Welcome to Skunkville, Oklahoma
July 4, 2012
I opened an eye this morning and saw my husband buck-naked. Oh boy, is this for me? I haven’t felt this much excitement in a year.
(I’ve had severe spondylolisthesis for years and spinal fusion surgery last month. Now I lie in tedium, depression, and anger mainly at TV as it’s worthless in the summer. I tried to escape by reading. Read eleven pages of UNSAID and bawled through ten of those pages. Put that down. I can depress my self; I don’t need any outside help.)
Almost simultaneously, I realized his streaking toward the bathroom was followed by a strong waft of skunk. He wasn’t headed toward me; he was headed toward the shower. Thank God.
We have skunk problems in our neighborhood. We live less than a block from a huge, wild, city owned acreage that runs north to City Lake. The varmints pour out for a little night life and big city dining.
The arrival of big skunk came earlier this week. I had already let the dog out and back in when John loped by Mat and me. “Don’t let Mat out.”
“Been there, done that. Why?”
“Big, big skunk in our yard. Think it went under the fence. It may be in Lois’ yard now.”
John and the neighbors have sighted big skunk and a couple of smaller ones all week, daylight and dark.
One of our neighbors has four highly prized hens, each egg is treated like a royal jewel. Additionally, Bob, the hen owner, is as fastidious as an old woman. The presence of a skunk is not welcome. Last night he had reached belligerent and intolerant. He borrowed a box trap and set it up in the yard. It worked.
Prior to my husband’s streaking this morning, a tiny cluster of neighbors had gathered in Bob’s back yard to witness big skunk’s disposal. The most miniscule, mundane event enthralls our small block.
The animal control man arrived with a 22. rifle. He shot.
Big skunk was wounded.
Big skunk sprayed.
The pod fled.
He shot again.
The word kill is too merciful a word. And the whole neighborhood reeked of skunk.
We decided to evacuate our permeated house for a couple of hours, only to get in the car which, even with closed windows and a closed garage door, had absorbed a good skunk dose. Those Febreeze car odor things aren’t worth buying if one thinks Febreeze has a chance against skunk.
We stopped to eat breakfast. John still wafted a bit of skunk.
Skunks are serious.
Several years ago, an odor started around our back yard. We blamed the neighbors
The neighbors blamed us.
John discovered a skunk had crawled inside the French drain, got stuck, died, and began to putrify. Armed with a rake, a shovel, mask, gloves, a hoe, a clothes pin, and an enormous super density plastic bag, he tried to remove the skunk. Adding further indignity to the task, the skunk could only be removed in pieces.
Neighbors poured into their yards – “John, what are you doing?”
“Stop it. Our whole house stinks.”
I stupidly pointed out that skunk bagging would be like body bagging. We could drop the bag in the trash and the garbage men would pick it up later in the week.
The next morning the whole neighborhood reeked even worse. Finally, John dug a huge deep hole in our pet cemetery and buried skunk pieces, bag, and all.
Later that week I shared our story with my friend Vicki. She had a correlating experience. When her husband had gone to Las Vegas on a golf trip the previous winter, a skunk had gotten on her front porch late at the night. She rushed out with a broom to shoo it away. It sprayed the low screens and windows and left.
She stuffed her night clothes in her pajama bottoms, threw on a heavy coat, and headed to Walmart after midnight.
She threw cans of tomato juice all over the screens where it froze. Not until spring thaw could they power wash the entire house front.
Skunks are serious.
Skunks are quick tempered.
Skunks are professionals at what they do.
Homeowners just think they are.