No Good Deed; Life’s Hard Lessons

 

So. I’m almost recovered from what has become known as “Skunkgate” around our dinner table. The Skunk-er-raters, that would be the Squirt, Honor the cat and me (myself?), gathered ourselves and retreated from our lovely fishing trip to save the day over to Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson’s house. The swimming pool over to Squirt’s soon-to-be-ex mother’s house was filled with a family of five skunks. The house, technically speaking, is also the soon-to-be the house of Honor. Once Honor is trained and fully indoctrinated, she is to become Dr. Sam’s cat. And the Squirt becomes my puppy.

Don’t tell Sammie, but I think the cat will suffer from significant separation anxieties should a segregation occur. An issue to be later dealt, but an issue none, and the less.

When Gram dropped us off at Sammie’s, we found Mom and Pop skunk, and three little skunkies, all swimming around unable to gain the minimal purchase required to lever themselves out of the pool. They were all doing the guppy breathing of a drowning animal and were swallowing pool water at an amazing rate.

After a quick assessment of the situation, I told Squirt, “Look sweetie, edge over and get in front of the big one– the daddy skunk. Tell him that we won’t hurt them. Tell him we’re here to save his family from drowning.”

Squirt strutted over to get situated and I remembered another instruction. “Ask him if any of them have the rabies.”

I’m not busting my ass to save rabid skunks. I like skunks but have a strong dislike for anything rabid. “Tell him I’m drowning the lot of them if they’re rabid.” She talked to the skunk daddy, a difficult task since he was swimming in circles and taking-on water like the Titanic.

She spoke with him for a few minutes and raced over to sit pretty at my feet, her formal speaking posture. “OK, Bwana Mooner. He says no rabies and save the kits first. Told me the bambinos es esse ‘kits’”

I guess skunk babies would be called kits– don’t know for certain but it makes sense to me. All I could find to use for skunk removal was a broad wooden board, a leftover fence plank from when Sammie got a new fence awhile back. It was six-feet long and eight-inches wide. I positioned myself in front of the first kit and enticed it to climb a board, and aboard. With its daddy’s encouragement, the little shunkie grabbed the plank and clung for its life. I gently laid it in the mulch-covered flower bed next to the pool, and the little guy started puking up pool water in squirts.

I repeated the process with the other kits and then focused my attentions on the mother, who was almost down for the count. Her head was spending as much time under as above the water. She didn’t have the strength to climb the board, so in desperation I moved her to the edge of the pool with the plank and then nudged her onto the board with my hand.

I had to hold mommy on the board and stoop to unload her to keep from dropping her as I moved to the mulch. She was gagging and puking water before I even got her set down. When I stood up and walked back to the pool, I noticed the strong, foul odor of skunk essence coming from my hand. I made a few tacky comments about the odor and invited the cat and dog to come take a whiff.

Squirt stalked up to my hand, closed her eyes and took a huge drag of air through her adorable nose. She started gagging and coughing and wiping her snout on the grass. The cat just wrinkled her nose and sniffed from three feet away.

“Yes,” I said, “skunk venom is mighty smelly shit.”

“You’re gonna need to cut your hand off Mooner. That’s the only way that smell is ever going away,” Squirt said and then she started giggling. Which started me giggling and then the cat.

I rescued the daddy and set him with his family to purge the chlorinated pool water from his gut, and than I returned the plank to the garage where I found it. When I walked back to see how everyone was doing, Squirt and the daddy skunk were arguing. I asked why and was told, “He’s grateful for us saving them, but he’s pissed we disrespected his wife.”

What the fuck?, I thought to myself. I dropped my shorts to the ground and shot the little fucker a moon. Squirt and Honor came to my side and flashed their own cute tushies. I had my head between my knees looking at the skunk family while we mooned them when I saw the daddy turn his hips to moon us back.

I must have still been a little wasted because it took me more time than an instant to remember that skunks don’t moon. They squirt skunk venom.

The three of us were splashed with a full load of venom by a mature, and obviously well-fed, male skunk.

Ugh.

Last time this happened it was a month before I could taste or smell anything besides skunk juice. Last time I wasn’t hit on my bare ass AND my face, just my bare ass.

The Squirt won’t speak to me and the cat hisses whenever I enter the room. My two companions blame me for everything And it looks like my sex life will be nonexistent for a while.

Fucksicles. Thank God for Carta Blanca beer and my bloggie buddies.

Manana, y’all.

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2 Responses to “No Good Deed; Life’s Hard Lessons”

  1. Squatlo says:

    You’re a kind man, Mooner. I believe, given skunks tendency to contract rabies AND spray humans, dogs, and cats with the foulest thing this side of a Glenn Beck interview with Sarah Palin, I’d have just used the pool skimmer tool to show the skunklets how the drain looks up close and personal, for at least three or four minutes to make certain that got a good look. The pool is already a hazardous material site, probably listed on the EPA’s Superfund chart by now anyway… and wet dead skunks are infinitely easier to handle that wet, angry live ones.

    Swig another dose or two of Gram’s flea and tick mix, and just fill a horse trough with tomato juice… if you heat it you can pretend it’s a hot tub!

    Rick Perry is your problem, don’t you let that little struttin’ putz take his silly ass to DC for the rest of us to deal with! We didn’t have a THING to do with him getting elected…

  2. admin says:

    Squat. Sometimes life makes it hard to do the right thing. I guess I’ve grown accustomed to the punishment phase of my good deed doing to the point where I expect it. And baby skunks are cute little critters.

    As for little Prick Perry, too late. He was out to California last few days and made an anti-Obama speech regarding abortion. Look it up and you’ll be forced to write about it.

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