Pet skunks for Christmas? Tie mine, please…

Exotic pets need to be wrapped during Christmas

After all our holidays with pet skunks, I’m tempted to tuck my exotic pets into stockings on the hearth to keep them out of mischief.

The most precious Christmas gift for me would be a dearheart little pet skunk with a red bow, snuggled into a soft Christmas stocking, tucked beneath the tree.

May she be asleep, please.

Nothing is sweet as a descented skunk, smelling like a powder puff, curled into a Christmas stocking. In a perfect world from now on, all my sweet domestic skunks would be carefully hung from the hearth with their square haunches filling stockings. I would take pictures of worried, wrinkled faces. What desaced, that’s what my skunks do when they don’t like what’s happening to them.

Yes, indeed, after the last Christmases with pet skunks in the house, I’m tempted to leave all of them hanging out of temptation until the holiday passes. That would keep them from mischief, though I have proven quite naive.

Gifts? Grab ‘em, bro!

Two seasons hence, I realized skunks really dig Christmas presents. They maul them. Hands onto paper like a furious digging-for-crickets spree. When it happened to me, I really was clueless. Now you have a clue.

Jumping the gifts was Jeronimo’s idea. The years before, when Sequoia was an only skunk, he didn’t dig the gifts. Sequoia is a shy, unassuming little skunk. Well, maybe not so much.

I was blissfully unaware of their new motivation as I wrapped gifts in the living room, boxes piled prettily under the tree, those ready for ribbons and cards around me.

Natural shakable tree.

Sequoia and Jeronimo woke up at their first witching hour of eight o’clock. Skipped in to check out the forest scene. The Christmas tree stood in a wire-covered old washtub to deter short-legged creatures from midnight swims.

Sequoia and Jeronimo are acutely excited about the tree in the big house. Their waking moments are spent nosing around the long-needle evergreen. On the night of the gifts, their night prowl was rewarded with wrapping paper, tissue, ribbons, bows, boxes everywhere.

But, no, they didn’t throw themselves into the paper or loose ribbons like a cat. No.

Sequoia and Jeronimo pounced the wrapped presents. For once, sharing. Gleeful comrades. They dug those presents – literally dug with determination and long skunk claws, enhanced by brotherly snarling and squealing.

While I was shoving wrapped presents on the hearth where the skunks should have been, the brothers dove onto the next gifts. Fortunately, they started butt-shoving each other out of the way. Fortunately, Jeronimo’s best defense is sitting on Sequoia’s head, making his furious older brother squeal like a steaming teapot. They could try this in football, no?

I should have known better

Each night since the tree moved into the big house, I heard Sequoia squealing his fury when his baby brother was butt-shoving and sitting on him. Every morning I found that the skunks, seemingly assisted by cats, managed to remove a dried flower, pinecone, or the end of a low bough. Once they had their prize, they would dig it to dust in the rug.

Did I think cats?

Two nights before Christmas when relatives were expected, I hung a few tiny popcorn balls by leather strips from higher branches. Next morn, plastic wrap was on the floor. Not one popcorn ball on the tree. Perhaps a skunk was the culprit, no? But they had to have assistance to get that off a high branch.

The popcorn balls were so desirable Jeronimo roused several times next day to skip to the tree. He would toddle around and around. Nothing found, he would skip back to his den behind my bedroom dresser.

That evening he skipped into the living room at witching hour, Sequoia dancing along and trying to push Jeronimo out of the way. No avail. They nosed around the tree, more intent than ever. But I am not that stupid. No popcorn balls were hung.

Exasperated and scowling, Jeronimo, who is an extremely long skunk, stood on his short hind legs beneath the tree. He balanced with his tail. Wrapped his front legs and hands around a branch, shaking the tree furiously. Square little Sequoia sat square on his haunches, expectant.

Shaking the tree must have been how they felled the popcorn balls. That night they got nothing. So they shoved off to the dog food bowl.

Regurgitation

One morning I awoke to find an alarming smatter of regurgitation resembling shiny red shards of glass. 

I search for my skunks. Who else?

Throughout the house I found five more piles that looked like one of the skunks had regurgitated vital organs. I yelled for someone, phone to tell the vet we have an emergency.

Then I found chewed plastic wrap. Realized the pooh-butts discovered candy canes. My daughter left her bookbag on the floor and the culprits dug through canvas.

Much better for them

Sequoia opening seeds gift

Treats on Christmas morning are sugarless. Peanuts, cashews, hulled sunflower seeds in festive paper. The only chance they have to dig gifts now are their own.

The tree is now a compromise. A ‘nature tree’ decorated with pinecones, dried flowers, feathers. Bird decorations, skunk slippers, plush skunk toys running through the branches.

Yes, a Christmas tree of compromise made to be mauled and gleefully shaken. Everything is wire-tied on, non-edible, and skunk-proof.

My favorite winter evening is when we are all cuddled under blankets on the sofa, tiny white Christmas lights glowing throughout the room, daughters telling stories of their day. Sequoia snuggles against my shoulder, hibernating where he likes best. Jeronimo is reclined on his back in the crook of someone’s arm, stubby legs poking up as he intently studies the tree with his sly grin. 

The Christmas tree is safe momentarily. Gifts are stacked on the hearth, entertainment center, lamp tables, hutch, blanket chest, dining table…. ah, yes, just where they belong when skunks are in the house.

Skunk Medicine: There’s a Skunk in the House! and Other Tail-Raising Stories

‘Striped Christmas’ original short story title in skunk memoir book.

Skunk excerpts at ESSA Books in novel A Breath Floats By …..enjoy!

SKUNK TIP FOR THE DAY?  Read the story LOL because there are stacks!

Essa

© Essa Adams, ESSA Books

Contact author for details on permission to reprint.

Visit our sister blog Women’s Fiction for more pet stories. We’re just getting warmed up. .

NO CHOCOLATE SANTAS

Remember chocolate will poison your pets.

Keep your chocolate on high shelves with cupboard doors closed.

If you have exotic pets like pet skunks or ferrets, padlock the doors and don’t give them a ladder or the combination to the lock, this I know.

Happy holidays! and Merry Christmas!

Essa Adams

Pet skunk stories

Author, Skunk Medicine: There’s A Skunk in the House! and Other Tail-raising Stories

Author, A Breath Floats By penname Thayne Hudson (three pet skunks in this novel)

Sharing plates with skunks…

Some people just can’t stand to eat off the same plates as a skunk.

Frankly, I don’t see the problem.  It’s not like the plate remains unwashed.

"Really, are they are going through the wash next?" asks Sagie who is washing dishes for Mama.

Unless the skunkie fools you into thinking it is washed.  They will lick a plate for ten minutes and it will shine when it has not been into a sudsy dishwater bath.  But we skunk people know that and we wash everything.

My family though, my dad namely, has issue.  And I can see the point.  But these are not dogs or cats doing what dogs are cats do.  They are tidy, polite little domestic skunkies.

One Thanksgiving we had everyone to the cabin.  One of the last years we were all together, we meaning all of us in the family and both my pet skunks, Jeronimo and Sequoia.

After dinner, I made a feast plate for my skunkies.  Brought them out to the kitchen to eat their dinner where everyone could enjoy how cute and sweet and cuddley.    Skunk people are like new parents, they never get over the pride and bragging.

Sequoia and Jeronimo usually ate off stompable, unbreakable plastic plates.  But all skunk holiday feasts are served on white antique stoneware china from England.  Remember the lead in antique china is real, so don’t do this often.  But we humans had antique china, so did they, the skunkies.  Dining with all but the candles that might set ablaze their little tail feathers.

The next holiday my sister admitted how cute they were.  But Dad had a problem.  She politely, diplomatically asked if I have plates for the people from which the skunks did not eat.

Since those are their special plates and I have modern day white stoneware for everyone else, rest assured, Dad did not eat from a skunk plate.

But really, only skunk people know.  These are special creatures.  Intelligent.  Resourceful with their surroundings…..

Skunks wipe like people.  Skunks do not lick their hineys.  They might scoot on the nearest rug to wipe…. but they do not lick.  So the plan is to place right by the litter pan the washable rug you want them to use for wiping.   But no,  skunks do not lick.  They wipe and everyday they brush themselves and brush their teeth too.  They sit on their fat flat haunches and groom their hiney fluff with their little hands.  So cute.

"Can I have your bean?" "No."

Skunks do not eat gucky stuff.  Unless of course, we are feeding them crickets and grubs.  That more real version of skunk dining is not happening in my house, I kiss my skunks.  They must be content with steak and chicken, shrimp and salmon.  Proteins that I, too, am willing to eat.

Thanksgiving dinner, skunks eat turkey (no ham or pork, please) and stuffing and yams without sugar.  They eat corn on the cob, French bean casserole, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie.  They should never eat too much sugar at once but they will eat all you give to them.

Want the Thanksgiving dishes from prep-cooking to be pre-washed before they hit the dishwasher or after they are inside said dishwasher?  Skunks can handle it.  Just don’t put in knives or fork tines facing up.

Turn a flock of skunks loose on a huge bowl where pumpkin pie filling was mixed, fifteen minutes of licking and it is good to go.

Yes, you will want to consider sugar, salt and seasoning intake.  No raisin cookies or mock mince meat, since the raisins in those cause renal failure in animals.  No asparagus which causes grand mal seizures.

But these domestic skunks, they are thorough if nothing else.

Skunkie moral of the story:  I’ve got nothing.  Except you want a dish washed right, give it to a skunk.

Thirty skunks stories about the boys.

Sick skunks won’t tell you until the last minute….

NOPE, I’M NOT COMING OUT TODAY

When a skunk is not hungry, it is seldom about the weather.

In the morning, when her door is opened, our skunk Blossom comes out of her den carrier like a race horse from the starting gate. Where is breakfast, let’s get this show on the road.

Lacey, the youngest one, all fluffy and soft, she slides out the door onto the floor yawning.  Lacey blinks as she decides to walk to the kitchen or be carried… no rush. Mornings are for pondering.

The morning it happened, when I opened the door, Lacey sprawled onto the floor, blinking at the white snow-sleet streaking past the wall of windows.  Blossom peeked out and pulled the blankets over her head.

“Blossom, come on honey bunny, it’s warm out here.”

“Nope, Mama, I’m not coming out today.”

Okay then.  Must be the snow, I thought.  This was our first winter season with Blossom so we were not sure of her habits in cold weather.  Perhaps she just figured it’s time to hibernate until breakfast is served anyway.  I picked up Lacey and prepared their breakfast without the usual Blossom-dance around my feet… the one where I shuffle so as not to trip me or tromp the skunkette.

Leaned down to present the little queen with a plate of chicken, nuts, cottage cheese, pear, and cucumber.  Little bits of favorites.

“Ugh,” Blossom said. “Get that out of here.”

“What’s wrong with Blossom?!!” I asked my husband. “Something is wrong with Blossom!”

“It’s snowing.  Cold.  She’ll eat when she’s ready.”

“But Blossom is always hungry.”

If it hadn’t been for the snow thing going on outside, I wouldn’t have second-guessed my instincts.  Lacey was packing a king-size velour blanket under the entertainment center, through a four-inch opening.  Things were different today.

Skunks do not generally say they have had enough when presented a food they enjoy.  They might say they don’t want it, if they don’t like the food.  Lacey does not like canned pumpkin which she refers to as a cousin to that which comes from the bowel system, and frosting this ’stuff’ with honey will not tempt her to even lick the honey off.  But if a skunk enjoys the food, let’s say they discover how to climb inside a garbage can of dry dog food, they will eat until they squeak-and-barf, then eat plenty more.  Promise you, I know these things.

So I knew in my heart that Blossom was not well.

I spent the day giving her colloidal silver and water, limu juice, and trying to tempt her with any food she would eat.  She licked her favorite juice from a syringe but would not even drink it from a bowl.

When I succumbed to taking her temperature three times, poor thing, she had a high temp.

Long day short, by that evening hubby was driving us at optimum speed without over-doing to get us to the last emergency vet appointment of the weekend with a vet she had never met because, of course, her regular vet was out of town, bless his heart.  Just the way it always falls.

Blossom was between us, holed up in blankets in her den-carrier and covered with more blankets.  Black eyes staring from the little den hole.  A long drive into the dark.  But the roads were clear.

She met the vet with no animosity.  Not very Blossom-like, as it took four vet techs to sedate her five-pound butt in order to be spayed.  Tonight she was dehydrated, listless, eyes dull, gut tight, high fever.  Frankly, she may not have lived the night.

It all happened so easily and quickly it seemed.  I was beside myself trying to figure out when I missed the first clues she was ill.   Maybe when I was writing at two in the morning and she sidled into the office and slid onto the carpet in front of the radiant heater for only a few seconds, then disappeared back to bed.  Maybe the different fecal texture I wondered about for a second.  Maybe the way she was so easy to tuck into bed the night before.

The drive home was on the other scale of speed.  Our Denali gingerly paced between rushing semis.  Cruising black ice at twenty miles per hour for forty-five miles.  No, even a Yukon Denali does not feel big enough under these conditions.  For instance, driving between the Christmas tree farm to our road usually takes three minutes and we drove fourteen minutes – which seemed hours to the turn-off.  Plenty of time to fuss over Blossom though.  I would have to say, if she ever decides not to come out because it is snowing, she would have good reason after that drive.

The vet was a miracle-working genius.  Two hours, two injections, re-hydration, and two bottles of antibiotics to be sure we had the problem covered.  Sent home a hungry skunk with a hint of energy.  She still wanted her bed and had no gumption for running the room, but she ate sparse vet rations and snuggled up while we watched television.  Within a few days she was bouncing circles around her sister.

Moral of the story: Listen with your gut.

Literal moral of the story:  If a skunk ever tells you, “Nope, I am not coming out today,” you may want to seriously question their reasoning.  If I had listened to the reason of snow and time to hibernate now, well, we probably would not have a Blossom in our snowdrift today.

See post on too many cucumbers and pecans can dehydrate the large intestines.

Essa Adams is author and publisher of other skunk stories.
Skunk Medicine: There’s A Skunk In the House! and Other Tail-raising Stories

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A Breath Floats By: An Illusion for the Soul
Contemporary women’s fiction, subversive romance, lady lit.  A novel with three pet skunks and two Newfoundland dogs starring.

“Don’t let the door hit you in the a**,” one pet skunk said to the other.

Every morning when I am in the ladies room, Lacey and Blossom come to hurry me to the kitchen.

Well, mainly Blossom.

"You are hyper!" "Me? You are a tornado! Look at your tail."

Lacey usually spreads out on the floor to wait it out.  She is not a morning skunk.

But Blossom charges into the room then out and races down the hall, then into the room and speeds down the hall and into the room and gallops down the hall and —- yeowsa.  At six in the morning.

But then again this is the skunk that sleeps all the live long day except for breakfast, noon snack, three o’clock snack and five o’clock dinner and, oh yes, her nine o’clock snack.

Then she WAKES UP and charges through the house at exactly five minutes after midnight!  It is her witching hour.  She has a ball.  She chases her sister, climbs onto the desk or bed to see me, races everywhere and I usually play with her when awake or in my sleep.  By breakfast, she has worked up a real appetite and wants to eat before she sort of goes to bed for the day.

This particular morning Lacey was snoring at my feet and Blossom had charged in and out of the room and back down the hall about twenty-seven times.  On her last trip out Lacey ran to the door and swung it shut so hard it almost latched, just missing Blossom’s wide skunkie butt as she galloped out into the hallway.

“Don’t let the door hit you in the a** on the way out!” Lacey yelled.  Then she primly came back to slide onto the floor and wait.

Yes, our little Lacey has found her voice, finally.  But that is another story.

Thirty-ish skunk stories in a book.

Visit our Skunk Medicine: There’s A Skunk in the House! and Other Tail-Raising Stories on Amazon.  Many skunks stories just like these.  25% of all profits go to Skunk Haven, a rescue in Ohio.

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PET SKUNK CARE TIP. PET SKUNK FOOD TIP:  If you are going to feed a lot of chicken, buy them hormone-fee, antibiotic-free.  Organic is best.  Just because it says ‘natural’ does not necessarily mean it will be good for your dearies.  Remember, they take hits to the liver and heart and their entire system from anything that is not healthy for them.  Skunks are very sensitive animals.  They don’t eat much and are worth the extra cost to get them the best, healthiest food you can afford for them.  Prevention is less expensive than dealing with liver disease, a toxic liver, an enlarged heart from steroids in food and so much more that can go wrong and probably will.  Write to me with specific questions.  Or ask in comments.

The one in the office is clean–

Jeronimo liked the litter pan in the downstairs bathroom at the cabin. If someone locked him out, he would bang down the door.

This title was Lacey’s first long sentence, she’s beginning to talk now.  Been so busy I didn’t get to the story until now.

There are never enough litter boxes in a skunk household.  The more skunks you have the more litter pans you might want.

We have two girl skunks now.  They are not like the boys.  The girls prefer a clean litter pan.  We can have a pan in every room – for their convenience – but it is not enough.

After dinner the other day Blossom had to go pooey.  She headed for the one closest to her den.  Lacey was just finishing up.  Blossom sighed exasperatedly.  Lacey climbed out, saying, “The one in the office is clean.”  And off Blossom  galloped to the other end of the house for the clean box.

I can be in the office working and one will come in to poo.  I have the box right by my feet so that when I am working I can deter them from using it.  Otherwise I would have to stop what I am doing and clean the box.  Geez, I think they could use the other ones more than once.

Really, if one pees in a litter pan, they will avoid it until it is changed.  We would be standing by with a towel and wipes if they had it their way.

SKUNK  FACT:  they prefer corners.  In the wild they back up to logs and tree stumps.  They also will use the other end of their den because the poo smells like skunk spray and deters other animals.  Best to warn a wolf with a pile of poo than surprise them with a spray in the face. What skunk wants to wake up and bother with all that.

SKUNK TIP:  All animals are highly sensitive to essential oils.  These should never be used directly on your pet or around them too close.  Be careful of oils in shampoos too.  The best shampoos are fragrance free and do not contain potentially harmful ingredients like PEG, meaning very bad propolyne glycol (there are about 100 synonyms for this alone)  lauryl sulfates, DEA and harsh chemicals.  I keep my life simple and just shampoo my skunks in the mildest human shampoo and conditioner that also has no harsh chemicals—- which I believe is by Neways.  I like the Ultimate shampoo for my girls, but if you really want to take them to the salon try Keratonics.  With these for shampooing, I just know they will always be okay.  Email me from my website ESSA Natural with questions.

But I don’t like saaalad….

Lacey, our youngest skunk is learning to eat her veggies raw. But we are having a few issues.

Lacey is our eighteen-month-old princess skunk. A lovely fluff of a female with the most petite feet and prettiest stripe up her aristocratic face.

Cucumbers and sweet red peppers are her vegetables of choice. She loves proteins. Chicken, turkey, wild salmon, beef, venison, elk. But mostly, Lacey loves calories — cottage cheese, cheese, yogurt, nuts and hulled roasted seeds, pasta, cereal, nibbles of dog food and cat food. More than anything, Lacey wants oily stuff. She will lick a butter wrapper for fifteen minutes.  When we pick her up she grabs it in her hands and tries to eat it.

Back to the cucumber. As Lacey’s mama, I thought the cucumber was a fine food for her to eat every day. That was until the end of the garden organic cucumbers came through from the local farmer. I was letting Lacey live it up with all the cucumber she wanted. Well, Lacey and her sister, Blossom, ended up dehydrating.

Yes, black poop. Dehydrated skunks. Vet bills. Didn’t know what was going on, what I did wrong. Then realized that cucumbers are the one product used in diuretics to help humans release the extra water when they are retaining. Poor skunks. They still get cucumbers but not as often, not as much.

This means Lacey must learn to eat her veggies. No, she doesn’t want carrots, no broccoli, no cauliflower or cabbage, no green beans unless they are cooked. What skunk eats cooked green beans in the wild. I’m not giving her a cooked green anything. She needs to get over it. Besides, all these cruciferous organic veggies are the best calcium for her bones. She could end up with domestic skunkie osteoporosis and not be able to walk. This is common.

She will always eat organic Boston lettuce and red leaf lettuces if – if I drizzle flaxseed oil on the greens.

The last two days I have done my best. I tried chopping her veggies into tiny pieces, then stirring her scrambled egg or meat right in. She snipped out the bits of protein and charged for her sister’s bowl.

Well, this was fine with sister, who loved it all, had already finished her own meat. Lacey found Blossom’s bowl full of the same veggies sans the meat. Blossom got extra veggies.

“Don’t worry, Mama,” Blossom said, “cuz we have a system.”

Yes they have a system that benefits Blossom, trading off bowls when they are almost done. Blossom is not a picky eater and always gets what is left. She gained a pound in six months.

On their last midnight snack of yogurt and celery, I drizzled a bit of flaxseed oil on Lacey’s chopped celery.

Blossom ate her celery and yogurt and charged across the kitchen for Lacey’s bowl. But I grabbed Blossom and we went to the dining room to sit with Papa to watch if Lacey would eat the celery or just lick the oil. It’s an interesting life we lead here.

“I want down,” Blossom complained. “She’s not going to eat the celery. I need to lick the bowl for you.”

“Wait until sister is done,” I said. “She got salad dressing and you didn’t.”

That was too much information.

“She got salad dressing?!” Blossom yeowled, throwing herself backward like the three-year-old she is. “That is not fair!”

“Just wait.”

She wriggled and waggled to get down. “Mama, let me go!  Papa! Help!” But Papa just laughed.

Lacey finished all her celery and licked all the flaxseed oil. So sad, Blossom licked the bowl another three minutes just to prove she liked it best of all.

This morning, I mixed chopped celery, cucumber, leaf lettuce, baby carrots, peeled red pepper, a bit of ground sirloin. Sans oil.

Lacey looked over her shoulder thinking very loudly, as she does not speak, yet. “But I don’t like saaaalad.”

She spotted Blossom still eating. Maybe if she was fast enough, aggressive enough, she could get that beef. Lacey circled the kitchen before charging for Blossom’s bowl.

I grabbed her so Blossom could eat, then proceeded to spoil Lacey by drizzling a half teaspoon of flaxseed oil on her salad, stirring well.

I placed bowl and skunk back in place.  Lacey started to nibble.

Blossom had been watching.  She left a nearly full bowl and charged toward Lacey’s bowl.  I was in the middle of the room like a halfback.  It is a halfback?  Or quarterback?

Anyway, I grabbed Blossom.  Her body-slamming skunk fights are never pretty.  Want to avoid that!

“It’s not fair!” Blossom screamed, kicking.  “She gets everything!  That beauty mark nose stripe! She’s longer and fluffier! AND she gets the oil!”

“You eat in the bedroom, honey bunny. You already like your veggies. Besides, Lacey won’t be getting the extra oil for long. She’ll learn.”

Sullen little Blossom was closed into the bedroom with her ‘diet’ food.

Lacey ate it all.  As a reward for eating her veggies, since I was giving the dog scrambled raw egg with little natural nuggets, I dripped three into her bowl. She grabbed the spoon with both hands, licking the egg off. “Mmmmmm.”

When Lacey was done, I picked up her bowl and locked her in the living room to avoid food fight issues, then took a few doggie nuggets with raw egg to Blossom. But she charged from the room to find Lacey’s bowl. I called her back to her own bowl.

She had to decide between remnants of oil verses what was on Mama’s spoon.  Blossom reluctantly turned back to me. “All right, what have you got then.” And her smart-little butt was richly rewarded for all her sacrifice.

SKUNK LESSON — Too much cucumber could dehydrate.  Never give asparagus, which has caused grand mal seizures, and never give skunks grapes or raisins as these can cause enlarged heart and renal failure respectively.

SKUNK TIP: -Skunks need live calcium for their bones.  The best live source – leafy green vegetables.  Lettuce — but not the iceberg which is actually a hybrid of cabbage and lettuce and is not digestible for most people either.  Leaf lettuces are best… like red and green, Boson, Romaine.  Cabbages like savoy and green cabbage.  Also broccoli, celery, kale, bok choy.  If it is green – but not asparagus – then it is good for them to eat.  Raw is best, the cooked has lost sources of minerals they need.  Be certain to get organic.  If not, then be  certain to remove the sprays.  There are spray removers at the health food store, but I usually soak in 50-50 hydrogen peroxide / water a few minutes then rinse well.

Supplements for calcium – We used a liquid angstrom supplement for bones.  This is highly bioavailable. The powdered calcium is not bioavailable and in my opinion, will cause arthritis as it lodges calcium desposits in the joints and along the spine.  We know, we actually had two skunks with solidified spines from the powdered calcium.  At the very least use a liquid colloidal minerals that is specific for bones.  NEW PRODUCT FOR THEM — The one we have been using for five months now is Neways Maximol Solutions which is full of ionic minerals, vitamins and amino acids.  I also sprinkle Green Qi on their scrambled eggs, yum.  There is a short clip on this page.

I am a holistic guide and answer questions all day long, so if you have concerns or questions about anything human or pet.  I won’t just tell you about Neways.  I have been introducing people and pets to many wonderful companies for morethan a decade….  just go to my website and email me.  I always respond.

Mama sure is taking her own sweet time today…

An exotic pet skunk story.  Exotic pets and geriatric pets take a special love of the heart. Forgive me if I am a bit cranky but…..

……this is what the exotics just said to me – twice.

The time is now eight-two minutes since I emerged from my bedroom, wearing too little clothes to stay warm.  So far I fed two ungrateful pet skunks – twice.  Sort of fed one cranky, finicky, decrepit old cat, and missed the boat when caring for my beloved lame, geriatric Newfoundland dog.  Oh… and I dressed – twice.

Last night I went to bed at ten in the evening instead of one in the morning.  Thought I would start a new shift with hubby who was gone when I awoke.

First off, this was the coldest night yet.  The lovely new Gen 3 EPHeater was turned too low during the night, so I was cold.  That was the catalyst in all my problems today.

Usually, I release the skunks from their den-carriers then shuffle barefooted around the kitchen with my strappy nightgown hanging off one shoulder.  This gets my sweet little princesses fed in the timely fashion to which they are accustomed.

Rule number one – never break routine no matter how cold you are or unglamorous you look.

Today, I let them out and poured granola, went into the bedroom and dressed.  Even did my hair.  Two skunks followed every move, complaining, and eventually digging my bare feet to hurry me along.

“Mama is sure taking her own sweet time today,” Blossom told Lacey, who shook her head and went back to bed to wait.  Blossom continued to hurry me along.

Snuggies the cat rolled his eyes.  He’s twenty-four, what did these two itty-bits know of time.

So I am all dressed, loving my hang-around-the-house outfit.  Soft pink velour pants.  Long-sleeve tees, brown wool sweater.  Slid into my slippers to protect toes from Blossom’s skunk digs and off we galloped to the kitchen for her really late breakfast.  Milk on my granola to soften.  Plated up their food.  Coaxed Lacey back out to eat.

Pet skunk care tip: Mind you, always make sure skunkies are eating when doing anything where you do not want them to assist.  Like feeding the dog, which is another story altogether.  And feeding the cat, or doing laundry or going outside.

Skunks were eating, so fed the cat on a plate next to them, took dog food to one-hundred thirty pound Newfoundland dog on doggie sleeping porch.  Intent now is simply to go watch skunkies and cat eat while I eat, pick up plates and intervene as needed.  Then take dog outside.  Then work.  Not bad for twenty minutes out of the bed.

You can feel sorry for me anytime here.  I used to be a Pollyanna.  Today changed me forever.

Was heading in the door to chaperon their breakfast, but my snowplow guy showed up three hours early.  Good thing I’m dressed then.

The snowpile Plow Guy made last years on my flower beds.

Wade out door through snow I was going to shovel when doggie went out. Am in my slippers.  Give my plow guy the garden parameters for the year.  Don’t pile snow on flower beds, flowers need spring sunlight, not ice piles with a Newfoundland dog on the ice piles on the flowers.  As we shake on it, I slide onto my arse under his truck.  Come in with snow in my slippers, cold socks, wet pants.  So much for gratitude.  At least the snow is clean.  Pants will be dry in a few…. hours?

Dog says he is ready to go out.  ‘Wait for plow guy to finish,’ I say as I knock snow from slippers and strip my pants off one frozen leg.  I peel embedded snow off the hem.  Do I hear the cat upchucking?  Are the skunks in his food already?

Oh man, lots of windows.  Snowplow guy can see me.   I cover my abundant bikini-clad arse with the not-large-enough blue dog bowl.  Wade through skunks to get in the door.  Shuffle through the kitchen with a pant leg dragging.  No puke.  (No no wait for it.)  Pick up cat dish he only licked sauce off.  New brand, only can in the store last night… we live in the middle of nowhere… really.  Not even the skunks wanted this food.

In the bedroom, I take off my lovely soft pink velour pants.  Notice cat’s upchuck streaked across the dragging pant leg.  Eh.

Now you can say it.

Back to the kitchen with a pile of laundry I have to do seven hours before the spray to wash bottle arrives, no telling what will happen to my last pair of clean pants.  I see the cat puke in middle of kitchen floor.  The sunlight enhances its aura.

Drop laundry to go for cleaning bottle and paper towels before skunks track it too.  And notice my first tracks of cat puke leading all the way to the bedroom.  Step out of my slippers and into more cat puke. Strip off that sock.

I clean it all up and scrub the path only to feel through my other sock that I have stepped in it a third… or is it the fourth time.

You can call me a turnip anytime now.

Take the second pair of slippers into bathroom to wash.  They end up too wet to wear.  But I am soon redressed anyway, cranberry-coloured pants I really hate today, clean dry socks, and clogs.  I’m okay.

Back to kitchen. Remember, never break stride, never give them a chance, never ever turn your back.

We are playing in puke - why does it bother you so much?

Skunks have tipped over the can of pukey paper towels they did not want, digging for anything good in the bottom where there was nothing at all.  I could have told them that.  As far as the upchuck…. they didn’t want the food, didn’t play with the puke when they had the chance.  Now they have tracked the mess in a circle. At least they were busy in one place.  In the skunk world we call being ganged up on ’skunkie camaraderie’.

I ganged up on them next.  One shocked skunk upside down under my arm, the other getting her hands and paws washed in the sink.  It can be done.  Dry her, wash and dry the other.  Tuck them in the den-carriers and shut the door.

Where is that cat before he barfs again?

The dog has stopped barking at snowplow guy.  I go out to admire plow guy’s handiwork.  Help my lame old dog to stand by using a towel for a lift.  I smell it.  I smell it, I smell it.  Poor old guy was barking to go out more than at plow guy’s truck.  Poor dog pooped in his bed.  Washed his hiney, my hands, took the bedding out to freeze since my laundry will go in first.  And find cat upchuck on the bottom of the laundry pile I had dropped onto the kitchen floor.

The twenty-four year old cat who is most of the time quite confused about where you are when you call or feed him, pretty much blind, cannot really hear or smell, is sitting on the sleeping porch daybed rolling his eyes.

“Mom,” he says, “Didn’t you just yesterday say something akin to sarcasm to your sweet husband… something about ‘live and learn’?”

What did you dear husband say just this morning? asked the smart-aleck cat.

“Next time puke in your litter box.”

“Of course, I’ll think of that…. just gag me.”

I let my skunks out of their den carriers and they charge to the kitchen like they had never been fed.

“Mama sure took her own sweet time getting us up today,” Blossom complained to Lacey.

I gave each of them a spoonful of my soggy granola.

Moral of the story. Guess.  What can go wrong, will.  You already knew that one though. Some things do go well though, as in that it only took me forty-three minutes to write this blog today.

Literal caring for pet skunks moral of the story. Never break stride.  Never change the routine.  Don’t turn your back.  Don’t let them see you sweat.  When skunks are out of hand you can gently turn them upside down like chickens, no, not holding them by the feet or tail, just upside down. They tend to crawl up you so being upside down throws them into a dependent mode for the moment anyway.  Skunks really want to curl against you for safety though. Try this first. But never let them know for a moment that, literally, they have the upper-hand.  Yes, those are hands on the front, little hands like raccoons.

Skunk Medicine: There’s A Skunk In the House! and other Tail-raising Stories  –pet skunk memoirs    Amazon paperback

A Breath Floats By Paperback  —Novel with three pet skunks and two Newfoundland dogs in story

Amazon.com paperback, Amazon Kindle version, ESSA Books ebook $9

All link info in menu.

Visit Women’s Fiction Blog – more short stories – quite often about skunks, dogs, cats.  True stories with a hint of creative falacy. And the lies we are told – hence fiction for women.

Pet Skunks for Christmas? Tie up mine, please…

Exotic pets need to be wrapped during Christmas

After the Christmas past, I’m tempted to tuck my exotic pets, these skunks o’ mine into festive stockings on the hearth to keep them out of mischief.

The most precious Christmas gift for me would be a dearheart little pet skunk with a red bow, snuggled into a soft Christmas stocking, tucked beneath the tree.

May she be asleep, please.

Nothing is sweet as a descented skunk, smelling like a powder puff, curled into a Christmas stocking. In a perfect world from now on, all my sweet domestic skunks would be carefully hung from the hearth with their square haunches filling stockings. I would take pictures of worried, wrinkled faces. What desaced skunks do when they don’t like what’s happening to them.

Yes, indeed, after the last four Christmas holidays with pet skunks in the house, I’m tempted to leave all of them hanging out of temptation until the holiday passes. That would keep them from mischief, though I have proven quite naive.

Gifts? Grab ‘em, bro!

Two seasons hence, I realized skunks really dig Christmas presents. They maul them. Hands onto paper like a furious digging-for-crickets spree. When it happened to me, I really was clueless. Now you have a clue.

Jumping the gifts was Jeronimo’s idea. The years before, when Sequoia was an only skunk, he didn’t dig the gifts. Sequoia is a shy, unassuming little skunk. Well, maybe not so much.

I was blissfully unaware of their new motivation as I wrapped gifts in the living room, boxes piled prettily under the tree, those ready for ribbons and cards around me.

Natural shakable tree.

Sequoia and Jeronimo woke up at their first witching hour of eight o’clock. Skipped in to check out the forest scene. The Christmas tree stood in a wire-covered old washtub to deter short-legged creatures from midnight swims.

Sequoia and Jeronimo are acutely excited about the tree in the big house. Their waking moments are spent nosing around the long-needle evergreen. On the night of the gifts, their night prowl was rewarded with wrapping paper, tissue, ribbons, bows, boxes everywhere.

But, no, they didn’t throw themselves into the paper or loose ribbons like a cat. No.

Sequoia and Jeronimo pounced the wrapped presents. For once, sharing. Gleeful comrades. They dug those presents – literally dug with determination and long skunk claws, enhanced by brotherly snarling and squealing.

While I was shoving wrapped presents on the hearth where the skunks should have been, the brothers dove onto the next gifts. Fortunately, they started butt-shoving each other out of the way. Fortunately, Jeronimo’s best defense is sitting on Sequoia’s head, making his furious older brother squeal like a steaming teapot. They could try this in football, no?

I should have known better

Each night since the tree moved into the big house, I heard Sequoia squealing his fury when his baby brother was butt-shoving and sitting on him. Every morning I found that the skunks, seemingly assisted by cats, managed to remove a dried flower, pinecone, or the end of a low bough. Once they had their prize, they would dig it to dust in the rug.

Did I think cats?

Two nights before Christmas when relatives were expected, I hung a few tiny popcorn balls by leather strips from higher branches. Next morn, plastic wrap was on the floor. Not one popcorn ball on the tree. Perhaps a skunk was the culprit, no? But they had to have assistance to get that off a high branch.

The popcorn balls were so desirable Jeronimo roused several times next day to skip to the tree. He would toddle around and around. Nothing found, he would skip back to his den behind my bedroom dresser.

That evening he skipped into the living room at witching hour, Sequoia dancing along and trying to push Jeronimo out of the way. No avail. They nosed around the tree, more intent than ever. But I am not that stupid. No popcorn balls were hung.

Exasperated and scowling, Jeronimo, who is an extremely long skunk, stood on his short hind legs beneath the tree. He balanced with his tail. Wrapped his front legs and hands around a branch, shaking the tree furiously. Square little Sequoia sat square on his haunches, expectant.

Shaking the tree must have been how they felled the popcorn balls. That night they got nothing. So they shoved off to the dog food bowl.

Regurgitation

One morning I awoke to find an alarming smatter of regurgitation resembling shiny red shards of glass.

I searched for my skunks. Who else?

Throughout the house I found five more piles that looked like one of the skunks had regurgitated vital organs. I yelled for someone, phone to tell the vet we have an emergency.

Then I found chewed plastic wrap. Realized the pooh-butts discovered candy canes. My daughter left her bookbag on the floor and the culprits dug through canvas.

Much better for them

Sequoia opening seeds gift

Treats on Christmas morning are sugarless. Peanuts, cashews, hulled sunflower seeds in festive paper. The only chance they have to dig gifts now are their own.

The tree is now a compromise. A ‘nature tree’ decorated with pinecones, dried flowers, feathers. Bird decorations, skunk slippers, plush skunk toys running through the branches.

Yes, a Christmas tree of compromise made to be mauled and gleefully shaken. Everything is wire-tied on, non-edible, and skunk-proof.

My favorite winter evening is when we are all cuddled under blankets on the sofa, tiny white Christmas lights glowing throughout the room, daughters telling stories of their day. Sequoia snuggles against my shoulder, hibernating where he likes best. Jeronimo is reclined on his back in the crook of someone’s arm, stubby legs poking up as he intently studies the tree with his sly grin.

The Christmas tree is safe momentarily. Gifts are stacked on the hearth, entertainment center, lamp tables, hutch, blanket chest, dining table…. ah, yes, just where they belong when skunks are in the house.

Skunk Medicine: There’s a Skunk in the House! and Other Tail-Raising Stories

‘Striped Christmas’ original short story title in skunk memoir book.

Skunk excerpts at ESSA Books in novel A Breath Floats By …..enjoy!

SKUNK TIP FOR THE DAY?  Read the story LOL because there are stacks!

Essa

© Essa Adams, ESSA Books

Contact author for details on permission to reprint.

Domesticated princess

Lacey the skunk princess

A pet skunk snuggle toy.

This is our aristocrat, Lacey. She is too little to speak, but a bundle of joy. Lacey is the sidekick to Blossom in most of the skunk stories so far. I thought you would like to meet her as you read.

HOLIDAY SKUNK CARE TIPS:  If you haven’t figured it out already… when hanging candy canes from your Christmas tree, wire tie them high in the branches.  If your skunks are climbers, don’t even bother with real candy canes, use plastic.  Also, wire your tree to the ceiling.

Come by the day before Christmas Eve for the pet skunk Chirstmas story, ‘Striped Christmas’ from Skunk Medicine (the skunk memoir book) by Adams.

Happy bubbles…

When skunks are very content, being all snuggled and relaxed, they make these little sounds I call happy bubbles. This is a joyous little ‘pop’ echo from deep inside. I think they sigh aaahhhh….

Pooh used to make happy bubbles.  Today, Blossom made a happy bubble right after I was reminding Hubby of how Pooh used to make these sounds. Hubby said I was burping her, but no, I know a happy bubble when I hear it and feel it.

The more content and relaxed your skunk, the more peacefulness you feel in your heart. That’s why the joy they bring is called skunk medicine.

Click on Blossom to read one of her latest stories, ‘Don’t worry, Papa, I’m just thining about it…’