That Oh-No Odor

When I let the dog out to relieve his bladder this morning, the distinct scent of skunk infiltrated my nostrils.  Before I could prevent Bo from shooting out the door, he whisked past me.  Apparently, he also caught a whiff of the noxious odor; only his reaction was to run toward it, instead of away, like me.  As I shut the door, I pondered what awful situation I might be opening the door to in a few moments.

I trudged back into the bedroom and announced to my snoring husband that there was a skunk somewhere outside and Bo was on the case.  My hubby mumbled back to me that there was no skunk, at least not any more.  He mowed it down on Hwy 35 on his way home late last night.  Delightful.  So, the offending odor was effectively lodged somewhere into the undercarriage of his F150.  Sweet.
It was thoughtful of him to park in the garage, where the vile smell could really be contained and enjoyed by all.

Just as I was beginning to feel better about not having to be concerned with Bo getting into a live skunk, the tables turned.  When I opened the door to let him back into the house, he was licking his chops and chewing, as if he had just indulged in some delicacy.  Of course under heated questioning, he clenched his jaw and gave me that not-so-innocent look of "I-didn't-eat-remnants-of-dead-skunk-off-of-the-truck!"

I shut the door and left for work, figuring anything Bo urped up could be tended to by my husband.  It was after all, a by-product of his misadventures, right?