“Are you sure you’re OK taking care of Hershey?” Lisa asked me for the hundredth time. I gave her my most reassuring smile.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. Look – he’s already settled in.” I gestured to Hershey. The little brown fuzz ball was curled up in his dog bed, dark eyes staring adoringly at Lisa.
“You have my cell phone number, and the number at the spa. If there’s an emergency, I can be back here in two hours. The vet – ”
“The vet’s number is on the fridge. Don’t worry honey, we’ll be fine.” I gave her a hug and opened the door. “You go enjoy your girls’ weekend with your mom. Hershey and I’ll hold down the fort.”
I felt a surge of satisfaction as Lisa pulled out of the driveway. It seemed like a small thing, but I knew this was a major milestone our relationship. She had entrusted me with Hershey, miniature poodle extraordinaire and the current love of her life.
The rest of the evening was uneventful. I ate, then fed Hershey. He nibbled his kibble and settled back into his bed. Unlike a lot of small dogs, Hershey was even-tempered and mellow; I was starting to understand why Lisa was so attached to him. This was going to be the easiest relationship builder I’d ever done.
The whining woke me up sometime after midnight. At first, I thought that my fridge was on the blink; then I realized that the strange noises were coming from usually-quiet Hershey. When I got up to investigate, he took off for the back door. I opened it and watched as he ran to the nearest tree.
He finished his business and was on his way back when I noticed a small, black animal wander into the yard. Hershey took off barking, ready to defend me against any and all danger. But about ten feet from the creature he suddenly stopped – then turned around and came charging towards me as fast as his little legs could carry him. The animal stepped further into the yard.
And I saw the white stripe down its back.
Hershey almost beat the smell back to the house. My eyes watered as he ran past me; Lisa’s little darling had taken the full brunt of the skunk’s spray. I searched my cupboards for tomato juice – but I knew I didn’t have any. I looked at the clock. 3:05. The Quikie Mart was closed. I grabbed the phone and punched in Johnny’s number.
“Yeah?” he answered.
“Do you have any tomato juice?”
“Dude, you called me at three o’clock in the morning – ”
“Hershey. Skunk. Tomato juice. Got it?”
“Oh man, that sucks. Hold on.” I listened as Johnny searched.
“Dude, no tomato juice. But I have some V8. Will that work?”
I looked at Hershey, curled up in his bed, whining. “Bring it. Hurry.”
Five minutes later, Hershey was in the bathtub covered in vegetable juice. Once-fluffy brown fur was plastered against his skinny body. And he still smelled like skunk.
“Man, that isn’t working. Lisa is going to kill you.”
I shot Johnny a withering look. “Thanks for that thought. Now what do we do?”
“Try something else.”
Ignoring Jimmy’s brilliant suggestion, I rummaged through the bathroom. Toothpaste, shaving cream, aftershave – we tried all of them, but nothing erased the smell. My glance landed on a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.
“Last shot.”
Covering Hershey’s eyes, I soaked him in the hydrogen peroxide. His fur foamed, hiding him; he looked like a giant cotton ball. But the stench started to fade. Relieved, we waited a few more minutes before rinsing him off.
“Whoa. He’s a blonde.”
The hydrogen peroxide had removed the smell – and left Hershey looking like Marilyn Monroe. I looked at the clock – 5:35. The Quikie Mart was finally open.
Johnny came back with Honey Chestnut Brown Number 37 with Extra Conditioner. Within minutes, we had mixed the hair color and applied it to Hershey’s golden tresses. Then we waited.
In retrospect, it probably would have been a good idea to read the instructions.
The shade Johnny had picked was a perfect match for Hershey’s original color. Excited, we rinsed off the color – and watched his once-again-brown curls gather in the bottom of the bathtub.
The hair color company had never tested the combination of skunk oil, V8, assorted men’s toiletries, hydrogen peroxide and Honey Chestnut Brown Number 37. But the vet is hopefully optimistic that Hershey’s coat will someday grow back, though it may never return to its former glory.
Lisa isn’t as optimistic about our relationship.