A 5 Star Year for Betsy

As we wrap up on 2020, I can honestly say that it has probably been the most uncertain, difficult year on record. Until this year, my life has been without a lot of crazy turmoil. So when I saw a coffee cup for sale that had 2020 with one out of 5 stars filled in, I thought, “That pretty well sums it up.” And unless you invested in the plastics industry and made a kazillion dollars this year, 2020 has probably been one of the more difficult years for you too. The other day I was looking at my dog, happily lounging in our living room. I was home because of yet, another covid shut-down, and thought “This really has been The Year of Betsy.” Betsy has been our “problem child.” She came to us as a post-Molly, empty nest solution. She has had behavior problems, allergy problems, and injury problems. She is nicknamed “Miss Barky-pants” and “Woofy Woofersons” because of her barking problems. She is no longer allowed in the front yard without being tied out because of her annoying habit of bolting into the road after neighbors who are simply trying to enjoy their daily dog-walking sessions. In spite of all that, 2020 has been a 5 star year for Betsy. It started out like any other year, with she and I taking morning walks and the rest of her days being spent in the garage while Tom and I went to work. But when Covid hit and the shut downs happened, not only did Tom join us at home and on our walks, but our son (her most favorite human in the world) came home from college to weather out the lockdown. Suddenly, Betsy had it made. She had two parents walking with her daily, and almost 8 consecutive months of company. She got to go on additional 4 mile walks in town several days a week with me and my friends. Sam took her out most evenings to either go play frisbee golf, go to the beach, or be the rock star at the park with her own frisbee. Betsy resumed agility classes and we also worked a little bit on AKC Rally skills in the back yard. If I were to guess, the highlight of her summer was probably the day she got to try out real sheep herding. She had so much supervision that were able to stay on top of her itchy foot licking and catch it before she turned her feet into raw hamburger. When I went back to work in September, Sam’s job allowed him to remain remote. Eventually, he moved out and Betsy returned to the garage for a short time, until we shut down again. This second round of shut downs gave me a little bit of crafting time to make her a new fleece tie blanket and matching snuffle mat. Betsy doesn’t care about Covid-19, the presidential election, or the economy. If she can have the ones she loves close by for the majority of the time, it’s 5 out of 5 stars for her. And if I take a moment to count my blessings, it is for me too.

Once Upon a Skunk

I have often said that I would rather run into a bear than a skunk. Actually, I have come in close contact with a (small) bear and after we both stood there in awe and wonder of each other, we simultaneously realized the danger and quickly went our separate ways. That’s not to say that it could be catastrophically worse the next time (and I hope there won’t be a next time). But for me, I have a strong aversion to skunks bordering on irrational fear. It seems to have gotten worse over the years. There’s actually a name for it. Mephitophobia. I didn’t realize the level of phobia I have regarding skunks, until recently. It started out like any other night. My dog, Betsy, was unusually wound up. I attribute it to the fact that she is getting a lot less exercise than she was when I was home over the spring and summer months. So I suggested that we head out in the backyard to play frisbee. It was dark out, so I flipped on the back light. Now, I usually scan the back yard quickly for any sign of a white stripe, but I was negligent. I didn’t even consider it. I swung open the door and Betsy immediately took a hard left and pounced. At first, I thought it was a cat, until she jumped back and I saw the telltale white tail in the air. It was at this point that I lost my mind. I started yelling and jumping up and down trying to get her to come back inside (mistake #1). But for some reason, she seemed to want to investigate this strange new friend further. By the time I got her into the garage, the damage had been done. We proceeded to hose her down immediately (mistake #2), and donned with rubber gloves, we used what we had, roughly half of a 32 oz. bottle of Dawn dish soap. But it didn’t seem to work at all. Our entire house reeked. I swore I could taste it. The stench seemed to coat my nostrils. The level of anxiety that this particular incident invoked rivaled that of a car accident or natural disaster. I was a wreck. Would I smell like skunk at work the next day? How long would our house stink? This whole incident was a practice in calming down and reminding myself that it could, in fact be worse. I could have gotten mauled by a bear, right? I definitely won’t be as lax the next time I swing open the back door after sunset. The funny thing was, that no one really batted an eyelash. “Oh, that happened to my dog last week,” my friend said casually. And after a few days it really wasn’t that big of a deal. My husband seemed somewhat amused when he said, “We just need to learn to get along with our skunk friends.” That’s fine. As long as they keep their distance.