Aug. 11, 2006
 
COMMENTARY: Slow-Learning Elvis Brings Home the Odor
 
By Steve Brewer
Scripps Howard News Service
 
In the canine world, there are bird dogs and sheepdogs and coon hounds and wolfhounds and elkhounds and cattle dogs. So how come my family ended up with a skunk dog?
 
Three times in the past year, our long-legged mutt, Elvis, has run afoul of skunks. Each time, it's safe to say, he came away the loser.
 
Our house sits on a cul-de-sac (French for "sac of stink") near two greenbelt areas, which means all kinds of birds and deer and varmints of various stripes remember when this hilltop subdivision was their habitat.
 
Their turf. Most of these animals shy away from the human population, at least during the daytime, and the neighborhood belongs to the usual suburban soap opera of dogs and cats conspiring against one another.
 
But skunks apparently aren't afraid of people or pets. They're sneaky.
 
They're nature's little terrorists, armed with weapons of mass de-stink-tion, waging a silent-but-deadly war on those who've stolen their homeland.
 
Because skunks are nocturnal, their encounters with Elvis always seem to occur at 3 a.m. The humans on the block are awakened to a clatter and a crash, a growl and a bark and a yelp. Then a miasma of musk drifts across the backyards. And we all know that Elvis has gotten sprayed again.
 
The first time it happened, our family was out of town. The dog-sitter and his mom and our neighbors pitched in and bathed Elvis in a special concoction that killed the odor. We knew something was up as soon as we got home from vacation. You don't leave a dog at home and come back to find him smelling better than when you left. Our neighbors told us what had happened, and they were downright cheerful about it.
 
(If those folks aren't Neighbors of the Year, then I don't know who is.) The second and third times Elvis tangled with a skunk, we were home all right. Yanked from a sound sleep by noise and stink, my wife and I stumbled out into the back yard in our pajamas, We tried to calm the dog, spotlight the skunk and start the cleanup process, all while holding our breaths.
 
Naturally, Elvis was alarmed by the sudden assault on his sensitive olfactory system. He's mostly an indoor dog, so his first reaction to getting skunked is to run right past us, through the door and into the house. We shrieked and chased him back outside. But, of course, it's too late then. We ended up cleaning more than a dog. For weeks to come.
 
Granted, Elvis isn't exactly a genius, but you'd think he'd remember from last time and learn something. See a skunk; keep your distance. Simple. Right?
 
My theory is that he can't help himself. In the dark, a skunk looks pretty much like a cat. And Elvis hates cats. A cat on his turf causes him to growl and run full blast after the feline, usually head-on into a fence. The cat typically is on top of the fence by that time, laughing. Elvis never seems to learn from those experiences, either.
 
Why, you're thinking about now, don't you just keep your danged dog inside at night? We do ... when he's not smelling like roadkill. But Elvis is middle-aged now, and he has trouble making it through the night without a bathroom break.
 
So we groggily let him outside when he whimpers. And -- crash, rowrf, yelp -- he gets sprayed again.
 
Elvis can't help it. He ain't nothing but a skunk dog.
 
Redding, Calif., author Steve Brewer's latest book is called "Whipsaw." Contact him at ABQBrewer@aol.com.