I swear to God I can smell that with my eyes, that is not right, that is how bad your cooking smells.
Namaste! Just a short post because the retching is interrupting my typing.
We were up and down all last night with Mali feeling a lot of pain from surgery and needing comforting. Somewhere around 2:00am Gracie decided to take advantage of this by going outside for some nosing about. I was waiting by the door and suddenly got a really pungent waft of musk. Skunk! I called to Gracie fearing the worst. A few seconds later she cam trittle-trottling in smelling as fresh as a vizsla can. (BTW – vizsla actually smell really good, not kidding.) I wiped my forehead with the relief of dodging the “middle-of-the-night-dog-bathing” bullet.
With Mali recovering from surgery and Gracie is afraid that she’ll be left alone again if she leaves her side, I had to venture forth to the barn for chores by myself this morning. As I approached the corral I got a wiff of the most gut-wrenching odor. It got steadily stronger as I approached, reaching the level of burning eyes by the time I got up close to the boys. I quickly gave each of them their grain and started searching about for the source.
Luckily (?) it didn’t take me long. Along one side of the corral, the fierce donkey defender Bo had completely stomped a skunk to death. Intestines here, head there, one paw here, and another there. Such carnage has not been seen since the last “Friday the 13th” I saw way back in 1980. And the donkey, smelling like the back-end of a pig with an intestinal disease, had a gleam of pride in his eye as he finished his breakfast and trotted off into the now-skunk-free meadow.