What to Do When a Skunk Moves In

My parents live on the outskirts of town, their property abutting the hills that grow into the mountains enclosing our little valley.  It is the perfect location, enabling us to grow up in privacy and with the freedom to explore our five acres as well as our mountain backyard. That idyllic setting, though, presented a few complications over the years.

We came home one day to a rattlesnake coiled right in front of our back door, rattling and eager to strike.  We had recently poured a cement patio out the back door, so when my dad pulled out a gun to shoot the snake and calm his screaming children, I remember my mom panicking about the inevitability of chipped cement.

On another occasion, my parents were fast asleep when they heard the click-clack of the dog door that just happened to open into their room.  My mom looked over, expecting to see our dog, but instead saw a spotted skunk making its way into their bedroom.  She woke my dad quietly and in nearly inaudible voices they discussed their options.  We had a lot of experience with skunks: they inhabited our farm in great numbers, apparently attracted to the ever constant supply of dead turkey dinners.  We spent many summer nights hunting them because they spread disease.  We all knew we couldn't get too close or that semi-permanent farm smell would likely be an ever-present personal odor.

My parents lay there quietly, barely breathing, but feeling somewhat safe because they knew they were out of reach of an animal with limited climbing ability--which may in fact be true of striped skunks, but apparently is not true of spotted skunks since minutes later it climbed right into bed with them.  Terror filled the bed as the skunk crawled around them sniffing, pawing, and checking out the surroundings.  Afraid to move and afraid to breathe, they sat paralyzed and waited what seemed to them hours.

Finally, the skunk got bored and climbed down off the bed and rooted around in their closet. Eventually, it walked into the kitchen, its toenails clicking loudly against the tiles, and then out into the porch where it burrowed to safety behind the freezer.  My dad closed the door (locking it away from the rest of the house) and the two of them worried away the rest of the night, concerned about how best to handle the inevitable confrontation once five raucous children awoke.  

At the first sign of stirrings, they hollered up the stairs (cellphones and texting would have been invaluable) and told us to quietly and quickly pack our bags.  I don't remember any questioning or resistance because the next thing they said was that we were going to Disneyland--our own Super Bowl win.

Somehow we all made it to the car without incident.  Dad propped the screen door wide open and we left, hoping that the skunk would see fit to resettle in a more natural environment.  We figured that hunger would eventually drive it out. Fortunately, we lived on the edge of a crime-free town in a crime-free era and an empty home with a wide-open door invited no mischief.

We spent the next three days enjoying our impulsive vacation, and, upon our return, we found our home skunk- and scent-free. It was, l believe, the epitome of necessary indulgence.

Written May 24, 2015