Bulldogs & Skunks

The Rev. Sandra Clay, our new lady minister, has a folksy West Tennessee manner of preaching, sprinkled liberally with sayings mined from her family vernacular. She shares images that stick in your mind so when somebody asks you about the sermon you’ve got something for the pop quiz.

This week’s image is Bulldogs & Skunks. Mission accomplished. I’ll never forget this saying from Sandra’s grandfather. “You know, a bulldog can whip a skunk, but what’s the point?”

Sandra’s sermon was about surrendering to God and I think the point is even if the Bulldog wins the battle he loses the war. If we try to take everything into our own hands or paws we may only be giving off the illusion of being in control before the stink of life catches up. If a lion can lay down with a lamb maybe a bulldog can coexist with Pepe LePew?

So, I got the point of the parable but as my mind tends to do with Adult ADHD, it wandered and I wondered “What about a Beagle and a Skunk?” This matchup hit closer to home as I actually had experience to offer.

I have a Beagle named Poncho, who I’m pretty sure can’t whip a Skunk or much of anything else. He’s so amiable and accommodating I figure if we are ever burglarized he will exchange the location of our valuables for a couple of doggie treats.

He’s all bark and no bite. His bark is merely loud and annoying.

A couple of years ago my wife Jan was out of town for several days. On Friday night, Poncho and I were home alone. I was working on the computer late and he was being his usual nuisance. I went downstairs and opened the back door so he could go do his business and I could get some peace.

He was gone awhile and when he came back upstairs I took little note. But after about a half hour, I started to smell an odor like electrical burning. I was concerned because the man cave is home to every electronic device invented and all were electricity patrons. I sniffed around the room, examining outlets, looking for singe marks. I turned off all the electronics in the man cave but still smelled the burning odor.

I went downstairs and looked all over and couldn’t find anything. I finally went to bed, but woke up Saturday morning to the same smell. I had my neighbor come over and we went around. We changed one light bulb that seemed to have nothing to do with it.

Sunday came and I convinced Mike Twitty, my electrician friend from church, to come by the house. We also wandered around the house and examined everything but couldn’t identify the source of the smell. Twitty later insisted he had his suspicions, which I wish he would have shared at the time. I tend to think he was fooled also.

The weekend ended and Monday morning arrived with the smell seeming to come from everywhere in the house. I was going to call an air conditioning man as I was convinced it had to be something in that system to be permeating everywhere.

Poncho and I have a ritual in the morning I call “bonding time.” When I sit down on the tub to put my socks and shoes on, he comes and sits down beside me to be petted. He came and assumed the position and I reached out for my obligatory pet. I brought my hand back and there was the electrical smell.

“It’s You!” I screamed and shrank back from the dog. I finally understood why the smell seemed to spread throughout the house. My codependent dog, who follows me everywhere, was bringing it with him like a surprise. I know what a skunk smells like in the back yard, but a dog that is sprayed smells entirely different. In Poncho’s case, he masqueraded as an electrical fire.

I put him in the garage for the day while I went to work and stopped at the pet store on my way home to get some shampoo designed for skunks. Jan got home and over the course of the week we bathed him several times in the Skunk shampoo and tomato juice. Finally, he was odor free and our house aired out.

I guess I need a moral to this story. “If a Beagle dances with a skunk, don’t be fooled by his innocent look. The smell tells the tale more than his wagging tail.”

Rev. Sandra could probably make a more universal truth out of it but that’s why she’s a preacher. I have taken her grandpa's story to heart since hearing it and not taken the bait in situations where my natural inclination would be to fly right up in the middle of a skunky situation with someone.

Lately, I stop and ask myself, "What exactly is the point? Does being right or wrong really matter when a skunk is involved? Where is the skunk in this situation?"

Jesus probably said it better when he advised us to turn the other cheek. I suspect that's probably the point.