When Laurie LaZebnik recently let her dogs out one last time at night, she expected that five minutes later all would be inside, comfortably tucked in.  Instead her dogs got skunked.  Says Laurie “I wrote my one sentence story while in a swoon of skunk scent.” And anyone who has experienced this event can vouch for the effect it can have on you!

I should have learned from the last fragrance attack not to let our dogs outside alone after dark for that last pee of the night, even though it would save me from a cold nose on my cheek in the wee hours, a signal one of my sheepdogs needs to go out, a trip which results in my being grouchy in the morning when it’s time for their walk, but then, waiting out here in the freezing cold watching them pee might be worth it because this skunk bouquet is like burnt electrical wiring and kneeling out here in the freezing cold as I douse them from the garden hose is making me dizzy and sick to my stomach even after the first scrub with the peroxide, baking soda and liquid dish-washing soup concoction Bob found on the Internet before he graciously offered to drive to the drugstore to buy additional peroxide at midnight, an offer that didn’t fool me because I know the reason he volunteered was to avoid the aroma because he almost passed out after one whiff and he thinks the smell will be gone when he gets home but it won’t and I know I’ll have to take them to the groomer tomorrow morning and have all their hair shaved off, but at least neither of us can smell for two miles like these poor dogs dripping in the cold without complaint, which reminds me of the neighbor’s dog who broke the glass in the garage window to escape the scent when his people decided to take care of the stench in the morning.

Note–would anyone care to diagram Laurie’s sentence?  Ernest Hemingway once wrote a one-sentence story: “For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn.” That also would be difficult to diagram–where’s the verb?

Below, Laurie’s dogs at a more relaxed time at the LaZebnik’s on Kentucky Point.