Skunked

For the last three years around the February/March timeframe, our home has been skunked.  Skunked, as in a skunk has pointed its noxious skunkhole directly at the crevices of our home, lifted its nasty tail, and spewed forth its pungent essence.

The skunking typically occurs in the middle of the night.  The first time it happened, I distinctly remember being in the midst of a pleasant dream, when suddenly, a strong foul odor disrupted my REM. It was so stinky, I briefly awoke and gave Glenn a hefty sideways kick for interrupting my slumber (I of course assumed he was the cause of the smell, after all, he had just eaten two Taco Bell Cheese and Bean burritos with hot sauce earlier in the evening.  And typically one does not consume Taco Bell without some type of odiferous digestive by-product).

It wasn’t until the following morning however, when Glenn went outside to take out the garbage, and then came back in, that he realized we had gotten skunked.  I guess through the course of the night, we had become desensitized to the smell. And even though it was cold, we opened the windows in a futile effort to air out our less than aromatic home.  That year, the skunking only happened once.

Last year when we got skunked again, I knew exactly what I smelled.  In fact, the skunk spray was so strong, it woke us both up and left our eyes and throats burning and our stomachs nauseous.  

That time, we contemplated the idea of setting a humane trap.  Which to be honest?  At that point, I wasn’t feeling so magnanimous towards that damn skunk.  While I didn’t necessarily want to kill or maim it, I did want it to feel some major skunk version of discomfort too.  (The best idea I could muster was baiting the trap with my beloved mother-in-law’s not so beloved “spaghetti”.  Which? Can best be described as pasta overcooked to the point of spontaneous disintegration, laying in a puddle of tasteless reddish watery sauce and topped with Kraft “parmesan cheese” from a green bottle).

Of course the humane trap also came with the issue of: What if we did catch a skunk?  Then what?  How could we approach a live trapped skunk without getting sprayed?  Glenn suggested we cover the trap with a blanket and tie a long rope to the cage.  Okay …so that we could what?  Attach the rope/cage to our van bumper in the middle of the night and drag the skunk 20 feet behind us, across town to the forest preserve and ditch it?  All the while hoping to avoid law enforcement detection?  And how would I explain a skunk crammed in a trap attached to my bumper by a long rope to the police if we got caught (and I say I, because in a situation where lying is needed, Glenn is useless):

“Yes officer, we did notice giant sparks flying out from behind the van, but you see, the Big Gulp sale at 7-11 starts at 2 a.m. and we wanted to be the first in line, so we really felt we couldn’t take the time to stop and investigate. What? No Sir, we didn’t hear the skunk squealing in the cage; hell, we didn’t even know skunks had vocal chords, right Glenn?  I mean, I’ve just always assumed they’re one big mass of stinky anal glands with paws. Well yes sir, I can assure you that we were unaware that a skunk was attached to our van.  Hmmm, it is a complete mystery as to how it got there, although if forced to speculate, I would probably suspect my neighbor Karen”. (see Meditation rant for Karen reference).   

After two more skunking episodes, our problem appeared to be resolved, because lo and behold, a few days later we spotted a dead skunk lying in the street that had been hit by a vehicle (and no, the skunk death was not due to any of our vehicles).

This now brings me to last week, when once again, we got skunked.  Upon

awaking and inhaling that familiar smell, I shook Glenn awake to let him know we had been skunked. (What? Surely, you didn't think I was about to suffer alone.)

As soon as daylight hit, I got dressed and ran outside to investigate.  A light snowfall provided me with the perfect tracking method. I followed the skunk’s footprints which appeared to start at the right side of our front stoop, continued across the drive, circled its way all around the base of our house and then incredibly led right back under the front stoop from the left. 

Huh? It only circled the house?

Did this mean that not only did we indeed have a skunk, but it was extremely stupid, incredibly lazy, or completely lacking any sense of direction?

In addition to the skunk tracks, I also found deer, rabbit, raccoon, squirrel, and possibly coyote tracks in the front yard, all directly under the tree near my front stoop.  It was as if the entire animal cast of a Disney movie had decided to converge on my front lawn in the wee hours of the morning to contemplate the potentially retarded skunk now hiding under our stoop. 

After a quick internet search, I had devised a simplistic plan of action and went out to purchase my anti-skunk weapons: moth balls and cayenne pepper. (But not before I went to the gym.  Where I stopped at the front desk to check in and ended up recounting my skunk woes to the kindly older male employee.  Not only did he feel my pain, but he supplied me a new one when he informed me that skunks carried life threatening rabies.  It was right about then, when I turned my body sideways away from the front desk where we were standing, that I noticed a long trail of water which had started from the front door entry, made its way across the entire length of the tile, and had stopped directly at my feet. Vaguely listening to the employee as he was now explaining how my family was undoubtedly minutes away from contracting acute encephalitis, I fished through my cloth gym bag and realized my water bottle lid had come opened and had simultaneously leaked on the gym floor and the things in my bag.  Including my MP3 player.  You’ll be happy to note that I was able to dry out my MP3 player and fortunately it still works, as long as I don’t mind listening to an 85 minute continuous loop of N.W.A.’s Straight Outta Compton.  Undoubtedly I blame the skunk for this mishap, for obviously distracting me from properly tightening my water bottle lid during my malodorous morning.)

Once home, I circled my house and spread two boxes of moth balls around the perimeter (By the way, did you know if a tiny gloved part of a hand touches a mothball, it is nonetheless equivalent to jumping into a giant mothball vat? And that not even a super long hot shower, which accidentally scorches the skin, can eliminate the mothball odor that tenaciously clings to every pore of the said water-heater burnt body?)

In addition to the mothballs, I also covered the ground and bushes near our front stoop with enough cayenne pepper to scare the people of the state of Louisiana into thinking I single-handedly contributed to a national shortage of the spice.

And?

All I can do next is wait and hope.  Wait to see if we get skunked again. And hope that the mildly carcinogenic concoction strewn about the outside of my home smells offensive enough to deter a skunk.

Does anyone else see the irony of this?

Finally, in honor of the animal shenanigans I encountered this week, I decided to post an animal video that is so completely hilarious, you will want to watch it again, if you haven’t seen it already (and no skunks are involved).