Everyone knows that if you see a skunk in the daytime, you should probably stay away from it. Really? Cause when I see skunks at night I usually run toward them and try to cuddle with them.
So there I was a couple mornings ago, nursing a migraine headache as I watered all the spots in my garden that my loser watering system fails to reach. It’s a morning ritual. I looked down at my feet, and there was what appeared to be a dead baby skunk. My immediate reaction was terror, and then I thought, “poor little thing, I wonder how it died?” It was unusual that it had died without letting off that tell tale…eh…odor.
I was just leaning down to do a visual examination when the little skunk lifted its miniature head and stared me right in the eyes. I did what every calm mature adult would do: I ran screaming into the house, calling the dogs in behind me.
As if watching the zombie apocalypse, the dogs and I peered out my front window. The baby skunk rose up and stumbled around. The poor thing was so wobbly I thought it must be either sick or injured. Then, from my vantage point, I saw it choose a well-fermented wild plum from under the tree, and eat it. Then it ate another one, then another and another. That little midget skunk was drunk.
What to do with an intoxicated diminutive pew factory when one is trying to run a dog business? Ol’ Yeller’s bright idea was to get our Havahart trap and bait it with breakfast sausage.
The whole time Ol’ Yeller was doing his Havahart thing, I was thinking, “why aren’t you baiting it with rotten plums?” Not surprisingly, the trap plan worked about as well as if I had invited the little thing to jump into the back of my car so I could drive it to the other side of the lake.
The tiny shit dwarf had no fear of us. At one point, my son and I threw plums at it in hopes of scaring it away. Instead, the skunk staggered right up to me and looked up, as if trying to tell me that the plums I was throwing at him weren’t ripe enough.
My son, my husband, the dogs and I watched Pepe le Pew for an hour or so. Since dogs and skunks are incompatible playmates, I had to cancel a dog evaluation appointment and postpone another dog’s drop-off. My son and hubby went to run some errands, and I walked inside to make a piece of toast to stave off the nausea building from my migraine. During this time, the skunk disappeared.
I thought this was the end of the story until three nights later. As I was writing this story, my dog wandered out the side door. Who should be standing there? You guessed it: that tiny striped wino.
For the second time in the 3 ½ years that I have had my dog, Moondoggie was skunked. I can now officially report that baby skunks produce the same amount of abhorrent stench as their parents.