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Skunk: 1, Clyde: 0

My parents’ miniature schnauzers, littermates Bonnie and Clyde, were convinced they were the toughest things in the neighborhood. And it’s easy to be tough when you’re always behind a fence.

One night, something from outside snuck in under the fence, though. My mom heard the schnauzers run outside in full alert mode. Suddenly, yelps. Silence. And then the sound of them running back in. Before the dogs ever
made it to the bedroom, the absolute stink rolling ahead of them shocked my parents into full wakefulness.

Clyde was drooling and half blinded because he’d taken the skunk bomb to the face. Bonnie was relatively clean, if stinky. Like usual, she’d been standing back and egging Clyde on as he ran up to give the skunk a piece of
his mind.

They were a sad sight when I saw them next. My mom did all her own grooming, and the only way she could get rid of the smell, even after multiple baths, was to shave the schnauzers completely. Without their strategically feathery
haircuts, they had ratty faces and thin little legs that looked so odd next to their chunky, powerful bodies.

But she’d left their eyebrows on. So Clyde could look at me with abject sorrow; begging for reassurance that he’d never have to face a rematch.

— RA

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