The Creature on the Fence

The creature on the fence glares at me in the fading light of dusk. I imagine I see teeth and a tail, a wicked set of talons, and menacing eyes. This is no social call, no passerby with friendly intentions, no inadvertent trespasser. This is an intruder with mischief on his mind and a black heart. My eyes adjust and with a shock I realize that this is no ordinary small, wild animal and no apparition. This is, down to the last detail, a skunk.

I can hardly believe my straining eyes but there's no doubt about it. I can make out a fluffy tail and a white stripe, a small body perfectly balanced and almost silhouetted against the upcoming night sky. My instincts are to run but the dogs are in the yard and the possibility for disaster is limitless - I call to them softly and the creature seems to listen intently, his ears perking up, his head swiveling toward the back fence. As he lifts his tail, my heart sinks and I try to prepare myself for the worst. Home remedies are flying through my mind at the speed of light - tomato juice, vinegar mixed with something that I can't remember, club soda, lemon juice - none of which, as I remember, were terribly effective and although I vaguely recalled my grandmother having some success with hydrogen peroxide, I was reasonably sure I had none on hand. I'm also working furiously to remember what I actually know about skunks and their habits but all I'm pretty sure of is that they won't spray unless provoked or seriously threatened. That and a ridiculous image of Pepe Le Pew with a Maurice Chevalier accent are all my mind can conjure.

The creature scratches the fenceboards and takes a few careful steps forward. He is almost tentative and his chunky body sways slightly. The dogs are still a safe distance away and I decide to change tactics and keep them away rather than call them in. I flatten myself against the side of the house and very slowly inch my way toward the rear of the yard, hoping the skunk will sense no movement, hoping the dogs will stay occupied with whatever they're doing. The strategy very nearly works - I reach the back fence and snatch the small brown dog up under one arm then manage to corner the black dog and snag her collar. We are halfway back to the porch, mere yards from sanctuary, when the terrier next door bursts forth from his doggy door and launches into a stream of canine invective. The skunk tenses, hissing and lifting his tail high, then as the terrier throws himself against the fence, the creature loses his balance and pitches off, headfirst into the shrubs. On my side of the fence. My own dogs, mad with curiosity and excitement, begin to struggle violently, barking like the world is coming to an end and begging to be set free. There is a commotion in the shrubs, dry leaves crackle and twigs break, and the skunk emerges, gives itself a hearty shake and then comically waddles off, passes through the gate and down the driveway. The crisis has been averted and while all three dogs howl in frustration, I can only thank the gods of the wild things that no harm came to any of us, including the creature on the fence. Making a mental note to add hyrogen peroxide to my next grocery list, I head inside and the dogs follow.