Dogs, Skunks, and Peripheral Vision

My day only begins when it gets dark. On cool clear nights I either go running or grab a mug of hot drink and take a stroll over hill and dale. Tonight it was the latter.

I was strolling down and old lane that meanders through some woods and along several hay fields. I was staring at my feet, and God Almighty, thankyou for peripheral vision! I think the extra couple degrees of peripheral vision that my doctor said I have came in handy for the first time in my life(apparently my eyeballs bulge farther forward than most or something). Just on the itsy bitsy edge of my field of vision, a blob of white caught my attention. After promptly pulling the emergency brake, I shifted my gaze to the blob of white. Not ten feet away, staring me full in the face was the aft end of a skunk.

Now, I've looked down the barrel of an empty gun before, and I can now tell you that though that does make the hair on the back of your neck stand on edge, it doesn't even compare to peering down the barrel of a loaded one; especially a black and white one. I couldn't tell for sure if this particular skunk had a finger, but if he did...it was on the trigger.

Though I've always considered myself to have fairly quick reflexes, I now know they are much faster than I ever realized because they performed three quick "stop drop and rolls" and my body still hadn't moved a nanotitch. The tension in the air was singing incredible high notes and held for the eternity of a pregnant split second. Within this split second I mentally researched how long an average skunk can sustain a steady stream, calculated the distance between the skunk and myself, wondered where I would get enough tomato juice to bath in, and made a mental note to play more dodge ball with my students this coming year.

It was at this point that I was made aware of the fact that Jackson, our dear Labrador Retriever, will do anything for his master. He came thundering in and promptly sacrificed any self that he possessed, taking it full in the face. Jackson then matter of factly turned a beautiful dog donut and struck out for home at a high rate of speed ( I simply say "high rate of speed" because it would be difficult to estimate his actual speed considering the way he was ricocheting off trees, rocks, and other free hanging debris).

Meanwhile the skunk scurried into some nearby bushes, and I was left standing in a gaseous cloud of witnesses. Thinking that it was a good time to call it a night, I struck out for home.

This is where the story must end because the comments I received upon entering the house ought to be taken out and frozen in a slow moving glacier somewhere where they wont reappear for at least several generations.