After reading Aimee’s blog, “Dealing with a Skunk Attack,” I couldn’t help but remember one fateful family camping trip. I’ll share the story so you can laugh, see the wrong way to deal with a skunk attack, and then even better appreciate the wisdom in Aimee’s blog….
Wayne, Budly, and I had all just moved from Tucson to Phoenix in that summer of 1993. Growing up, both Wayne’s family and mine camped. We had fond memories of those trips, so, now that we were both out of school and had free weekends once again, we decided to buy a tent, pack some supplies, and hit the road.
The trip was a disaster from the start.
First off, Wayne had a 1988 Ford Bronco II that didn’t have air conditioning. If you’re not from Arizona or familiar with 100 plus degree heat, you may not appreciate this part of the story. Let’s just say it was a hot ride. (I think it was 110 degrees that day.) But we used the “air conditioning” we did have: 2/55. (In order words, roll down the windows and go 55 miles an hour.)
Secondly, I was in charge of navigation. At that time, I wasn’t too good with maps. (Because of disasters like this, I’ve since become extremely proficient reading maps.) Needless to say, I got us lost. We intended to head up to a lake near Flagstaff, but couldn’t find it. (Later we found out the “lake” really wasn’t much of a lake. It was more of a pond. Turns out we had found it, we just didn’t realize it.)
Anyway, the point is, we’d already driven two hours to Flagstaff. Wayne wanted to camp by water, thinking we’d find respite from the heat that way. So he asks me to look on the map to find another lake. I do: the Theodore Roosevelt Lake.
This brought us problem number three. Did I mention I wasn’t really good at maps? To me, our new destination didn’t look so very far away from where we were. Ha! It was another two hours south and a fair jog to the east of Phoenix.
Okay, so we had started the day early, intending to spend the afternoon by the lake. By the time we finally got a campsite, which luckily was by the lake (just not the one we’d initially intended), it was after six. We were hot, hungry, tired of driving, and just a little past a smidge on each other’s nerves.
Before we set up the tent, we eyed the lake. The water looked refreshing and cool. We changed into our suits, headed towards it expectantly, and had our high hopes splattered by the not-so-refreshing feeling of bath water.
Um, it was July in Arizona. The water hadn’t been “cool” since April. Well, at least we washed the sweat off. But now the winds had kicked up.
While Wayne struggled to set up the tent and anchor it so it didn’t blow away, I struggled to keep the flame on our camping grill lit. Somehow the tent got up, the steaks got cooked, we ate, and had a place to rest.
But as night fell, the temperature didn’t drop. We had no way to cool ourselves off. We were laying in total misery, exhausted, but unable to sleep.
I got up to use the bathroom and on my way back smelled a skunk. I warned Wayne I thought one was around and we should keep an eye on Budly.
Not even an hour later, Budly charged out of the tent. I’m finally almost asleep, but Wayne wasn’t. He darted after Budly only to scream, “No! No, no, no!”
It was a desperate scream, the kind no one ever wants to hear their mate yell. It was the kind of scream that signals trouble.
I’m out of the tent like a shot, visions of a bear or wolf mauling my puppy terrorizing my mind’s eye, but what do I find? This cute little skunk waddling away, Budly furiously wiping his snout with his paws, and Wayne standing there looking dumbfounded.
“Did he…” I start to ask, not believing it.
“Yes,” Wayne answers before I can even finish.
It’s eleven o’clock at night. People are fishing by lantern-light in the lake. Here we come, dog and soap in tow, furiously lathering him up. They had heard the commotion and surmised what had happened. They’re laughing. I try to find the humor in it, but with Budly reeking as bad as he did, I was hard pressed.
There was no way we could suffer that smell with him in the tent with us all night. We packed up and headed home.
We got back to Phoenix just before three a.m. We decided to try tomato juice before we take him into the apartment. Thankfully Smith’s was open twenty-four hours. We bought four quarts of tomato juice and headed to the nearest car wash.
There we were, three a.m., pouring can after can of tomato juice on Budly. (Who didn’t mind, I might add. He was happily slurping up whatever dripped off his muzzle.)
We use the hose (not on high) and rinsed him off, then rinsed him off some more.
He smelled better, but only slightly. Now he smelled like wet dog with eau de skunk cologne and spaghetti sauce after shave.
It took a good six months for the smell to fade, and a good year before it was gone completely. (Every time he got wet, it reactivated it.)
It was awful. My advice: do whatever it takes to keep you pet away from the darn skunk to begin with.
But if you can’t, and you or yours gets skunked too, make sure to heed Aimee’s wisdom. I would’ve, if I’d only known it back then.