Sorry I’ve been MIA for the last two days, but trust me, you’re about to understand why.
You think a skunk in the bathroom was bad? Well, things only got worse from there.
After discovering Skunk #1 behind the toilet, I stayed up all night monitoring the tunnel situation. Nothing happened. The next morning, I checked the live trap. Still nothing. The skunk was still behind the toilet and, as far as I could tell, had not moved an inch.
Fast-forward several hours. My son, O, was practicing his kata in the family room—the same room where the dog door is located—when he suddenly announced that he could hear an animal moving under the loveseat. In my head: WTF. THAT’S NOT POSSIBLE. Because apparently I’m a horrible mother, I convinced O to look under the loveseat while I lifted up one side. And what was there, you might ask?
Another skunk. How does one person get lucky enough to have not one, but two skunks inside their house? And, perhaps more importantly, how did we not know there was a skunk living under the loveseat for approximately 24 hours?
Well, we eventually figured out there were several factors at play. First, the dogs had been sprayed by what I assume was the mama skunk two days earlier, meaning the entire house already smelled like a crime scene. Second, we later discovered that the skunk under the loveseat was actually one of several baby skunks that had crawled through the dog door. Apparently, baby skunks don’t smell nearly as strong as adults and are less likely to spray. Both of those things are good news, I suppose, although neither one changes the fact that we had baby skunks living in our furniture.
At this point, Skunk #1 was still behind the toilet in the bathroom. The door was shut again, the tunnel had been disassembled. We flipped the loveseat containing Skunk #2 on its side, wedged it against the open back door, and sealed off all other potential openings and escape routes with painter’s plastic.
Please keep in mind that all of this was happening while it was hotter than Satan’s ball sack outside.
After numerous frantic phone calls, we discovered that our local animal control is the local police department, who were unable to help. Fish and Wildlife couldn’t/wouldn’t help. Local animal rehabilitation wouldn’t help. There were no professional trappers or exterminators anywhere in our vicinity.
So, what did we end up doing? We came up with a Hail Mary plan that seemed almost certain to end in disaster. Specifically, a disaster involving multiple skunks spraying us, our house, and possibly everything we owned. First, we wrapped all of the family room furniture in plastic to seal off any openings and prevent the little shits from escaping either directly at us or into the rest of the house. Then we carefully moved each piece of furniture onto a heavy-duty painting drop cloth, wrapped it up like a giant, incredibly disgusting present, and moved it outside.
The first piece of furniture was the recliner, which went surprisingly smoothly. No issues. No skunk-related surprises. Next came the sofa. As we lifted it, we discovered there were two more skunks inside it. WHAT. THE. HELL. At this point, I was beginning to feel like our house had become a low-budget wildlife sanctuary that nobody had asked for. Next came the loveseat, which had at least one skunk inside it. We repeated the same process, carefully wrapping and moving everything outside while trying desperately not to panic.
Somehow—through what I can only describe as a major miracle—we managed to get all three pieces of furniture out of the house without anyone being sprayed or bitten. That left the lone skunk in the bathroom. So what did we do?
Well, a local business heard about our predicament and generously donated a hazmat suit and mask. My husband suited up, put on thick gloves, and prepared to go into the bathroom to retrieve the skunk. The plan was simple. He would enter the bathroom, use a blanket to carefully pick up the skunk, and wrap it up. Once he had it secured, he would let me know, and I would open the door with a large garbage bag. He would then place the wrapped skunk into the bag and carry it outside.
As my husband was walking into the bathroom, he suddenly stopped and asked me if I was aware of how high the rabies rate is in skunks. I resisted the urge to tell him that it was a good thing we had a decent life insurance policy on him. Instead, I told him how much I appreciated him. Very big of me, right? He then commented that he would rather respond to a shootout. For context, he is a deputy and has, unfortunately, had to respond to one before. And then he walked into the bathroom. Somehow, he managed to get the skunk into the blanket, into the bag, and outside before it started spraying. A miracle. An absolute miracle.
The former family room furniture is now at the dump. The house has been scrubbed within an inch of its life and is finally starting to smell considerably better. Fingers crossed, I believe all of the skunks have officially vacated the residence. New furniture has been ordered—definitely not in the budget, but at this point, what can you do? It should be delivered Tuesday. Until then, we currently have lawn chairs in the family room.
I am exhausted, slightly traumatized, and currently dealing with nightmares about skunks. I sincerely hope this debacle is finally over and that greener, significantly less pungent, pastures are ahead. Because I am officially done with skunks. Forever.