California Schemin' - Kate George [84]
I went in search of peroxide, but there wasn’t any in the house. The dogs would just have to stink until morning.
I sat back down at the keyboard and tried to concentrate on my article. I really needed to show Meg some progress, but before I hit a single key Annie was sounding again, not her normal bark, but the deep baying of a hound dog. Puzzled, I looked out the window in the porch door. That stinking skunk had come right up onto the porch and was attempting to pull Annie’s bed out from under her between the bars of the crate.
“What the …” I turned on the porch light and banged on the door, but the skunk ignored me. 1850s farmhouses are not generally airtight, and the smell coming under the door was making my nose burn. The lights were on, the dogs were going absolutely nuts, I was banging on the door, and that stupid skunk was trying to steal Annie’s bed. I had to tell Meg about this.
“Rabid,” she said. “It’s got to be rabid. You need to call the game warden.”
“It’s gone now. I’ll call the warden, but I don’t think he’s going to want to search for it.”
“Everything else OK? Do you know when Beau’s coming home?”
“No, last I heard – oh, my God! That little bugger is back again. He just backed up to Diesel’s crate and sprayed him again. I’ll call you back. The smell is awful.”
I hung up the phone and dropped it on the kitchen table. How was I going to lure that sucker off my porch? I grabbed a can of Annabelle’s cat food and popped the lid. Slipping out of the door on the other side of the house I skirted around until I was in the drive on the porch side. I waved the can around in the air hoping that the smell would attract the skunk, then I set the can on the ground, ran back around the house and into the kitchen.
Picking up the phone, I dialed Max as I went to look out the window. The skunk was still poking his nose into the kennels, taunting the dogs, but he must have caught the scent of the cat food because he lifted his nose in the air and sniffed. He was ambling down the stairs as Max answered his phone.
“Max!” I interrupted his greeting. “Grab your .22 and get down here. I’ve got this weird skunk tormenting my dogs.”
“Why don’t you shoot him yourself? You used to do target practice with your brothers.”
“I don’t have any guns down here. I got rid of them when Meg started having kids. Oh, just get down here, will you?”
I hung up the phone. I was antsy, jiggling my leg and hoping Max would get here before the skunk took off. I really didn’t want my dogs bitten by a crazy, rabid Pepé Le Pew from hell. The skunk finished his food and wandered off toward the chicken house. I wasn’t worried about the chickens; the coop was critter proof as long as the gate was shut, which I knew it was.
Max arrived in time to see our stinky friend disappear into the weeds behind the house. He took a shot at the creature, but I don’t think he hit it.
“Shoot!” I wasn’t mad at Max as much as I was disappointed we hadn’t gotten rid of the skunk.
“I can’t shoot, Bree. Can’t hit what I can’t see. Sorry it took me so long. I had to put on my pants.”
“No, I didn’t mean for you to shoot, I meant shoot like dang, dang, that stupid skunk got away. That’s all. I appreciate you coming down here, though.”
“Well, call me if he comes back again.” Max headed back up the road, .22 over his shoulder.
It seemed smarter to go in the back way, even though the skunk was gone. No point in dragging more stink into the house than necessary. The phone was ringing when I walked in. I hurried to pick it up.
“So what happened?” Meg’s voice was excited.
“Boy, you’d think I was going to win the lottery from the sound of you. Nothing happened. I lured the skunk off the porch with a can of cat food, which it proceeded to eat before Max got down here. Now it’ll come back thinking it’ll get more tuna or something. I’d hate skunks if they weren’t so damn funny.” Truthfully, I found it hard to hate many things except Lucy Howe. She was a sneaky little back stabber, and she deserved to