As previously mentioned, perhaps more times than necessary, we have a problem every spring with a mass invasion of skunks. Admittedly they are cute and if they would keep their distance I'd be ok with them. Unfortunately they do not keep their distance. Instead they flock to our chicken and small stock pens like a mob of hungry teenagers at a McDonald's fast food restaurant. In a single night they can kill a multitude of birds. When that happens something has to be done, so I set traps.
Ok, I know that will upset some of you. Seriously though, it has to be done. Unless you are a rancher you most likely have no clue how destructive a predator raid on a chicken coops can be. Not only do they kill in mass, they also create the potential for introducing disease and pests.
Hopefully you understand, so I will continue with the story.
One morning, not too long ago I went out to feed the chickens and found a skunk had dug under one of the pens and killed 4 nice laying hens. That evening, in frustration, I set a couple of traps and baited them with the skunks all time favorite food...Sardines.
A little after 5 am the following morning I woke to the unmistakable pungent smell of skunk. I immediately knew I had caught one in a trap. Now my husband, Bruce, is a sound sleeper. The skunk could have been standing on his chest spraying and he would never have awakened. With that in mind, I knew I was on my own, so I got up, slipped on my Jeans and Sweat-Shirt, grabbed a flash light and the .22 rifle and trotted out to look at the trap.
Ahh, well no need for the .22 because the door of the trap had fallen and caught the sunk around the neck. It was dead. With a sense of relief I went back into the house and since it was almost time to get up anyway I started a pot of coffee.
Now tell me why the smell of coffee will wake my husband but the putrid smell of skunk wont. It's one of the great mysteries of my life. At any rate, Bruce stumbled into the kitchen and asked what was going on. I told him about the skunk being killed by the falling trap door. He said he didn't see how something like that could have killed it, but he'd have a look.
I shrugged and sipped my coffee while he slipped into his jacked and headed out the back door. A few minutes later he came in and said "Well, strange as it seems I think you are right...it's dead."
When the sun came up we decided we'd best bury our dearly departed. Walking out back toward the pens, Bruce said "Ok you take it out of the trap while I get the shovel, then we'll bury it in the woods."
As I approached the trap I noticed that the skunk, who had previously been laying on its left side was now laying on its right side. I assumed Bruce had turned it over to check it, but I was curious why he hadn't removed it from the trap in the process. Even though my keen sense of perception told me there was something wrong, I bent down and began to lift the door on the trap.
Just then I though I saw a faint movement in the skunks chest area..did he just take a breath or was it the gentle breeze ruffling though its fur? I took a closer look. HOLY CRUD! It was breathing! It was taking very shallow breaths as if it were in a deep sleep. But.. OH NO..Not DEAD!
In a panic I turned and started to run while calling out a warning to Bruce....Unfortunately I had forgotten there was a small Pine tree directly in my path. That momentary lapse in memory caused me to smack face first into the tree. The force knocked me backward which caused one of my feet to land on one of the skunks hind feet and who, because he was not dead ...sprayed!
As Bruce came around the corner of the barn it didn't take him long to figure out what was going on. At that point he began lavishing me with sympathy. At least that is his version when he tells this story. It sounded like hysterical laughing to me. In all honesty I can't be certain because I was coughing, gagging and staggering around half-blinded with watering eyes and running nose.
I somehow managed to make my way to the laundry room with, I might add, no help from my sympathetic husband who trailed behind at a great distance. Once I had showered, sprayed myself down with Anti-Icky-Poo and put on fresh clothes, Bruce said he though I should be the one to go out and put the skunk out of it's misery. He reasoned that the skunk was mostly likely not only traumatized from my stepping on it, but in all probability had a concussion from the trap door hitting it on its head. I rejected his suggestion, but I did follow him back out toward the trap...at a distance.
Hiding behind the tree that had so viciously attacked me, Bruce aimed the .22 and called "Hey I can't remember..is a head shot or a lung shot the best way to keep them from spraying?"
I yelled back "Not the head!" Unfortunately, being a man, (they all have an incredibly short retention span) all he heard was "Head."
A split second later there was "POP" from the .22 and Bruce came staggering out from behind the tree amidst skunk oil perfumed air. Tears were streaming from his eyes and his nose was running. Even though he was coughing and gagging he managed to wheeze out an angry "Why did you tell me HEAD? Are you insane?"
Trying really hard not to laugh as I backed away from him I shouted " I told you NOT the head!" Ahh well.. I thought, moot point the skunk had the final blow...they always do.
As Bruce staggered back to the laundry room I lavished him with sympathy...or at least that's how it goes when I tell my version of this story. He still swears I was laughing hysterically.
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