Post-Ride Karmic Dog Drama, July 13

Hostile About Hostas.jpg, originally uploaded by sunspotting.

So we got home after the race against the setting sun to see the Tall Ships (still Thursday, 13 July). The conversation turned to our next training ride, on Sunday the 16th, and how we'd like to change the start time. But mosquitos were attacking with blitzkrieg ferocity, and I suggested we head inside to conclude our discussion while we still had body fluids.

It wasn't long before the other riders left our home for theirs. Cleopatra, all high strung and excited about getting out of her kennel and finding new legs to sniff, reeeeeallllly needed Outside again. Yes, we capitalize it. Just like Walk and Ride and Treat. It's one of the Words You Don't Say Until You Mean To Act Upon It.

I don't think she was outside more than 5 minutes before I smelled something strong and herby in a juicy way, very hard to put a finger on to completely identify; it was simply too strong. Then I heard Cleo snuffing, and her tags were jangling. Something (we don't know what, and it wasn't strong enough to have been a skunk... perhaps a very juvenile skunk... but it really wasn't the right smell for that) came into our yard last night about 15 minutes after the riders all left. When we brought her into the house she was freaking out (UNDERSTATED!!!), rubbing herself all over the floor, shaking her head to the point I thought she was having a seizure, and worst of all: foaming drool was dripping from her mouth. To be honest, I don't know if the foam or the shaking head was the worst bit. The combination was beyond disturbing.

I was paralyzed. Rick took us both under his control and insisted that the first thing we do was bathe her, his assessment being that she got something nasty in her mouth and eyes. It was a good plan. There was a strong smell of garlic or onions, and we do have alliums (a decorative member of the onion family) planted in the backyard. Onions are poison for dogs, the smaller the dog the more potent the dose, kind of like chocolate... but Cleo's discerning tongue delicately avoids them even when they are buried in food.

Cleopatra, Desert Queen, will not go down the porch stairs when the atmosphere is threatening to sprinkle. She is my foolproof weathergirl: she needs to come in a full 25-30 minutes before the rain starts, I've timed it. We didn't turn on the shower. Initially soaping up was no difficulty; rinsing off was a whole nother ballgame. The ballpark souvenier cup-fulls of water were TORTURE. She SCREAMED. I fully expected police and S.W.A.T. to come screaming up in sympathy to rescue the poor soul being put to such obvious grisly death in our razorblade bathtub.

And then: Blisssss. She likes the hairdryer. It helped to calm her down. Hot, dry air must gentle the primal parts of her basenji brain, and basenjis are pretty much ALL primal. This is a lovable yet very primitive breed, almost more like having a fox hybrid than pure dog (my opinion). See:
http://basenji.20m.com/ (notice the first file she has is "reasons NOT to get a basenji")
http://www.basenjirescue.org/
http://www.basenji.org/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basenji (a startlingly good and thorough entry!!!)

We let her rub herself on the bathmat and lick her forelegs while training the hairdryer all over her body. Gradually she lost the manic behavior. Her tightly curled tail released and she laid down for a while, basking in the desert air. Rick wrapped her in his towel and handed her to me, so I could carry her downstairs. We snuggled in a chair for quite a while.

The good news and the final bit about the story is that our house does not seem to smell like skunk. I don't think. I hope it doesn't. There is a peculiar strong onionness, but Febreze seems to be doing its thing. Skunk musk needs acid to cut through its chemical cocktail, so I am further convinced there is something a bit rotten in the Street of Kildare... (well, Kildare ROAD, really, but you know where I was going...) (iambic pentameter is the rhythm to which I skip!!!) (what a nerd) (yeah, I work at it *grin*) but the rottenness has more to do with people and not so much to do with wild animals roaming about doing what nature intends. And, yes, nature intends skunks to use that spray, it's their only means of protection from animals with senses of smell. Fortunately for us, many local owls love to eat skunks, and they can't smell. (Now if only we could get Al Gore to use *that* as an argument, maybe he'd get folk to listen by means other than scaring them to death.)

Anyway, click on Cleo at the top of this posting to be swept to my Flickr account for more Cleopics or other weird stuff that catches my attention and makes it through my shutter.

*** as basically told to Christina Getrost on 14 July, part of an apology for Cleopatra's snappish behavior the same evening. I sort of feel like my little Cleobug got shoved a wee bit past her Karmic comeuppance. Especially in the bathtub.