The Skunk Epic. A True Story. Chapter One

Chapter One: Skunk Attack!


One night in February of the year 2002, My wife, my son and I came home from food shopping, opened our front door and smelled a skunk. This was no ordinary skunk smell. It was like an invisible punch in the nose. It was a skunk attack. We were overpowered by this toxic odor. We gagged on skunk funk as we brought the groceries into the house from the car, astonished by the fact that the smell of the skunk was actually stronger INSIDE our house than it was outside.
The stench was so powerful that we could actually taste it. It was hard to breathe when were inside. The air was poisoned, and the house was unlivable. We choked as we opened all the windows and fled to my mother in law's house to wait for the smell to subside.
Later that night, we went home. It still stunk something awful. I could not get over the fact that it smelled much worse INSIDE the house than it did outside. Was the skunk IN the house? It sure smelled like it!
Something had to be done! We couldn't live in there. I called my friend Gunther who gave me the phone number of an exterminator he had used. His name was "Bob The Skunk Guy."
I called him. He answered the phone like this: "Hello, Bob, the skunk guy!" I explained our predicament. Bob said, "I'll be right over. It will cost you a hundred bucks. If the skunk is in the house I'll find him and get him out of there for ya"
At that point I would have gladly paid him a thousand.
Bob The Skunk Guy showed up less than an hour later, by now it was about 11:00 at night.
Bob The Skunk Guy was big. Bob The Skunk Guy had a big flashlight and wore a big flannel shirt. Bob The Skunk Guy may have had a few big cocktails earlier that same evening.
Never the less, Bob The Skunk Guy was there, walking around my house at 11:00 with his big flashlight stumbling through the shrubs, looking under and around everything searching high and low for our stinking terrorist enemy. A PROFESSIONAL RODENT ELIMINATOR doing what he does best. My hero!
By midnight however he had not accomplished his mission and it still smelled like Bigfoot's ass in my home. Even Bob The Skunk Guy had to admit, the smell was stronger inside the house than it was outside ""Bob," I said, "I really think this skunk is in here, not out there."
"It's possible, but it's very unlikely," Bob said, sounding a bit like a professor. He explained that skunks aren't good climbers and they can't jump, so he probably couldn't have made it up the stairs.
Bob The Skunk Guy went down cellar with his big flashlight. He tore the place apart but found nothing. Then he asked us if we had any flour.We gave him a bag of flour. He produced a can of sardines from his pocket.(wierd) He placed the opened can of sardines in the center of the cellar, and then he sprinkled the white flour all over the floor around it. "What the hell are you doing?" I asked.
"If that skunk is down here he's gonna go for those sardines," Bob explained, "Skunks love sardines, and we'll be able to see his footprints in the flour, then we'll be able to see where he's hiding."


"Ingenious!" I said, and we went upstairs. The man had techniques, and proceedures! He was clearly a skunk catching expert. Even though I was still choking and gagging I felt a bit more at ease.



"I think it smells more upstairs than it does down cellar," Bob announced. I had to agree. Who was I to argue with the trained nose of a professional rodent eliminator? He paced from room to room sniffing. We followed him, doing the same. It was getting close to 1:00 AM. My little boy was upstairs in bed with the covers over his head.
Bob stopped in front of the closet in the front hall, sniffing with his nose in the air. He shined his big flashlight into the closet. Suddenly he seemed very alert.
"Open the front door, and leave it wide open!" He ordered. "We need to take all the clothes out of this closet so I can get in there!" he explained sternly.
It was the voice a sergeant would use before ordering his men to take Porkchop Hill.
We removed every coat, shirt and sweater from the closet and threw them on the dining room table, like good soldiers.
He shined his big rodent seeking flashlight beam into the deepest recesses of the cluttered closet. "Holy shit! I think I see him!" he announced. "Where?" I asked peering over his shoulder, but not really wanting to get too close.
"Look right there behind those brown boots! Can you see that bristle of black hair sticking up? I think that's him." There behind my old winter boots I could clearly see black fur. That bastard!
Bob put on a pair of big brown gloves.
"Stand back!" he ordered. We did. Way back. My wife retreated into the kitchen. "What are you gonna do?" I asked the brave skunk hunter.

"I'm gonna grab him by the tail and throw him out the front door," he said, "So stay the hell outta the way."
"What if he bites ya?" I whined, biting my fingernails.
"That's what the gloves are for." Brave Bob growled, with a steely wink.

What balls he had!!! I had to admire him. Here was a guy who was willing to grab a nasty stinking wild animal by the tail for a hundred bucks!
He was like Marlon Perkins from Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom... only drunker. God, I admired him! How brave can a man be?
"Here goes!" Bob announced, taking a deep breath of polluted air.

Bob The Skunk Guy charged into that closet with balls like angry John Wayne! He lunged as I cowered, watching from the dining room.
For a second or two all I could see was his big ass, sticking out of the closet.
There was a lot of bumping around going on, and some grunting, and a loud thump, and some muffled swearing. Some shoes flew by me. This was getting exciting!
He swore and jumped backwards out of the closet and spun around like James Brown, holding in his big brown glove, the hood to my wife's black Eskimo style snorkel jacket.
The hood with the black fur trim.

"Sorry," he said with an embarassed smile, "False alarm." His words hung in the scented air.


I went down stairs to check on the sardines, trying not to breathe.

...Continued in Chapter 2...