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I like to give the boys their last walk before bed. It gives them a chance to go to the bathroom one last time; it also gives them the chance to run off any remaining energy and hopefully sleep through the night.

The last was especially true of Roswell who, in his ever cat-like tendencies, would do overnight zoomies. For those of you not familiar with dog-speak, zoomies are when dogs just go nuts and start running back and forth just out of sheer energy and happiness.

This is fun to watch. However, not as much fun at 2 a.m.

This means this last walk is more for my sanity than anything else.

Anyway, this particular night, I am standing outside in the cooler November air. I say cooler simply because November is usually just a different shade of hot in Texas. Coffee cup in hand, the stars, the moon, and Bill and Roswell.

There are good things and bad things to living in a mostly rural neighborhood. The good thing is there are trees between you and most of your neighbors. You can go outside usually without having to deal with noisy neighbors or any of the distractions you find in the city.

You can see the stars at night. Remind me to tell you in a future story over my recent attempts with a telescope to see anything but leaves. I am no Galileo.

Of course, for Bill, there are the critters. He loves bird watching. Bill will sit in the yard during the day and watch lizards climb up the walls and squirrels run across the trees, the electric lines and what not. He also likes playing with cats.

Well, he loves trying to play with cats. The cats do not really appreciate the gesture.

He will run up to them tails wagging all while they scurry under cars, the house, across the street to avoid playing with him. Usually when Bill tries his Houdini routine, I check the neighbor’s paddock where they keep their horses and donkey.

So, it was not with any real immediate concern when I saw a black blur run under the house with Bill running after it wagging his tail excitedly. Another cat refusing Bill’s attempt to play.

I started to take a sip of my coffee. Although I did not get a good look at the cat, I did notice a particularly bushy tail on this black cat.

Bushy tail.

Black cat.

NO!

I screamed for Bill to get away from the house. His wagging tail and playful swipes at under the house were paused as he looked at me and then back at his new friend.

Too late.

The yard was filled with that lovely scent of a terrified skunk.

So now here I am the next morning calling around for places selling cleaning products which I can bathe a dog in to not smell like his new friend.

Some days there is just not enough coffee in the world.

 

Michael Cole is a syndicated columnist that when he is not writing, he is plotting global domination or bathing dogs. You can follow him at www.storyoveracup.com