They're Here!

September 24th marked the First Anniversary of this blog. The "paper" anniversary, if I'm not mistaken. How cosmic. But let's not break out the champagne just yet. Like all ecosystems, this blog has proved to be as cyclic as the next guy, because...

We've got skunks!

Yup, plural.

The Gentle Reader may recall that last year at this time, I was knee deep in the Bizarre Bazaar, our much-heralded neighborhood garage sale, which proved to be the hit of the garage sale season in this neck of the woods. "Woods" being the operative word here. Somehow, Pepe LePew found his way from the wilds of Sherwood Forest to a cozy bunker beneath our bump-out, where he hunkered down and forthwithly delivered a Life Lesson on the snout of our beloved canine, earning her the moniker "Stinkface" and my husband a tale to tell at midnight around the campfire about the time he live-trapped a skunk beneath the birdfeeder and relocated it into the Witness Protection Program out in the Township.

Now it appears the perp may have text-messaged a couple of his homies back in the hood, because, ala the immortal words of Heather O'Rourke in "Poltergeist II,"

"They're ba-aaack!"

Having skunks is not the same as, say, having the mumps. Or spots on the tomatoes. Or even mice. Such issues will eventually resolve themselves, or one can choose to ignore a situation and Just Live With It. Either way, you return to Life As You Know It. Having skunks involves your having to Deal With It, Asshole. You cannot live with skunks, or ignore them. Skunks will not resolve themselves. Having skunks is not a passive state of affairs. It is active in the purest sense. And you'd better act soon, because that plural will grow more and more plural, faster than you can say Something Fucking Stinks Around Here!

(Did someone mention this blog? Whatever. Back to our regularly-scheduled program.)



A week ago, our neighbor called to say she'd seen a skunk walking up the hill into our sideyard with a suitcase.* Later that same evening, I glanced out the patio door and caught two of the new squatters drinking martinis beside the St. Francis statue. These dudes know a patron saint when they see one. Our dog, who displays a similar color palette, was standing next to me at the time. She froze, eyes bugged, ears flattened, tail crestfallen. I could almost hear her memory chips ka-chunking into place to form that one coherent thought,

"What the fuck?!?"

The good news is that, much to our relief, Stinkface, er, Daisy has shown she has at least one functioning brain cell (the average for most dogs). This time around, she's giving the skunks wide berth. Good girl! Want a treat? While her instinct (in-stinked?) is too strong to let her stay inside the house and view the interlopers through a protective glass shield, out in the yard she will, nonetheless, get as far from the birdfeeder as possible and, remaining still as a (St. Francis) statue, spy on them in the darkness (skunks being, the Gentle Reader will remember, nocturnal). Ever the great covert operative, Daisy thinks she's spying. But if I crack the window, I can hear the skunks snickering amongst themselves about the Wuss in skunk's clothing over by the woodpile.

Living with skunks under the floorboards is a unique experience. Like having a conscience. All your actions take on new meaning. Now that I think about it, skunks are like the Voice of God. Don't fuck up, or God will get you! God knows all, hears all, sees all! God prefers peace and quiet and blackoil sunflower seed! And most importantly, the First Commandment, GOD DOES NOT LIKE TO BE SNUCK UP UPON!

With skunks deployed somewhere in the vicinity of your personal whereabouts, you can't get away with it, whatever it is, so don't even think about it. See what I'm saying? God.

But this time around, things will be different. The dog has learned a valuable Life Lesson. The neighbors are considering an electric fence. My husband is installing a mini Barcolounger in the live-trap and perusing old cookbooks for just the right skunk-friendly recipe. And I'm surfing Ebay for a portable morphine drip and thanking my lucky stars the neighborhood didn't schedule Bizarre Bazaar II.

Because, believe me, they've been asking. "They," as in some of the garage sale aficionados from last year, who've been requesting a repeat. As in, "They're (wanting to come) ba-aaack!" But they should know by now the sequel never lives up to the original. I mean, just look at "Poltergeist." And actually, now that I think about it, skunks do have alot in common with... OhMyGawd! Forget the champagne,

We've got poltergeists!





(*She also mentioned the three bears playing pinocle on our front porch, but that's a whole other story.)