Skunked

I thought about that the other night when looking for my two skunk-colored Boston terriers and black lab and smelled the hint of skunk spray in the air.

“Not again.”

Oh yes, challenging skunks and getting sprayed in the face is our pets’ favorite pastime. Next to that is shoving their way into the house to share the stink with the sofa and chairs.

Before moving out of the city with our dogs, we had always wondered how to handle getting skunked. It just seemed inevitable with our pack.

After moving 60 miles from the White House, it became a reality. One day, looking down toward our garden, I saw a skunk waddling across the yard and slipping under a dilapidated wire fence into our neighbor’s woods.

I walked the property line and found a small hole in the ground along that fence line, a perfect skunk home, and filled it in. For a few years, we didn’t witness another skunk out back.

Then one hit. It was around sundown — when skunks get active — that I was calling in our oldest Boston, Gertie. For once, she actually came after my first call out to her. And she stank like a skunk.

After a few screams while chasing her around, my wife, Michele, set out to try the best internet tricks to clean the skunk oil.

Tomato juice was a flop. The mix of smells was disgusting.

Better was the recipe from the Humane Society of the United States: Dawn, hydrogen peroxide, and baking soda. It took a lot of washing and scrubbing, but it kind of worked. After a few days, the smell wasn’t offensive anymore.

A year later it happened again. But this time we had a new weapon, Tecnu.

In addition to skunks, stink bugs, and other pests that keep most city folks away from the country, we have had an explosion of poison ivy. Tecnu is a magical potion that strips away the plant’s oil to prevent infection, if caught in time.

While rubbing some on following an afternoon of pulling weeds mixed with poison ivy, my wife noticed this other use on the back of the bottle: “Removes skunk spray and tree sap from skin and pets.”

Oh-so-lucky for us, our lab gave us a chance to try it out just a few days later. It worked as promised, prompting us to buy a case of it.

Of course, it didn’t solve the issue of ridding our property of skunks. That would come next.

It was two years ago when we started to smell the skunks again. I searched around the house and found another den right under the front porch.

But filling it in did not push the skunk away. Instead it seemed to keep it close. And twice it sprayed our dogs. Tecnu or not, it was war.

One cool evening, while out calling in the dogs, my wife spotted a skunk in the backyard. I quickly Googled the Virginia game rules to see if I could kill it. “No kill permit required,” said the site. “Landowner may kill on his own land during closed season.”

I loaded the .28-gauge shotgun and headed out back as the sun went down. As if on cue, as I lowered the Beretta’s barrels, our lab jumped in and flipped the skunk in the air. It responded with an epic spray and so did I.

I ever-so-slowly baby stepped toward the skunk. As I approached, there was no movement. It had died instantly.

As my wife dragged Sparky into the house for her Tecnu treatment, I considered wrapping the skunk up for disposal.

But instead, I left it there for morning, a subtle “No Trespassing — Or Else” sign for the other skunks in the neighborhood.

For a year or so it worked. But now, after sniffing a hint of skunk in the evening air, we’re loading up on Tecnu and shells again.