Thursday, June 21, 2007

Chemical Warfare

A family of skunks has taken up residence under the workshop on my dad's farm. He is not delighted with the new squatters. Last night I walked my nephew up to my brother's house on the hill. Enjoying the cool night and the pleasure of having unscheduled time with family, I stayed to chat. The universe decided to balance accounts, as the 2nd law of thermodynamics requires.

As we're talking, one of the farm dogs shot past the house, barking hysterically. "Raccoon," my brother, The Reverend, laconically announces. My sister-in-law, Dr. Direct, sticks her head out the door and counters with "No, skunk, and a direct hit if I'm not mistaken." I decide now might be a good time to beat a strategic retreat to my dads. Unfortunately, my sandals have been doused in skunk musk, something I didn't discover until I'd put them on. The Reverend's Wife comes to my rescue, deskunking feet and sandals while The Rev deals with the dog.

The dog was already in the doghouse, so to speak, after eating one of the layers of wedding cake Dr. Direct baked yesterday. As we dissected last evening's events over breakfast this morning, Wookie (the youngest of my sibs) summed it all up as "karma is a b**tch".

Dr. Direct is a pro when it comes to wedding cakes, but the project to bake my Dad's wasn't running smoothly even before the Devil Dog ate it. Two layers collapsed the day before, in my dad's hands. A retired organic chemist and a superb baker, this came as a surprise. This morning Barnacle Boy and I tried to exorcise the kitchen. He whipped up a batch of Barnacle Boys's Blessed Biscuits (his own wonderful recipe for chocolate chip cookies), I said the morning office standing at the counter while they baked. So far things seem on a better track!

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