{"id":363,"date":"2004-05-19T15:29:32","date_gmt":"2004-05-19T19:29:32","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blogs.law.harvard.edu\/snarl\/2004\/05\/19\/a-snunk-by-any-other-name-will-smell-as"},"modified":"2004-05-19T15:29:32","modified_gmt":"2004-05-19T19:29:32","slug":"a-snunk-by-any-other-name-will-smell-as-sweet","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/snarl\/2004\/05\/19\/a-snunk-by-any-other-name-will-smell-as-sweet\/","title":{"rendered":"A Snunk By Any Other Name Will Smell As Sweet"},"content":{"rendered":"

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Underling’s comment reminded me of a story.<\/P>
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Back in the mid-90’s my parents went on vacation to one of their strange destinations (they’re trying to visit every state in the country and will spend a week in Idaho or Nebraska). They asked me to go to the Cape and dog-sit for them.<\/P>
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Now, this is the same dog I was raised with who, at this point, must have been about 12 or 14. Terry was a white toy fox terrier (I know…Terry the Terrier, how lame) with some beige markings. Anyway, I brought my two room mates (Jeff and Amber) down with me to keep me company. After going out with a childhood friend of mine, we returned home around midnight. Terry was eager to see us so my room mate, Jeff, brought her out for her walk while I made us a snack.<\/P>
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Jeff came back after a few minutes, unleashed the dog, and joined me in the kitchen. After a few minutes we noticed a strong smell. It was so concentrated we thought there was a gas leak. Concerned, I checked the gas stove and thermostat but noticed nothing irregular. But then I saw Terry. She was running from room to room as if she was trying to run away from herself. <\/P>
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I bent down to pick her up and when I lifted her two front legs, I saw she had a yellow gooey substance all over her chest. And at that point I realized that she had been sprayed by a skunk. She must have been just inches away from the skunk because she was dripping with smelly goo.<\/P>
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It’s odd how, at such a concentrated level, it didn’t smell like skunk anymore. Anyway, in a panic, I raided the fridge to see if we had tomatoes. I’d always heard that tomatoes kill the smell. Of course, with my parents on vacation and my Mom being the least domestic person on earth, we had no produce in the house. And being in a small village at midnight meant that no stores were open for miles and miles.<\/P>
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I kept searching the cupboards until I found some Ragu spaghetti sauce jars. Jeff, Amber and I went into the bathroom armed with 4 or 5 bottles of sauce and put Terry in the tub. I started pouring the sauce on her and rubbing her body. The combination skunk and Italian dinner smell was revolting. Of course, Terry was hating every minute of her cleansing and did what all dogs do…shake herself dry. Tomato was all over the bathroom floors, walls, towels, bath mats and even on us.<\/P>
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After about 15 minutes we started rinsing her off. It was then that we realized that, in our haste to get rid of the smell, we never considered that tomato sauce would stain…and the dog was white.<\/P>
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Needless to say, my parents returned days later to find a pink dog and a house that still smelled of skunk.<\/P>
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You’d think they’d have learned their lesson, but they asked me to dog-sit one other time. This time, they decided to bring the dog to me in Boston. I still don’t know what happened, but the stupid dog walked into a coffee table face first and I had to bring her to the vet where they sewed her eye shut. My parents picked her up days later with one eye missing and a cone around it’s head. To make matters worse, this dog was short and fat. Whenever she would walk outside and sniff the ground, the cone acted as a shovel and she kept choking on dirt.<\/P>
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I think Dusty has a bright future with us, don’t you think?<\/P>
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 <\/P><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Underling’s comment reminded me of a story. Back in the mid-90’s my parents went on vacation to one of their strange destinations (they’re trying to visit every state in the country and will spend a week in Idaho or Nebraska). They asked me to go to the Cape and dog-sit for them. Now, this is […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":74,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-363","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/snarl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/363","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/snarl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/snarl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/snarl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/74"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/snarl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=363"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/snarl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/363\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/snarl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=363"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/snarl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=363"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/snarl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=363"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}