Doggie Doors Swing Both Ways

Do you have a doggie door or ever think about installing one? Be careful. I admit doggie doors can be handy. There is a lot less groaning to get up off the sofa every ten minutes to let Fido out and then back in two minutes later when he’s done with his business. The only problem is that those doors swing both ways. How do we know? Oh yeah, we got our doggie door education the hard way.
Angel. Isn’t that just the most heavenly name? One can imagine a toy poodle or a little Shih Tzu with such a dainty name. But our “little” Angel was a hundred pound Rottweiler. Strings of drool aside, she ruled the house. I never challenged her for couch position; she’d just wiggle her way across the cushions until I was on the floor and she was sprawled the entire length. She was a very mild tempered lady though; I never heard her growl.
You can imagine how big our doggie door had to be for a hundred-pound Rottie. Even I was able to squeeze through it … the key word here is WAS. You know how it is, what with middle age spread and all. The door worked perfectly for the dog though. Angel could come and go day and night at her leisure.
Living in the country, we never thought much about her leaving the house in the middle of the night. We didn’t really mind when she brought in a possum. He didn’t hurt a thing. I just picked him up by the tail in the morning and tossed his possum-playing little behind out the back door. But the night of the “smell” was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Ever been wakened by the pungent smell of skunk? If it just so happens that one of the little stinkers becomes roadkill, the result is tolerable. Actually, I think it smells rather good; it reminds me of home. Oh, but that’s another story. This awakening was so strong it was sickening. It was close … too close … like in our living room close. Walzie and I both woke with tears in our eyes.
“Ewww,” I cried. “What’s happening?”
“Betcha Angel is outside the bedroom window playing with a skunk,” Walzie surmised.
“Well, get up and shut the window. That smells nasty.”
Walzie peered outside. There was no Angel or skunk to be seen in the moonlight. Then I heard Walzie’s bare feet stomping down the hallway.
“Oh no … no,” he shouted.
I ran to the living room. Catching my breath, I saw perched on the back of the sofa, the biggest black and white fluff-tail I’ve ever seen, and she was cocked, locked, and ready to rock. Surprised by Walzie, the skunk let ‘er fly once again. Walzie dodged the bullet, but Angel got it square in the face. She howled and plowed the carpet, stinking to high heaven.
“Get that thing out of here,” I shouted at Walzie.
Now Walzie is an old critter-gitter from way back. Before any of us took the time to think (including the skunk), Walzie grabbed her by the tail and got that skunk off of her feet. You see, a skunk propels her perfume by hopping on her back feet to build up the momentum; get her feet in the air, and she’s helpless. He carried her out the back door and she disappeared into the night. We tossed Angel outside and locked the doggie door.
The entire house reeked. That $50 doggie door cost us carpeting, a sofa, fumigating, a new wardrobe (which I didn’t really mind), many, many doggie baths, and a new back door sans a doggie-hole.
Angel became an “outside” dog where she can roll in whatever stinky thing she desires.
I warned her, “Play with skunks; lay with skunks!”
Every now and then, when that odor wafts through our bedroom window, we grin and know that Angel is at it again. She’s one happy, stinky puppy … and she lives outside.