There's a reason God spelled backwards is dog and today is one of those days when I remember why. Dogs are the devil incarnate. Much has been made of their unconditional love and their forgiveness and constant companionship. I would like to know why that all went missing today.

I made the mistake of ingesting a Benedryl last night, certain that it would afford me a good night's sleep from all the worries surrounding unemployment, college graduations and summer expectations. Unfortunately, I awoke groggy and had to drag myself from the bed to drag my daughter from her bed fifteen minutes before she inhaled her breakfast and raced to high school.

In those minutes before I realized the time, I lay mulling over a dream in-which one of my well meaning bridesmaids gifted me an aging cocker spaniel who immediately rolled over on his back and either died or passed out. I awoke before the ending.

I fussed with the blankets before I heard the unmistakable splitting of atoms on my kitchen floor below, followed by a pattering of untrimmed claws on hardwood. I didn't leap out of bed as the situation required. I rolled out like a gutter ball.

It wasn't rocket science. Finnegan my ten month old bag of bonehead brains had attempted to lick split pea soup from a ladle drying on a saucer and both had smacked the kitchen floor, one shattering, one sending green curds onto the rug.

But it wasn't so bad. The plate had split into two neat pieces that I could fit together. My bare feet were safe from porcelain chards.

I was anxious to get in a bit of HubChallenge writing before Finnegan headed to the vet for a check up, so after buttering and raspberry jamming my daughter's toast and kissing her goodbye, I clawed my way to the computer, lost in the irony of my dream.

A dog wrapped in a puff sack like it was my birthday. It was dream karma. Payback for the time I actually gave her a lab puppy without asking her permission. I'd expected her to be thrilled. Now I understood why she had stood speechless with that expression on her face.

By the time Jack returned with Finnegan, I was deep into researching my Readers as Writers hub. Stink hit me like incoming headlights on a dark and dismal highway. "The skunk," was all Jack said. It was enough.

Two months ago, a skunk had blessed us with its dying wish- to remain entrenched upon our hallowed open space until such time as vultures discovered its rank body and towed it away or until the dogs of the neighborhood flattened it to oblivion in their obvious glee at such a gift, dead in their very own neighborhood.

To top off his odoriferous scent, Finnegan was tracking grey slime all over my semi-clean basement floor. "He hit it all," Jack said, meaning yes, there remained bogs of murcky grey muck with liquid in them and he hadn't snapped the lease on Finn in time.

"Okay, that's it," I replied. "It's only fair that you are the one to take him to the vet. I should not take the heat for such a disgusting package as this mangy dog presents."

"I have a conference call," Jack said. And that was that.

Have you ever noticed how enclosed and small the inside of automobiles are these days?

I had not bothered to take a shower in my rush to the computer, so the stink absorbed into my sweats and jacket did not cause me to weep like a lavender scented woman. What did give me pause were comments made by veterinary personnel supposedly educated in the ways of dogs. "You can have the cat room," the attendant said. "It's well ventilated."

"Whew!" the vet assistant muttered, entering the room with a thermometer. She paled as she realized she would have to rest her manicured hands on his coat if she wanted to steady him. He of course couldn't get close enough to her sweetly scented body. He has after all, a Mr. Everybody Loves Me and Why Wouldn't They I Am SO Adorable Personality. He's a terrier.

"I will have to take him into the back room for his heart worm test," the assistant sniffed. "I guess he will stink up that room as well." She laughed as if she had made a big old joke and gingerly took his leash.

It had to be the quickest heartworm evaluation in the history of the clinic. And then the vet entered the room. "I gave him his exam in the backroom," he said. Yeah, right. And I took an hour's nap. "Guess he had a great walk," he surmised, not cracking a smile. "Some dogs are attracted to skunk. We don't know why. Do you know about tomato juice?"

I gulped. "Well, I tend to use massengil douche," I said. "The original unscented variety. It works best. I seriously didn't have time this morning. My husband returned from the walk minutes before I had to head down here."

His gaze withered what life remained in my quivering chest. I crawled home, tail between my legs while Finn dashed from the left window to the right window, thrilled to witness life in the fast lane.

He crashed when we got home- because of the shot, I suppose. Tough day for the poor little guy. I took a cleansing breath.

Within minutes, he was chewing on our orange introverted cat's tail, fighting our aging poodle over one of twenty nine bones and toys cluttering the house inside and out, and leaping at the door any time a couple deer moved through the gully, which was often.

Finally, I stuffed him into his kennel and settled down to my final Hub of the day. Three for three, I thought, happily. My goal of 30 Hubs in 30 days was moving along rather nicely despite clouds in my brain and stink on my sweats.

SPLINTER! SHIVER! SMASH! What is the sound of glass shattering?

"Mom?" My daughter called down the stairs in that sweet voice reserved for the most interrupting of favors. And now it is nearly 11pm. I am not taking another Benedryl. Not tonight.