How to De-Skunk a Dog

Then came Ruby, my current English setter. Her field trial bloodlines and ramped-up prey drive make all the Labs and Springers we’ve had look like little old ladies driving to church on Sunday mornings. Ruby is always on high alert, but let her get a whiff of a quail or grouse, and there is no stopping her. As I said, she’s an English setter, but she must think she’s a German dog because she likes fur, too. Anyway, she likes skunks.

Each year, when the “quiet time” here in Wisconsin ends, and we can start training our dogs on wild birds and public lands again, Ruby and I make forays onto the Northwest Sand Barrens, where a few sharptailed grouse still live on the remnant prairies. Those barrens are God’s gift to bird dog trainers. They consist of open, rolling sand hills covered in big bluestem, scrub oak, blueberries, and grouse. August 1 is the magic date when training begins, and early each August, for the past three years, Ruby and a skunk have met and exchanged recipes. Did I mention that Ruby is three years old? Three years, three Augusts, three skunks. I sense a pattern.

Some years are more impressive than others. Last year, she caught a direct skunk hit in the mouth. That was unpleasant enough that she yiped, and I thought maybe, just maybe, it was the learning experience she needed. Nope. The other day, she got nailed again. It wasn’t quite as bad as the previous year, but her chin, her neck, and her GPS collar were effused in the yellow, oily emulsion. I doubt the collar will ever recover. All this fun with skunks has made me a reluctant authority on dealing with the foul mess.

After that first year with Ruby, I learned my lesson in preparedness, and I started carrying a de-skunking kit with me in the truck. When I think the odds are high for an encounter, I even carry a small bottle of a patent remedy in my pocket. This is as good a way as any to segue into what works for me and what doesn’t.

First, there’s the old folk treatment of tomato juice. We tried that first when the Lab got nailed all those years ago. I’m surprised people still recommend it. It did not work for us, plain and simple. And there’s no reason it should. Skunk emissions are oily. Have you ever tried to remove an oil stain by rubbing a tomato on it? Of course not. The mildly acidic tomato juice isn’t nearly potent enough to break down skunk secretions. I suppose if tomato juice is the only thing on hand, it’s better than nothing, but not by much.

But there is a home concoction that mostly works: Take a quart of fresh hydrogen peroxide, ¼ cup of baking soda, and a tablespoon of dish soap.

Mix it together in an open bucket and apply generously to the afflicted area. Do NOT mix it in an enclosed container! The off-gassing baking soda and peroxide will turn the container into a small bomb.

Be careful not to get the mixture in the dog’s eyes. Once applied, allow it to soak for a few minutes. Then rinse thoroughly with clean water. Several such applications and rinsings are necessary to improve the smell enough for the dog and me to be in the same room.

This mixture does have a couple of drawbacks: First, it will only work if you apply it within about 10 minutes of mixing it. Once it stops fizzing, it’s done. Second, the ingredients are not practical to carry with you in the field. Lastly, if you leave it on for too long, it will bleach your dog. I won’t claim that this solution is perfect, but it definitely helps the situation. And since the ingredients are readily available and it’s cheap, it’s my go-to move.

Then, there are the commercially available remedies. I’ve personally used Odor Eliminator, De-Skunk, and Skunk-Off. And I know several people who have tried the “as seen on TV” product, Pooph! with varying degrees of success.

From my experience, the best of that bunch is Skunk-Off, and that’s what I carry with me in the truck and in my vest if I expect skunks. That’s not to say that the others don’t work. I’m sure they all have some effect on the smell since they all work in roughly the same way. They break down the chemical structure of the skunk spray, i.e., n-butyl mercaptan (which is technically made up of thiols and thioacetates), thereby reducing its ability to stink.

My standard procedure is to use Skunk-Off in the field, followed by a thorough peroxide/soda/soap application when we get home. Some people don’t like the scent of commercial products either, but it’s better than the alternative, in my opinion.

The key to all the remedies, commercial and home-brewed alike, is to apply them as soon as possible after the incident. Once the oils in the skunk spray contact the dog’s skin and seep into the hair follicles, it’s very difficult to deal with. That doesn’t take long. If you can immediately apply something to counteract the smell, you’ll be way ahead of the game.

In Ruby’s case, the year she got sprayed in the mouth, there was absolutely no hope of removing the smell. I wouldn’t dare use either the homemade or commercial products in her mouth, so it was just going to have to wear off over time. You have no idea how many times that fall I had to say, “No, Ruby, I don’t want a kiss!”

Speaking of time, I’ve found that I can still detect faint whiffs of skunk for weeks or even months after “the event” when the dog is wet. Since I live on a lake, that means always. Fortunately, that incredibly intense-to-us aroma doesn’t seem to affect the dog’s ability to scent prey. At least I haven’t noticed any difference in Ruby’s performance on birds after she’s been skunked. And I know one hunter whose dog got sprayed miles from the truck, and they still had a great bird hunt on the way back—as long as the dog stayed downwind.

And hey, it’s better than getting porcupined, right?