Skunk
The first time skunk came into my life he wreaked havoc. Now that skunk has showed up again, I’m getting nervous. He is a herald for me, and though I’m not sure exactly what the message is this time, or how it fits in with my particular circumstances at the moment, you can be sure I am being watchful.
When Keith and I were running the resort, a man who rented a seasonal campsite approached us about a pesky skunk lurking around and asked if we minded if he tried to poison it. The skunk ate the laced muffin, and then repaid us for our impatience with nature by crawling under a cabin before dying. July 3rd, 1996—a day that haunts me still. Skunks have two scent sacks and that is when the first one burst. The guests in the cabin came pouring out the door, holding their noses. The second sack went in August. We spent a small fortune on deodorizers and useless professional advice. Some days we would think that the smell had finally gone. Thankfully, we never lost a single guest to the skunk, but it was embarrassing having to explain the faint odor. And some days the wind would blow just right, swooping under the old cabin, and the odor would not be so faint. The next spring, we rushed down to the cabin as soon as the snow melted, hopeful that the air would smell of fresh, wet earth. We smelled skunk.
Two years later, we tore down the cabin. Our guests watched, ready to console us. “This must be so hard for you,” one woman said sadly. She had no idea how happy the destruction was making us. We built a beautiful new cabin in its place with a gorgeous fireplace, a screened porch and a wonderful smell. Then we sold the resort.
On this past Tuesday my dad had a stroke. We drove to Fargo and then back that night because I started my practice at Brigid’s House the next day—a new location and a new life path. Dad was well cared for in the hospital and I planned on driving back to Fargo after work to be with him. But I had much to do that evening to get ready for the next day. I still needed to work out the kinks in my new computer burning CDs of recorded sessions and all that new technology to have down, and it wasn’t going well. The first three CDs I practiced on didn’t work. Our daughter was trying to get something important printed off of my computer at the same time. My new massage table sheets (the cheap ones) had just been washed for the first time and pilled up into purple lint balls. I imagined my clients all leaving with little purple puffs clinging to them. Then Keith yelled down the steps, “Pip just got into a fight with a skunk.” Pip is our 8-pound Papillion. Oh, the smell.
The next night, Pip took after a skunk again, a second dousing.
I’ve seen four skunks since then who didn’t quite make it across the highway, and one who did, disappearing into the weeds as I sped past.
Skunk is about reputation, about being playful and about defending yourself fearlessly and peacefully. It takes a skunk a week to build back up his scent reserves, so he is careful and will only spray as a last resort. The ultimate peaceful warrior. Skunk brings with him opportunities to gain respect. Skunk teaches that there are times to be with people and times to find solitude. With his black and white coat, he teaches balance.
He came to me the second night I spent sleeping at my dad’s house, after Dad had been released from the hospital. The fragrance wafted through the open window and I had to get up and shut it. Did I dream this? In the morning there was no hint of smell at all. Well, what does it matter? Skunk becomes a waking dream symbol—a messenger in the night. I thank skunk for his presence, and ask now that he come only in my sleep, and to please stay clear of the dogs. But just in case, I have the recipe for skunk shampoo posted on my kitchen message board.
