I’ve been saving this story for a rainy day.
It happened this past summer when the skunk moved in.
Every night for about a week we’d get a visit from a skunk about 3am. This skunk liked to break into the chicken coop and sample the chicken feed and of course the chickens would scream. (If you’ve never heard a chicken scream, I can report that it’s a little jarring at 3am.)
Every night it was the same routine; Zach and I would get up, go outside and try in vain to remove the skunk from the chicken pen and every morning we’d try to figure out how the little SOB got in. By the end of the week I was more than a little sleep deprived and just a little bit crazy.
This particular night, around 3am my screaming chicken alarm goes off. In a state of complete insanity, I jump out of bed, leaving Zach behind.
Running through the yard I see the chickens cowering in the corner of the pen, squawking and clucking, the skunk examining the nesting boxes.
Blinded by rage I opened the door to the pen, reached in and grabbed the skunk by the tail and flung it across the yard.
By now Zach is standing behind me and both he and the skunk are in disbelief. At this point I think the skunk was too shocked to spray and decided to cut its losses and get the hell out of Dodge and I, smug and victorious, went back to bed.
The next night I went to bed confident. I was sure that the skunk would not return, and of course I was wrong.
Like clockwork, the skunk returned, the chicken screamed, and Zach and I went back out in the dead of night.
This time we were arguing about what to do. Zach got a shovel; I had a stick and we were determined to rid ourselves of this skunk. Zach flung the shovel at it, grabbed the stick from my hand and began wildly stabbing at it. I stood by yelling at him about how inefficient the whole attack was and then suddenly I snapped again.
This time when I grabbed the skunk by the tail I flung it overhead, over the fence and while it was tumbling head over heels in the air, it sprayed.
Realizing what was happening, I cut and ran, and as I ran, I removed my clothing. First the pants, then the shirt and lastly the underwear.
I ran through the back yard and made it through the back door. Once inside, I ran directly to the shower. I yelled to Zach to bring me the Dawn dish soap and I spent the next 20 minutes scrubbing my body free of skunk.
If you’ve ever been sprayed by a skunk then you know that the smell doesn’t go away that easily. It becomes part of you.
The next morning I went out back to survey the damage. My favorite t-shirt was in the dirt, my underwear flung in the rose bush and my pajama pants were lying on the porch.
The smell in the backyard was powerful. Each and every chicken had been caught in the skunk spray, too. Casualties of war. I flung my clothing with a stick to the furthest part of the yard and went to work. Zach spent the whole next day securing the chicken pen like Ft. Knox.
We didn’t have a breach until just the other day in broad daylight. The skunk ran through the fence and chased Zach and our dogs into the house.
This time I didn’t try to do hand to hand combat with the guy and instead we called the proper authorities and avoided rabies.
I keep threatening to get rid of the chickens. It’s just too hard to keep them safe from predators. Then I remember that the result of the election didn’t lower the cost of eggs. An occasional fist fight with a skunk is pretty cost effective.
Cassina Farley can be contacted at cassinaandzachfarley@msn.com