Tale of a Skunk

My sister, for many many years, always had pets. At one point she had a pet skunk—deodorized.

Her oldest daughter—my niece, of course—also had a pet skunk until she was forced by zoning regulations to give it up.

So you see, we've had more than one skunk in the family.

Anyway, my sister insisted that skunks make wonderful pets. I'm not so sure.

One day I arrived at her house for a visit. As soon as I got there, she said "[Her husband] and I have to leave immediately, we're driving to Scranton for a funeral, [Husband]'s aunt died." I was given instructions on what to do about the skunk. I could give it dog biscuits. And, my sister said, "If you see a big ball under the covers of my bed, that's the skunk."

So I was left to skunk sit.

I didn't see anything of the skunk and at one point I was curious as to where it was. I went into my sister's bedroom and, as anticipated, there was the big ball on the bed but under the quilt.

I pulled back the covers and the skunk took off like a shot out of hell and zoomed into the bathroom. I threw some dog biscuits in after it.

I never saw it again. It never came out of the bathroom. And evidently the skunk would not take food from strangers, so when my sister got home, the skunk was half starved to death.

You may judge for yourself whether skunks make nice pets. I'd say they're not really domesticated animals because they seem to be less comfortable with unfamiliar humans than, say, dogs.

Copyright © 2011 by Richard Stein