude I think) and I proceeded home.

Now Jester is a very wiry and skittish dog. He is also somewhat touchy. Ole Bubba would stand still for just about anything. Jester has to be put out - i.e. anesthetized - for just about anything at the vet. You can't touch his ears, his face, or anything he doesn't want if he is in his normal mood. We have been slowly desensitizing him to that, but it is a long job and it is not done yet. I arrived home to find him on his line, where we keep him when people come to visit. He was looking very forlorn. He was very happy to see me, of course not knowing my thought process. He also couldn't seem to understand why I would not come over and pet him as I usually do.

In the house, we strategized on how best to do the deed. We ended up leaving him on his line, and bathing him with the prescribed ingredients, rinsing, and rebathing as instructed, until the process was done. There were a few times I thought I was going to be nipped for sure, but he held off and we all made it through the ordeal with our hides intact. We left him out in the balmy 35 degree weather until he was done shaking. He is now in the basement, which is also our kitchen at present (another long story).After we have rested a bit and he has settled down, we are going to put him in Lisa's Honda Element and take him to the dog wash down the road. He usually rides in the back seat of my truck, but those Elements, you can hose them out you know.

I wonder what is in store for the rest of the day? I have a barn door hanging by one support from the wind as well, so that is a distinct possibility. Oh, the joy of country living. As a side note, I do have to get out the .22 rifle and make sure the scope is sighted in where I left it last. Mr. Skunk is not going to receive as much mercy as the dog I think.

Oh my!!! I hate that smell. Poor dog, poor Lisa and poor you!

I used to have a mixed-breed chow rescue pup named Misha. Best dog ever. She lived until she was 17. Anyway, that dog loved us and she loved rabbits. She loved catching cotton tails as a snack. She couldn't stand dry dog food, so she'd supplement her diet herself.

Anyway, Misha had a good heart, and she really wanted to share her catch with her family. The problem was she really, really liked squishy bunny parts. Her solution? She'd bring us bunny heads. We'd come home to find a head on the front porch, a pile of heads near the back door, heads near the front gate. Delivery folks were freaked out. We tried to keep them cleaned up, but we'd go away for the weekend and come back to a bunny-head pyramid.

The first time my sister-in-law came to visit, the dog greeted her in the car by dropping a head in her lap. Thank God we were out in the country or someone would have reported the screaming...and we'd have to explain the suspicious skull collection. "Honest, Officers, we're not a satanic bunny-killing cult!"

Damn, I loved that dog.

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Oh my!!! I hate that smell. Poor dog, poor Lisa and poor you!

It was awful. They (with a capital T) say it will go away in a couple of weeks. It doesn't. He smelled bad for a couple of months! Then, for about six more months after that, every time he got wet, or even damp, the smell came back. It finally faded, but it took a loooong time.

I used to have a mixed-breed chow rescue pup named Misha. Best dog ever. She lived until she was 17. Anyway, that dog loved us and she loved rabbits. She loved catching cotton tails as a snack. She couldn't stand dry dog food, so she'd supplement her diet herself.

Anyway, Misha had a good heart, and she really wanted to share her catch with her family. The problem was she really, really liked squishy bunny parts. Her solution? She'd bring us bunny heads. We'd come home to find a head on the front porch, a pile of heads near the back door, heads near the front gate. Delivery folks were freaked out. We tried to keep them cleaned up, but we'd go away for the weekend and come back to a bunny-head pyramid.

The first time my sister-in-law came to visit, the dog greeted her in the car by dropping a head in her lap. Thank God we were out in the country or someone would have reported the screaming...and we'd have to explain the suspicious skull collection. "Honest, Officers, we're not a satanic bunny-killing cult!"

Damn, I loved that dog.

Sent from my SM-G925V using the BariatricPal App

That's funny. This dog is a hunter, but he does not bring parts back for us. We had a cat for a long time who used to kill mice and eat everything but the head. We would always find the heads lying around, and nothing else. She is the subject of another story involving an almost dead bat.

We raised Chows when I was a kid. They are a 'complex' breed but worth the work if you're a dog person. Our female was ultra protective of us.

You just never know what a dog (or a toddler) are going to get into.

We raised Chows when I was a kid. They are a 'complex' breed but worth the work if you're a dog person. Our female was ultra protective of us.

You just never know what a dog (or a toddler) are going to get into.

Jester will stand at the boundary of his invisible fence and bark at people like they are demons from the pit of Hell, come to take me away. It is usually women, sometimes with children in strollers from the development behind us just out for their walk, which they take every day. They laugh at him and say hello. They will come back on the return trip and it is like he never saw them before in his life. I tell them he is busy protecting me from women and children. Once we are off the property though, he is as docile as can be.