The Stages of Skunk Grief

I’m talking about the grief people feel when their dog is sprayed with skunk fuel, not any grief that a skunk may feel.  I’m sure skunks have feelings, but I just don’t care.  I’m mainly concerned with the stages we all go through when our dipshit dog has played with the wrong “toy”.

Denial — I’m not smelling skunk. It’s probably a bad puppy fart or those teenagers are outside smoking cheap pot again.  Or one of us could have C-Diff (Google it!).  

Anger— Why the #$%^ can’t the dog leave other creatures alone?  She is so damn stupid! I need to just be a cat person again!

Bargaining — Dear Baby Jesus, high in the sky, if you make this dog stop stinking I will believe in you, and your daddy god, and your mama Mary, and your step-daddy Joseph. 

Depression — It’s hopeless.  There are skunks everywhere.  The dog will always get sprayed no matter what I do. 

Acceptance-  Well, I guess we all smell like Bob Marley and Frank Zappa’s armpits now. Maybe it will keep the Jehovah’s Witnesses away.