Skunk tales rise when provoked

The Valley Post story of romancing skunks brought memories of our Skunk Ranch, (named for multitudes of the critters). At first there was only perfumed night air, then a quick glimpse of a black and white "kitty" vanishing around a corner.

Spring came and my banty hens built a nest under the bedroom window.

Eggs disappeared. I set a banty on duck eggs in the outer yard, waited 28 days and went out to check on how many ducklings I had. The hen was till there, with empty egg shells and a tiny duckling foot.

We declared war on skunks and set traps.

Being slow-witted critters, we caught skunk after skunk, after skunk and dispatched them with single .22 shots. Skunks automatically pump out their stink when shot so the whole neighborhood was malodorous. Neighbors sniffed, "George got another one," but didn't complain. They had skunk problems, too, from the lady who had her feet sprayed as she walked past her parked car to invasion of houses and foolish dogs.

We caught most in the lower field or garden areas below the house so the stink was bearable. Then they crawled under the yard fence by the house. George moved the skunk down the hill by setting the trap on the end of a long pole. He picked up the empty end of the pole and carried it, scentless skunk and all, down the hill.

He used the same technique when a skunk moved into the barn and we didn't want the barn and hay stunk up. When we went to milk the next morning the air was redolent with "perfume." The pole, trap, and skunk were down over a bank outside the barn with the ground torn and the skunk mauled. It was obvious that our black milk cow had wallowed and stomped on everything in either anger or glee.

Her head and shoulders were a mess. I still had to milk her, which was not a fun job.