Isn't it romantic?

Well, to the skunks, anyway. It's the season of Twu Wuv for our skunky friends, and they're really out there getting busy. You can't drive fifty feet without seeing another one as a pile of roadkill.

At about three-thirty this morning I awoke to the familiar eye-watering pungent odor and knew that a skunk had sprayed under our house. The smell was so foul and so pervasive that Martha woke up, too, and came downstairs gagging and retching. Strangely, no-one else but the two of us had been bothered by it. Martha said she woke up and thought she must've had really bad breath or something; I remember distinctly fearing that either Rick or Bijou or I had crapped the bed in our sleep. Once I got good and awake, though, the skunkiness was unmistakable.

Tonight the kids went to bed an hour or so ago, and just a few minutes ago I began to detect the smell getting stronger again. I grabbed my Daisy and went outside, like a durn fool, but didn't see the stanky squatter. Which is probably a good thing; I'd've probably missed the thing and gotten sprayed for my trouble.

Nevertheless, it's pretty bad in here right now. I'll be glad when The Season Of Skunk Luv is over and done with. I hope they don't decide to raise their families underneath our dining room. I'd set out some poisoned food but there are kittycats who visit from time to time (not to mention our own Dude who occasionally escapes to spend an hour or two outside without our permission). I sure do wish there was a good way to rid ourselves of these foul furry fiends.