To Crawl Where Skunks Have Trod

The phone rings.
Den is calling from the garage.
"Hey Sue, the baby skunks are in the orchard."
I put a coat over my pajamas and slip on a pair of crocs.
Two nights earlier,
we spotted a mama skunk
and her five babies en route to the barn
and watched from a distance.
Mother skunks are nothing to tangle with.
I know this because
our boys were raised with the story
of Denny and the Skunks.
 
In the mid-sixties,
Den and his Mill Road neighbor,
Cheryl Lumadue,
went out one night to catch baby skunks for pets.
They had heard 
that if you pick up a baby skunk by its tail,
it won't spray,
and they found it to be true.
Oh wondrous night!
Cheryl caught one and put it in the cage, then Denny.
In the dim light,
Den caught another glimpse of black and white,
but it was Cheryl's turn.
"Oh pleasepleaseplease Cheryl! Let me get this one!"
Cheryl stood back as Den made the grab,
but it wasn't a baby.
It was the mom
who sprayed Denny full in the face.
Den stumbled home gagging
and was showering in the basement
when the stench woke his parents,
two stories up.
They doused him with tomato juice
and burned his clothes
and endured the house odor.
The next day,
Den and Cheryl showed off their new pets
but when they learned that it cost $40 to have a skunk de-scented--
it won't stay a sprayless baby forever--
they let the baby skunks go.


Tonight in my orchard there were baby skunks.
Alone!
Without their mom to stink things up!
Two were snuffling around under the oak, bouncing like baby kittens.
Three more were beside the beehive,
two black and white
and one white and black.
The white and black one was a feisty little thing.
She would bounce toward me,
then hop back,
scratching the ground.
Her tail looked like a bottle brush as she stood on her front legs.
I laughed.
I talked to her.
I reallyreallyreally wanted to pick her up
or at least pet her
but Den advised against it;
these babies were slightly older than the Skunks Of His Past.
Plus, the last time I tried to pet a wild animal,
a mouse,
it bit me
and I had to get my tetanus shot updated.
I decided to do the sensible, scientific thing:
observe.

I lay in the field at skunk level
and watched her hop and scuff,
her tiny sprayer puckering and unpuckering.
When the skunklet backed off,
I wiggled a bit closer.

I watched until dark,
then went to find Den.
"You stink," he said.
How can I stink?
Baby skunks don't spray...
but they do dribble, apparently,
and I had crawled through it.

I left coat and PJs and crocs on the deck
and showered outside,
LOTS of soap,
rubbing any exposed skin with a pumice stone.
Ouch.
When I went in the house,
I was still odiferous.
My friend the search engine
advised hydrogen peroxide
and baking soda
and dishwashing soap
so I mixed up a batch.
I scrubbed
and soaked
and almost turned blonde when washing my hair
but the concoction worked
and I am now destenched
and wiser.
The coat and pajamas and crocs were not so lucky.





Update, one month later:
The crocs have hung on the laundry pole for a month now,
and the skunk smell is still there.
Not nearly as powerful, but still there.

Perhaps in another month they will be wearable