My Kingdom for a Bathtub

I am the kind of person who will let you get away with mayhem, if I like you. If I don’t, then you’d best not blink around me, or you're dead meat. Keeping this sentiment clutched firmly in paw, will allow you to better comprehend why I am able to reflect back on this sordid incident with the skunk in Ellie Mae’s life, with humor and an ongoing air of acceptance.

"Patently, he's lying. Look at this mug. Me angry? He's lying."

I have been smitten by this little female bowser, after a decade of being subjected to the machismo of Dozer the bulldog. Same thing. He could be the biggest d- [Editor’s note: Ahem] turkey in the universe, doing his surly Clint Eastwood imitation any time there was food within 100 feet, and I would still love him.

Predominant in my thought pattern, as scrambled as it may generally be, was the conviction that [poor] Ellie Mae had done nothing wrong. She had encountered a skunk, most likely for the first time. It’s not like the time she liberated the farm of eight chickens, in a shocking escapade that was 100% predictable, and probably preventable. That was her bad.

Encountering a new critter, though? Possibly a future playmate, like Margie or Emma? I can’t fault her for that, unless it happens for a second time. Therefore, the chain of events that followed could have been scripted for the best of the old vaudeville comedians. I say he who can convert drama into comedy in his mind, may not live any longer than anyone else, but he will be a happier guy for it.

The story up until now: Ellie Mae got skunked early Monday morning, Gluten-Free Mama and I were slated to travel down to Willits, we had never left Ellie Mae behind before, but now we had no choice. Ellie Mae felt differently.

She knew we were going to town; she always does. Routine, baby. My backpack, Ellie’s travel bag (in place before the skunk) and the drinking-water bottles had already been set on the kitchen table, and that meant action. Ellie Mae loves traveling, unlike Dozer who detested it, except now? Ferggeddit, Ellie Mae.

I took the precaution of hanging a big tarp over this gate,
in order to prevent Ellie from being able to go through it...

Mechanically I prepared all for departure, my plan being to lure Ellie into my workshop, where I would shut her in long enough to open the gate, drive through, close the big gate again and then let her out.

“We both know escaping is a given; I’m just hoping for enough time to get up on The Bell, and on our way,” I explained to GF Mama. “All right. SmallBoy’s here-good timing!” I had seen his truck pull up out front, so I headed out front to hit him up for some assistance.

His mission, should he choose to accept it, was to wait until we were gone before releasing the unfortunate one from the shop. There was no synchronizing of watches, I was deliberately vague about the prescribed time and I may or may not have mentioned to SmallBoy that we had to stop and make with the palaver with HeadSodBuster, on the way out of Dodge.

In this case the way out was about a football field in length up the driveway. Having felt compelled to share with HeadSodBuster the news that Ellie Mae was going to be a Happy Wanderer on this fine [Market] Monday, I was hustling back toward the car, driver’s door still ajar, when a blur intercepted my line of vision. Before I could react, Ellie Mae was in the car, sharing the space with GF Mama, who froze as though a rattlesnake had just burst in.

Sans cape, I leaped into action. Sorry, I meant limped into action, but that is not the image I was trying to project. I did manage to convince Ellie to vacate the vehicle, while adroitly regaining my seat, ignoring the searing pain in my noggin. I guess adroitly may not have been the best adverb to employ, or I might not have this swelling on my temple where I banged it. 

Ignoring my discomfort, I turned the car around and went back down to our spot, convinced Ellie would follow along behind, which she did. SmallBoy awaited us, having grasped the situation instantly, and all I had to do now was to entice Ellie back into the workshop. 

Right, and I had as much luck with that, as I have had convincing #45 supporters, that they are enabling a despot. SmallBoy, on the other hand, was a different matter, so when he went into the workshop and called her, Ellie came, if not eagerly. 

I departed without a backwards glance, probably best when I consider all factors. With my luck, I’d have run into the oak tree next to the shop while “glancing” back. This time we never stopped the car until we were in the Ray’s Shopping Center in Willits. And yes, I know Ray’s has been gone for a long time, but hell, the Czech Lodge has been gone since the eighties, and it’s still, well, you get it.

We did our shopping, ran a few errands and then I dropped GF Mama off at Ben-Jam-In’s spot, where she was staying overnight. I headed back up on the mountain to take care of bidniz.  In the back of my razor-sharp, cottage cheese brain, I was under the delusion that I had the situation well in hand.

This failure to grasp reality extended itself long enough for me to come down the driveway, and actually find Ellie Mae comfortably ensconced in her customary position in the center of the driveway, within the friendly confines of our fence. Pretending that I actually expected to see her on the driveway, rather than say, down at the quarry a mile away, I greeted her effusively, lavishing praise on her, all the while doing the side-step to avoid her animated advances.

“First things first,” I explained to her. “We have to put the groceries away.” Ellie Mae did not respond, not in words anyway, but I knew she understood what I was saying. I talk to Ellie Mae 24/7, and she has never given me any reason to think she does not understand, that which I say. I talk to Toby the cat too, but unlike Ellie Mae, Toby goes out of his way to let me know that he understands exactly what I’m saying-he just doesn’t care.

"I can do this, I can do this, I can do this...

Getting the groceries stashed in the refrigerator and pantry, I turned my fragmented attention to the task at hand. This bath should be a piece of cake, I thought to myself. I based that on the fact that I had given Ellie Mae baths in the bathtub, with absolutely no issues whatsoever. She was docile, I used lukewarm water, dog treats abounded and all was accomplished with great fanfare.

Maybe that is what was wrong-I forgot the fanfare. I also “forgot” the bathtub because at the present moment, our tub is on sabbatical, temporarily awaiting a minor logistical adjustment before it would be wise to employ it in its usual capacity. There is nothing attached to the drain, so that I can look through it and see the floor below.

You can't give a dog a bath in a shower, so I settled on the only obvious choice: I would bathe Ellie outside in a big tuppie. Yes, I knew the water would not come out lukewarm, and I explained that carefully to her, but she did not have her listening cap on. Apparently.

Additionally, hanging conveniently on a hook in that same cottage cheese brain of mine, was the fact that Ellie Mae does not like the sound of water suddenly squirting out of a hose. I had discovered that early on and had told GF Mama that I was convinced she had been subjected to water spray before, based on her uneasiness when I used the hose.

Unfortunately, when I needed that piece of information, it was nowhere to be found. I could have filled a second tuppie with water, gotten everything in order, and then I would never have had to turn on a spigot. As it unfolded though, I had put some water in the “tub,” placed Ellie inside, and proceeded to lather her up.

I had put tomato juice at the top of the store list, I had plenty of doggie shampoo, so I exercised some elbow grease and lathered that dog up big-time. The tomato juice lent a certain jaunty hue to the proceedings and I was feeling absurdly confident. Not confident enough to stop and snap a photo, but still, confident.

Until I turned the water on. 

Ellie Mae went ballistic, experiencing a psychotic episode before my very eyes. I had left her collar on, naively believing this gave me a modicum of control over her. Act tung, Chucko! She was a dog possessed, and I never stood a chance.

In a flash Ellie was gone with the wind, leaving me with her collar in my hand, a forlorn souvenir, plus a set of soaked clothes. Tinged scarlet from the juice, Ellie was crouched under the car. Without a collar, I stood no chance.

If only I had a bathtub...

You must know that I felt nothing but compassion for Ellie Mae. I would have done anything, but my mind was numb. I could not catch her to rinse her off, I knew she must be miserable because I sure was, and I was fresh out of ideas.

Then, in despair, as I pondered my plight while standing in the middle of our complex, I gazed out across the still-green valley before me, with our shimmering pond way down below, and my little pea-brain formed an idea.

Tomorrow: The best-laid plans of mice and men…