Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Stunningly doused she was just as we were raising a toast to the marketing and PR team come to visit the new Bloviation's home. Doused by a skunk that is. Our dog that is. We haven't moved but three quarters of a mile from where we were but there seem to be exponentially more wildlife encounters. The oh-so-proper Londoners smiled politely but I think were inwardly horrified by the noxious odor of it all.
Later I bathed the dog but was unfortunately not prescient enough to don rubber gloves. So now not only the dog but I as well could use a visit to the groomer. I remember having heard that tomato juice works quite well to kill the smell but I only had ketchup which I squirted generously over her by then Pantene-shampoo-soaked fur. By the time I got her out of the bath, the bathroom looked like a legitimate candidate for a call to the Crime & Death Scene folks who had recently come to our home to rid the utility room of the cat urine smell. Only this time it would have been to clean up what looked like a gruesome murder: hair, dirt, and blood splotches (really ketchup) on the walls, floor and tub. The only thing missing was the knife.
The London folk wonder whether the upcoming U.S. elections could really be anywhere near a close call. They are utterly baffled by Bush's policies and can't imagine that half the country would ever consider re-electing him given his arrogantly rectitudinous record. I tell them my theory that I think many of the voters who voted for Bush in 2000 are so dead-dog tired at the end of the day from working three jobs and making ends meet that they are equally too dead-dog tired to realize that they have been bamboozled by this administration. They just want to sleep.
Later I bathed the dog but was unfortunately not prescient enough to don rubber gloves. So now not only the dog but I as well could use a visit to the groomer. I remember having heard that tomato juice works quite well to kill the smell but I only had ketchup which I squirted generously over her by then Pantene-shampoo-soaked fur. By the time I got her out of the bath, the bathroom looked like a legitimate candidate for a call to the Crime & Death Scene folks who had recently come to our home to rid the utility room of the cat urine smell. Only this time it would have been to clean up what looked like a gruesome murder: hair, dirt, and blood splotches (really ketchup) on the walls, floor and tub. The only thing missing was the knife.
The London folk wonder whether the upcoming U.S. elections could really be anywhere near a close call. They are utterly baffled by Bush's policies and can't imagine that half the country would ever consider re-electing him given his arrogantly rectitudinous record. I tell them my theory that I think many of the voters who voted for Bush in 2000 are so dead-dog tired at the end of the day from working three jobs and making ends meet that they are equally too dead-dog tired to realize that they have been bamboozled by this administration. They just want to sleep.
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