NO PICTURES PLEASE
February 19, 1997
I've always been a "live and let live" kind of a guy, but that squirrel had eaten its way over the line that separated acceptable behavior from just plain "pushing it."
The squirrel first made its presence known by burrowing into the hillside below our nectarine tree. It lulled me into a false sense of the benefits of having a squirrel living in my yard by helping me clean the garden of fallen cherry tomatoes, with a dessert course of rotting nectarines. When it decided to use the bulbs of my potted plants as dessert instead, I could no longer be Mr. Nice Guy.
Being a plant lover and frustrated farmer, I called my County Farm Advisor for suggestions on slowing down this four legged eating machine. His first suggestion was poisoned bait. That was going to make that squirrel a whole lot slower than I had intended. After all, I just wanted to discourage it, not kill it.
"Isn't there something else I can do to make it like the neighbor's yard better than mine?"
His response, "No, but you could trap it and release it somewhere else."
A check of the local hardware stores provided only the same "bring that critter to a complete stop" solution as the poisoned bait. The equipment they offered would do everything to that squirrel but play taps as it gasped it's last breathe. How was I going to stop the foraging of my precious plants without doing it bodily harm?
Then a weekend call to my father-in-law in a far away land called, Indiana, provided the answer. He had become quite the squirrel trapper after the Indiana cousins of my fuzzy foe had begun digging holes in his yard. He developed a highly successful "trap and release" program that even monitored whether the squirrels were finding their way back to continue the mining operation; at which they had become very proficient. Before their release, each squirrel became the less than happy bearer of a bright spot of spray paint. Not enough to hurt them, but just enough to make them easily identifiable.
With his problem in remission, he agreed to loan out his trap and the next day it was winging its way to rid my California hillside of fluffy tailed miners also.
This trap was a simple but ingenious device consisting of a rectangular, open wire cage, 2 1/2 ft. long with an 8 in. square cross section. Each end had a door that hinged from the top. The strategic placement of a few peanuts on the trigger platform in the center of the trap was guaranteed to lure any squirrel into what would become transportation to its new home.
Upon its arrival, the trap was quickly placed on the hillside; baited and set. A few short hours later, I found the doors closed with a very panicky squirrel trapped inside, but none the worse for wear. After a quick trip by car and release in a canyon several miles away, the squirrel scampered up the nearest tree to get out of my reach. The trap had provided a quick and anti-climactic end to my squirrel problem. The squirrel was happy to be out of the trap; I was happy to be rid of it; everything was right with the world.
---If only I had just sent that trap back to its rightful owner then and there.---
Over the years our yard has been visited by other four legged critters looking for a handout. The short distance provided by the two streets between us and Tecolote Canyon was just right for a leisurely after dark stroll to our soup kitchen. The opossums visited very infrequently, but the skunks began to appear after dark on a much too regular basis. I began to fear that some night I might get sprayed as I rounded the front corner of the house going to my car. Even worse, our Basset Hound, Woofer, might tangle with one in the back yard and try to get away from it by coming through the doggie door into the house. I didn't even want to contemplate the amount of my leisure time required to eliminate the results of such an escape. Definitely another problem begging for the proven "trap and release" program solution.
---Thus began my demise.---
With a handful of peanuts the trap was baited. Placement of the trap, I felt, would be critical to catching that skunk's eye, or nose (who knows how they detect edible matter). So, the trap was placed at the base of the hillside in the backyard where I'd seen the skunk wandering the night before. Later that evening, on my trip to lock the back door of the garage, a long-distance check of the trap revealed that the peanuts had been magically replaced by a skunk. My father-in-law really knew his trapping!
If you've ever found yourself in a difficult situation and come to the realization that you haven't quite planned everything all the way to its logical conclusion, you know exactly how I felt at that instant. Now that this skunk was in the trap, someone was going to have to pick up that trap, using the conveniently placed handle on the top, and transport it out of my presence. That would require coming into very close proximity to an animal with an infinitely more powerful weapon system at its disposal than your every day, garden variety squirrel. (A development of no concern in my father-in-law's original, somewhat restricted, "trap and release" program. I was definitely breaking new ground here.) In the dark, even with a big bribe, it would be impossible to find a volunteer crazy enough to take on this task.
It would be cruel to just let that poor little skunk remain in the cage where it was; it was so cute; and beside that, I knew Woofer would be out in the middle of the night to check it out. It was up to me to rid the neighborhood of this stripped menace.
Walking as slowly as possible --- while still making forward progress, I made my way to the trap. I tried not to show any fear (wild animals can sense that, you know). No sudden moves now, that might startle or indicate an attitude of aggression. (As if purposely confining an animal without its permission wasn't aggressive enough.) My trembling hand reached for and carefully grasped the handle on the top of the cage, placing it only inches from a similarly trembling skunk. The hand, trap and skunk seeming frozen to the ground, finally rose waist high at arms length. Until that moment I had not realized how far it was to the street; around the side of the garage; through the wrought iron gate; down the driveway to the street and to my poor little '67 Volvo which I know wasn't looking forward to the part it was required to play in this midnight drama.
Now what? (Another bit of poor planning.) There was no way I was going to place that trembling caged skunk in my car. My car was old, but it was an old friend and if the skunk decided that enough was enough, I'd be forced to leave cage, skunk and my old friend, all in the same canyon. Ten minutes later the skunk was riding shotgun lashed to the outside door handles and we were headed for the skunk's new home. After another few tense moments, the skunk had been released with no visible or smellable wounds to any of us and it had become someone else's problem.
-- Score: Skunk Trapper Jim - 1 -- Skunks - 0 --
Several weeks later another striped night visitor prompted me to again set the trap. Early that Sunday morning I awoke to find another skunk sleeping in the trap. This was becoming too easy. With one skunk under my belt, so to speak, I was confident of my abilities to control the situation. With much less caution (born of cockiness and/or stupidity - with a fine line dividing the two) I carried the trap to the Volvo and quickly tied it to the door handles.
The neighbors had been told about, but had not seen the first skunk, so I felt it time to let them see my latest trophy. The family on one side of us cautiously approached the car from the front; refused to go any closer than ten feet from the skunk and commented, "Yep, that's a skunk all right." Having communed enough with nature, they returned to the safety of their house.
The neighbor on the opposite side, dressed in her robe, having just showered and trying to get ready to go to church, played out the same ritual from the rear of the car and commented, "Yep, that's a skunk all right." She then told me she had some film in her camera and that a picture of the skunk and me was in order. "Just a little closer, so I can get you both in the picture."
After the picture was uneventfully taken, we began to back away from the proximity of the skunk and found ourselves being pursued by airborne stink bombs. Both of us were "wounded" in this unprovoked attack. I can still see the drop that flew through the air and landed on my right cheek, just below my eye. Skunk perfume, while strong in the air, doesn't even compare to the smell when placed directly upon your body --- right next to your nose. After my shirt had been sealed in a plastic bag and deposited in the trash, a large can of V-8 tomato juice from my garage provided some relief, both internally and externally, as I took a swig and poured the rest over my entire head. My neighbor reported that after every shower for the next two weeks, her hair still smelled of skunk.
After making myself semi-presentable, to myself, I drove off to relocate skunk #2. While waiting to turn left at a traffic light, a man drove up beside me wearing the largest smile I have ever seen. As he kept a wary eye on my external passenger; I leaned over, rolled down the window slightly and asked, "Hey Mister, want a kitty?"
Widening his already ear to ear smile, he replied, "No thanks, I think I'll pass on this one."
The release was again very anti-climactic with both the skunk and I wanting to place as much ground between one another as quickly as possible.
The San Diego Skunk Trapper has since gone into retirement with the score tied 1 – 1. The trap has been returned to its owner's garage in Indiana and no one has been able to come up with enough money to finance a re-match.
Each of life's experiences, that we survive, contains a lesson to be learned and this was no exception. Skunks don't mind going through the indignities of being trapped, carried by a human, having to sleep in a cage or even being on public display on the outside of a moving vehicle.
They just don't like to have their picture taken! Especially with someone wearing those horrible pants!
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Point of interest to would be skunk trappers, something I found out much later -- skunks have a shooting accuracy range of about 10 feet.