Any skunk whisperers out there?

My mom used to feed a family of them on her property in Wyoming, actually fed skunk, deer and rabbits, and never had any problems, unless you call it a problem that a cougar decided to live on her roof next to the chimney one winter, but my friends here had some skunks under their house and those were always interacting with raccoons which would result in them spraying nearly daily. Not fun.

I've had many close encounters myself, including being sprayed in a shelter on the Appalachian trail because two hikers sharing the lean-to with us had their dog tied up at the shelter entrance (dog owners were as thoughtless in the 70's as they are now - not all, but many/most).

On one night on a solo overnight (sleeping under the stars) I was sound asleep in my mummy bag when I felt a vague pressure on my chest. It was apparently enough that it brought me out of a deep sleep. I peered through the closed mummy hood to find myself quite literally nose to nose with a skunk. I didn't panic, and eventually the skunk got off me, nosed through my cookware, and finally ambled off into the night... that's about as close and encounter as you can have!

Back in graduate school UCLA, we shared a big house - we took the upstairs, while Aunt Alamay Ging - (87 years old and related to the original homeowner) occupied the maid quarters/ main kitchen on the ground floor...Hollywood Hills.

One morning, (we often checked up on her - grocery runs, etc) - we discovered a mother skunk and 7 babies all eating dinner comfortably on her kitchen table - just below a big window, open to the garden. She treated them like cats/ petted them...sat on her lap. Never smelled anything.

Down in La veta a few years ago we had 'em take up residence under the house when it was consistently -20F or less. Flooding the decades unfinished basement with bright light got rid of them. Then we stretched chicken wire just below the ground surface ourt about five feet from the sides of the house and they couldn't dig under anymore.

I live 'in town' and have a 'friend' which for the last month or so has been turning over my raised bed vegetable gardens. It expends an inordinate amount of energy completely mixing 3 inches of compost with the dirt underneath in three of five 2x10' beds. Lately it has been rooting around in the ground near the bed's producing 34 holes overnight. One hole turned up a pair of power lineman's clamps that had been buried for over a year. I don't know if I should feed or starve it to encourage the activity.

We'll see what happens when the new sprouts soon appear. I suspect I will see a few youngin's soon.

As high school kids on a return trip to the car, we spooked a mom with kits on the trail. Being on point, I took one for the team diagonally from my right shoulder to my left hip while I was desperately trying to back peddle hindered by my now too close friends. With me waaay in the back pulling up the rear, we had to pass through a pasture of a first generation German farmer. His son knew English. The farmer spent the time chuckling to himself. He dragged out a large tub and the mom came out with a stiff bristled washing brush and home made lye soap and a large pot of hot water. With instructions to strip - way over there - and get to work on my skin in the tub. Somewhat later, the farmer and son showed up both bemused by my plight and escorted me, still nude, to the barn where they'd dug a shallow grave for me in the manure. I was told to lay in the trench then the farmer and boy covered me with the material from the trench. Poured water (I assumed) on me and left me to compost for about 30 minutes. The places where I had almost no skin - courtesy of the farmer's wife - stung like crazy. But at least it was warm. There was still snow on the ground. After an eternity, I was pulled out of the trench and hosed off with a hose pouring out 33F water. The boy handed me torn and worn out pants and shirt, I scrounged warmer clothes from my spelunking friends and we were off. We had no money which would have been refused anyway.

I can still visualize the farmer at a Silver Cliff bar yucking it up about a tenderfoot towny letting him marinate me in horse manure to get rid of the remains of a skunk attack.

The treatment seemed to have the desired affect. My partners claimed they couldn't smell a thing and actually thought I was smelling the best since I left town a few days ago. While I was getting deodorized, my friends were inside the farmhouse eating fresh bread pudding and rolls, while doing a lot of hand waving and mumbling trying to explain what we had been up to to a non English speaking farm wife. The fully fluent son just watched bemused not helping. I suspect they all knew English but were enjoying our plight.

I returned a decade later to pay the farmer at least for the clothes and fill-in and refresh some of the facts. The family was no longer in the farm house. But I was to find out that these most amazing rural people, all over where I've been, typically help out the unfortunate when they can. Great life lesson about how to change the worst to the best.

A skunk lived under our front steps for years. We saw it out and about pretty often and it never seemed bothered by us. It wasn't as bad as the chipmunks that keep nesting in the garage.