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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.