It's Skunk Dating Season here in the bustling metropolis of Ballyhoo, Texas, and the neighbors across the street have informed us that one has apparently decided to take up residence under the piers and beams of my 113-year-old house, because they watched him do it.
Each evening, the delightful skunky aroma wafts upward through the cracks in the floor.
I'm probably weird in this, but I don't mind skunk smell, per se. Unless it's fresh and actually ON something near me, of course. Then it's unbearable.
I don't want to be near a skunk, though. We have kittycats who go in and out the pet doors, and I don't want one of them to come high-tailing it into the house one day covered in SkunkFunk. So we gotta figure out a way to get Pepe LePew out from under the house.
The neighbors were hoping to get rid of Pepe with a firearm, but couldn't get a clear shot the other day when they spotted him shuffling through our yard. I informed them that unless my kitties were anywhere nearby, they were welcome to take aim and do him in at their discretion.
I love living in this place.
I really do.