It is over.
For now, at least, The Great Belmont Critter Uprising of January 2009 has come to an end, and all sides can agree to live in a quiet if not apprehensive peace. Unless I find some sort of critter trap at Target tomorrow.
It began as we were all driving home from dinner at my parents house. As we drove up the last stretch of the steep street that leads up to our block, we came a cross a small deer just sort of hanging out in the intersection. Says Max, "Stupid deer, why don't you move?" Say the deer "...". So I roll down my window and say, politely, "Hello, deer. You should move so you don't get hit. Shoo!" The deer bounded off into one of the neighbor's yards, probably to devour their plants. Max mused about how the deer was stupid and wouldn't move. (Not much of a friend to wildlife, my husband, but I love him regardless.) To which I replied, "Yes, it's as if the deer was some sort of deer, caught in some sort of headlights." I laughed at Max's being foreign, and then we pulled into the driveway and trekked upstairs to put the baby to bed.
After an hour or two of couching, Max went out to meet a friend for drinks. I took this rare opportunity to go to bed early, my Favorite Thing In the World to do. Within minutes, Max called to warn me about the sinister looking teenager he
d seen sitting in a car parked outside our house, and that I and the dogs should be on orange alert. You never can tell about those youths, living int he suburbs and all.
So the dogs and I went downstairs to get ready for bed. Almost immediately, Nanna started acting like something was awry in the front yard. I let the dogs out the investigate...bad move. Within seconds, I heard growl, boom, crash, yelp, opened the front door and two dogs came trotting back in. Except one dog had been sprayed in the face by a skunk and also bitten or clawed at by said skunk or perhaps a skunky accomplice.
I swear, Ozzy hadn't been in the house 2 seconds before I realized what had happened and sent him back outdoors. But it was too late. Much much too late. The bedroom began to fill with an ominous odor, kind of like electrical fire and burned rubber mixed with something like jalapeno. I coughed and gagged and made all sorts of dramatic choking gestures while Nanna shivered in the corner and the baby began to cry.
After getting Samson back to sleep, I texted Max ("your dog is stinky and your son is whiny"), consulted the interwebs, and ushered Ozzy into the bathroom where I bathed him in baking soda and dish soap. Miraculously, it worked. He didn't smell at all. I cleaned out his wound with hydrogen peroxide, and everything was fine. EXCEPT FOR THE SIMPLE FACT THAT MY HOUSE SMELLED LIKE SKUNK. Like, the whole, entire house. Every part of it.
After about 20 minutes, it didn't matter so much. I guess my nose just got used to it. We're not expecting any company this week, so we may be able to skate by this one. Nice try, Belmont Critters!
After all the commotion, I finally got to go to bed around midnight. And it was around 1:30 when Nanna started barking upstairs to warn us all about the infidels who were tearing about the back of kitchen garbage on the back porch that I had forgotten to take down to the trash can that night. And to top it all off, the cat pooped in the bathtub.
You win this round, mean animals. But don't be surprised if you see a "No Skunks Allowed" sign here pretty soon. I guess you better learn to read, jerk face.