The three words that best describe you are Stink, Stank, Stunk

Conventional wisdom says wildlife is the innocent victim when people move into the swamps. The animals in our neck of the swamp couldn’t be happier that such a generous species came and built houses for them to live under.

Here comes trouble

Doesn’t matter the season, these guys are always ready to drop in.

The deer love our gardens. Our bird feeders save the squirrels untold time and effort finding 18 square meals per day. The “Little Man who lives under the porch” (probably a woodchuck, though ethnic origins shouldn’t matter) burrows himself into our hospitality often. Field Mice have bunked with our accommodating cat.

life in the suburbs

Then there was this guy, who took a four-hour nap in our back yard last fall.

In February, a skunk set up housekeeping under our deck. We’ve entertained skunks before, but this one was special. Every night it would light up our house with the tangiest batch of squeezin’s we’d ever breathed.

Having repelled its kind before with ammonia-soaked rags, this was our first defense. But when it is 0°F (-18°C) outside, ammonia does more freezing than stinking. Skunks stink grandly at any temperature.

It got so bad it kept us up all night, and some of us puked. My wife claimed it was making her uterus contract, which seemed a stretch, but maybe not.

Animal Control would attempt to trap the skunk for many bags of gold, but for some reason they didn’t feel confident of success. They said it was probably a female, attracting a mate.

That tore it.

It’s one thing to be smoked out of your home by some poor creature protecting herself, but we run a respectable household. She could do her whorin’ elsewhere. We weren’t about to stand idle while Pepina Le Pew advertised booty calls with her Love Potion Number Noxious.

le pew

Get your girl, Pepe, or you’re gonna find your brood a little larger than you bargained for. (Warner Bros.)

My wife had the first whack. “I went out with a baseball bat, but she wasn’t there,” she said.

“You realize you could have got sprayed?” I asked.

Her voice was monotone, the cold, murderous voice of exhaustion. “Yeah, but she’d be dead. It’d be so worth it.”

I bought stuff skunks dislike and air freshener. Lots of air freshener. All the different brands.

I tied dryer bags of Stank Skank’s least favorite things all around the deck. (The air freshener was for us.) My fingers were good and numb by the end, but that was a small price. We put as much noise and light on the area as we could.

It seemed to get her out from under the deck, but lonely boys with time on their hands still came looking for a little stinking tenderness at night. Periodic whiffs of her jilted lovers’ agonies sent us spiraling into Post Traumatic Skunk Disorder.

We built a snow berm around the deck to make it harder to use as a kiosk for their scented love notes. With the help of used kitty litter we seem to be making progress. The attacks are fewer, but I won’t declare victory until we can invite company into our house again.

snow fortress

The arrival of March means our snow fortress is melting. I hope this doesn’t mean a pick up in business for the brothel.

And my wife’s uterus? Someone explained it this way: She was smelling the pheromones of the dominant female in heat. Her body was syncing itself to that lead.

I was a little surprised at how easily my wife rolled over for a skunk. But I felt better when I recalled that she was about to go get her Alpha crown back with a baseball bat. Now that’s my girl.

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29 comments on “The three words that best describe you are Stink, Stank, Stunk

  1. markbialczak says:

    Stink, stinky, stinkiest.

    I empathize, completely.

    http://markbialczak.com/2014/09/04/ellie-b-got-the-skunk-shot-right-between-the-eyes/

    We fortified around our shed last summer. We floodlighted the backyard at sunset. (Our neighbors must have loved us but nary a word, bless ’em.) Still Ellie B aka Dogamous Pyle took the hit. And she still carries the whiff when it rains, 1,000 doses of Nature’s Miracle later, Scott.

    Good stinkin’ luck.

  2. I am simultaneously laughing and sympathetically gagging. I do hope you are able to kick out your house guest soon. By the way, your wife sounds like an awesome bad ass.

  3. Oh that so sucks… I’m dying laughing. Sorry about that.
    So funny, you have a skunk brothel under your deck.
    Will she have little skunk babies under there? Little bastard skunk babies testing out their brandy new stink glands under your house?
    This has to be my very favorite post of yours. Love it.

  4. Angie Mc says:

    Heck yes! -> Her voice was monotone, the cold, murderous voice of exhaustion. “Yeah, but she’d be dead. It’d be so worth it.”

  5. adamjasonp says:

    Reblogged this on The Dependent Independent and commented:
    Austin H. has his Post Traumatic Snow Disorder, and you have Post Traumatic Skunk Disorder. …Here, the skunks add to the assortment of pests around the house.  Worse than the noise ’n’ turds of the mice here.

  6. Maybe an underground bunker is the answer to your problems. I hear they can zombie proof them so I figure skunk proof would be a snap. Does your wife watch those NBC shows on Friday night about wives killing husbands? My wife loves those so I make sure we don’t have any baseball bats in the house.

  7. pieterk515 says:

    Well that’s why South Africans build our houses with bricks, just like that third pig. And no wolf or skunk or any other beastly prostitute is gonna blow our house down…

    PS – I didn’t know Bambi and his friends stayed in your garden? Where’s the bunny?

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