The first night in a new home can be a bit stressful. The normal bedtime routines of lighting management, bathroom pit stops, and pooch pee breaks can easily become chaotic conundrums with uncertain endings.

Take, for instance, our first night in the Field (aka Plainfield, IL). After a long day--actually it was a long week--of moving couches, TVs and cribs, Brandi and I were settling into our normal nightly routine. The familiar somethings like, "Did you get the so and so?" or "Don't forget to wipe your such and such." flew through the spacious new abode like the millions of mosquitoes hammer dancing around the well-lit picture window. As soon as the door to Jake's new room closed for the night, I heard it. "Let Dave out please", Brandi said as she stumbled for the bed.

"Let Dave out...", I muttered as I reluctantly reached for the door (not the leash) to let Dave out. As he pranced around the dirt and weeds of the front lawn, I yell whispered, "Dave, go pee-pee". I know it's not a very masculine phrase, but it usually works--I blame the wife for it anyway.

More prancing and general tom foolery ensued as Dave chose to ignore my muffled pleas for potty. Then something caught his ear and he raised his head and bolted towards the neighbor's house. My first instinctive yell quickly turned into a gasp as I saw Dave convulsing feverously on the neighbor's front porch. Only a few seconds later I had managed to get him to move his spasms to our front yard of dirt.

I glanced next door for another peak at the crime scene and I saw the assailant. The jet black fur with a racing stripe of dingy white from nose to tail was unmistakably characteristic of a skunk. The harsh odor of rotting meat seasoned with a pinch of ass also helped identify the suspect's species.

He was a little guy not more than a foot long with a saunter that suggested that his *** didn't stink. Tail high, he took his time rounding the front porch to the side of the house then off into the night he vanished leaving his victim wailing and scratching behind.

I did my usual---BRANDI?!!!?!?!!!! BRANDI!!!!???!?!!?!--which in this case didn't get me the usual, "Get your own toilet paper jackass!" Instead, Brandi came calmly down the stairs and peered over my shoulder out the window to observe our dog trying madly to scratch the skunk out of his already swollen eyes. She said, "What the hell....?"

I replied, "Dave got sprayed by a skunk and I don't know what to do. Come on...You have a degree in Zoology WTF are we supposed to do?"

"Go to the pantry and get me a can of something with tomatoes in it. Dump it in a bucket and bring it to the garage...I'll get Dave."

I navigated clumsily through my new habitat searching for tomato-based food stuffs when I happened upon a can of Red Gold crushed tomatoes. I cracked open the can and dumped its contents along with a splash of water into a bucket and headed for the garage.

I was snapped back to reality as the skunk odor slapped me in the face when I opened the door to the garage. I was so afraid our new house was going to be forever tarnished by a rancid funk. The door closed and I handed Brandi the bucket of brine and a towel I wasn't too fond of anyway.

She began dousing Dave in the diluted tomato wash as I turned to head back inside to escape the gruesome reality. I was met with a locked door. I managed to lock the three of us out of the house with Jake asleep upstairs. Brandi screamed at the news, "We're going to have to break a window!"

"We're not breaking any windows. Just continue deskunking the dog and I'll think of something."

I sat thinking and soaking in the aroma for twenty minutes. I pondered everything from broken windows to kicked in doors and everything in between. It was midnight on our first day in our new home, our dog got skunked and we were locked out with our baby asleep upstairs--F***K! I remembered there was a key to the house in the cup holder of my Jeep, but I religiously push the little button that locks the doors and honks the horn briefly, so I was sure that was a hopeless case. I was wrong. The Jeep was unlocked and I was able to retrieve the key and open the door without any broken glass. Brandi had given up on removing the stink from the pooch and decided to fight that battle the next morning.

The next afternoon after we returned from the tri-level for the Cribas' final walkthrough, I headed into the basement with a hose and several flavors of Suave shampoo. None of them helped rid the doggie of the putrid stench. In fact, I think they made it worse. Something to do with wet dog smell and skunk reek mixed together was enough to make a coroner vomit.

With a little advice from a friend I headed to the local pet emporium for a skunk solution. They had a whole isle devoted to pet odors. From floor to ceiling and a hundred feet long of cleverly named smell removers like Dog-Be-Gone, See Spot Go! and Odorzout. I scanned the bottles and cans for the mugshot of the furry funk flinger. Sure enough they had a few skunk smell removers. I opted for Natures Miracle. That *** really works! The pooch is back to smelling halfway normal and now I reach for the leash before I reach for the door.