Remember my dog? Silas?

You know, the Australian Cattledog? The one I sometimes follow around the house, like he does me, just to make him anxious? The one who was in a big cemetery with me at night once and I told him it was a Pet Semetary?? ¡Ja ja ja! (That's Spanish for "funny.")

He's okay, he just hates the camera.

This guy. -------------------->


He looks kind of anxious here. He's a very anxious dog, really. He didn't seem like that when I first got him, but as time goes on he gets more and more anxious....




So Silas and I were outside this morning, futzing with the recyclables, and he suddenly went wild to the point where I had to go to ground to hang onto him. And when I looked behind me... there was a... SKUNK! A really BIG! SKUNK! In full fire extinguisher mode!

Silas and I ran down the yard and up the steps and across the porch and into the house—bang!  But later I was thinking...

What would I do if Silas really did get skunked? In warmer weather I could handle it. Break out the hydrogen peroxide and Dawn and let's have a party. But in the winter? God.

And then it hit me. I know what I'd do. I'd take Silas to the shelter, maybe even drive there with him on a leash out the window. (That's not illegal, right? If I go slow?) I'd tell the people at the shelter, I just found this dog. Guess he got skunked. After a couple of days I could go back and adopt him. Beautiful, huh?