stop making scents
Greetings gentle readers!
Funny thing about my mother…..things are pretty black-and-white with her. There’s very little grey area with her, in just about every respect. It’s good in a way, since you never have to *guess* what kind of mood she’s in, but it’s bad in a way, since you never have to *guess* what kind of mood she’s in.
And this may be a stretch to believe, gentle readers, but my mother is very concerned about What The Neighbors Will Think. (even though, ya know, they all know each other, and trade keys to each others’ houses when they go out of town, etc. etc.)
So when an unknown denizen of the night started tearing up her lawn, leaving large divots for her to obsessively turn back over every morning, her reaction was very black-and-white.
She was seeing red! Livid. Furious. Personally, other than aesthetic reasons, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what the big deal was. Our rich lawn was providing nutrients for a night creature….so what?
But, alas, no amount of persuasion could dissuade her from her single-minded pursuit of thwarting said creature. (I was home from college for the summer at the time so got to experience all of this first-hand, down to the DMG (Daily Morning Grumble) as she donned her gardening gloves and flipped the divots back over on the front lawn.)
My mother determined that the beastie was digging for grubs, so had the lawn sprayed, attempting to rid us of the main menu, as it were. (I have to admit that this creature *did* seem to single out our lawn, as neighboring ones remained untouched. It was unprecedented to her, and a little bit hilarious to me. In case you’re new around here, I’m pretty much always rooting for the animal in cases like this).
The spraying didn’t work. Instead, it had the opposite effect…the beastie then dug up the front AND back yards, just certain that those juicy grubs must be around somewhere! Mom laid down the gauntlet: whatever it was, it had to go. Period. Black-and-white.
Know what else was black and white? The culprit. I finally caught him (her?) in the act one night, when I was creeping in late as college-students-home-for-summer are wont to do. I’ll call him ‘him’ for the sake of simplicity, and because I’m rather simple myself, and the whole black-and-white thing immediately brings to mind a tuxedo…..
(not to mention Pepe Le Peu), I decided to name him ‘Sir’, but that didn’t come until later. Setting the scene here, doncha know.
Anywhiff, I saw the skunk puttering around the front yard as I pulled into the driveway. Now I don’t know if you know this or not, but skunks are actually quite intelligent creatures, and to me anyway, extremely cute (a friend had a rescued one so I got the privilege of experiencing one close up….and descented, of course).
I defy you to debate the cuteness. I mean, come on.
Cute they may be, you just don’t want to, say, piss them off, or startle them, or threaten them in any way.
Since this was a rogue skunk and not my skunky friend, I thought it best to stay in my car until he wandered off.
Except he didn’t wander. He kept doddering around the same area for over 10 minutes, in fact, and I really REALLY had to pee. Throwing caution to the wind, I verrrrry gently eased my car door open. He perked his head up, noted me, and kept digging. ‘No problem’ I thought….’I’ll just sneak riiiight by here…..’
I made my newly-minted skunk-soothing noises, and fairly oozed up to where he was digging…..a few feet away from the path to the front door. (which is also the only door my key will open, Network, if you’re listening). When I oozed closer, however, that skunk did the craziest thing….he wandered into the path directly in front of me.
Um. Now what? I wondered. So I waited. But, again, the bladder thing, so um…..I took a cautious step forward. He finally bobbled off into the bushes and I ran/leaped over the porch step and hot-tailed it inside.
My mother was horrified when I told her, whereas I was excited to have made a new friend!
Then a few days later I was going down to the laundry room and saw something peculiar (and half-hidden) on the stairs. It was a can…..of poison food pellets! I was so shocked, and dismayed, and angry….she would rather KILL a poor innocent skunk than deal with divots?? (Black-and-white, I’m telling you).
Well, this would never do. I opened the can and gave it a cautious sniff. WOW. Those ‘pellets’ were not only BRIGHT BLUE, they smelled like chemicals. I’d like to credit my buddy with more intelligence than to fall for something like that, but I wasn’t about to take any chances (something about a black-and-white apple not falling far from the tree). I emptied the death can’s contents into an already-tied garbage bag in the garage, awaiting disposal….and buried and wrapped them in so many layers other creatures wouldn’t get to them without a safe-cracker. Then I went upstairs and replaced the whole can with rabbit pellets. (what, you didn’t think I had rabbits?)
Meanwhile, every night after the initial encounter, the skunk started to get more and more…well, friendly, I guess. We sort of fell into a routine. I’d pull up in the driveway, he’d toddle over and stand outside my car door. (I’m not making this up….promise!) I’d gently get out, and he would walk in front of me up the path. After a few nights of this, he even got bolder and began to hop up the porch step, and literally walk me to the door. It was darn near the cutest thing I’d ever seen. I’m gettin all mushy just thinking about it.
Who’d a thunk it? A skunk! My escort! Heck knows what *he* got out of the bargain…it’s not like I ever fed him. I swear he knew I was on his side, and that was that. That’s where ‘Sir’ came from…..he was too much like a liveried butler, escorting me to the door. I’d exit my vehicle each night and greet him, “Good evening to you, good Sir!”
I’m a skunk-whisperer!
Mom didn’t believe me for the longest time….until she peeked out the curtains one night as I was walking up and when I got in the door and the skunk was right there on the porch she squealed through her hand ‘OhmygoodnesshewalkedyourighttotheDOOR!’
Yes, mother, isn’t that what I’ve been telling you? Honestly. As if it’s *that* hard to believe, right?
So this went on quite some time and a good chunk of the summer.
Until one day……I came home from work in the middle of the afternoon and was greeted by a most peculiar sight….even for *our* front lawn. A grown man, wearing one of my ancient kiddie Raggedy Ann and Andy sheets like a ghost, was frog-marching in slow-motion towards an unseen object. WHAT the………?
I edged closer, and all became clear. There was my buddy, trapped in a cage and clearly pissed off, and here was Mr White Truck Without Windows come to save the day, and take Sir elsewhere. I suppose I should have been happy that Mom at least decided to go grey on me and split the difference, opting for a humane trap (I never would have forgiven her otherwise)…but still….it was pretty emotional for me.
I didn’t much care for seeing Sir trapped and freaked out in that little cage, I definitely didn’t relish the prospect of never seeing him again, (would you believe I’m actually getting misty typing this? Gah, there is no hope for me….I swear), and frankly I was more than a little put out at seeing a badge of my youth (a la Raggedy Ann) corrupted for such a purpose.
In the end, Sir was covered and loaded into the truck, and believe you me I followed up with several phone calls and made absolutely certain that he was taken somewhere and not disposed of. Poor guy. I felt so bad….uprooted from his home, separated from his new bipedal friend…..until he came back again the next spring.
At least, I’m pretty certain it was him. He knew where to dig
Huzzah!