Friday started out normally. I had laundry running and was packing for an upcoming trip. As I moved from room to room, I caught whiffs of an unusual odor. I kept working.

There was a heat wave, with temperatures reaching 100 and I wasn’t too keen on working outside in between my zoom calls and usual paperwork. Yard work was calling but I wasn’t answering . So instead, I decided to pack for a trip weeks away. Some call it avoidance…. I call it preparation.

With each trip to the closet the smell grew more pronounced. Finally, I realized that it smelled like marijuana of the variety that you encounter drifting out of cars or rolling off of jackets of people you pass on the street. Confused I walked to the opposite end of the house where my husband was dealing with household paperwork.

“Our bedroom smells like weed.” I announced. He looked up and said “well what have you been doing back there”. Very funny. After I finally convince him there is an issue he comes back to my closet and concludes, “yep, it smells like weed”.

Puzzled, we both search for the cause and come up empty. A little later, taking out the trash through the laundry room, we open the door to our garage and are knocked over by SKUNK. Not a little skunk, but full bore, eye watering, gagging SKUNK!

Not knowing where the skunk is and not being able to see under cars or behind the freezer, we quickly opened the garage door and went back inside. At least we knew where the smell was coming from. The garage shares an interior wall with our bedroom.

Later in the day my husband searched the garage and came up empty, thankfully. We hoped the skunk had wandered away, but the smell did not abate as it should. A few hours later he came in from the garage and announced that he had found the skunk. Pepe Le Pew appeared to be sleeping on the floor of our tool room which is attached to our garage. I imagine that the dark tool room with its cool concrete floor was appealing in the heat. Why the door was open is still a mystery, but there it was. A black and white stink bomb sprawled in my house.

We decided to leave the door open and hope he went away on his own instead of telling his friends and bringing them in for a house party. But, in the morning he hadn’t moved. He was poked and prodded (with a very long pole) but no movement. We had a dead skunk in our house.

My husband had to leave to work at a football game that had conveniently been rescheduled for that morning due to storms. It was just me and the skunk. (In fairness, he planned to deal with it when he returned). I couldn’t deal with the smell another minute. At least the storm ended the heat wave, because I suited up like I was the commander of a hazmat strike force. Long sleeves. Check. Long pants. Check. Hair and face covering. Check. Gloves. Check. Boots. Check.

I gathered triple layers of garbage bags and proceeded with caution to the tool room. The smell. The SMELL! I had to walk up and stand over the skunk to get to the shovels. I wasn’t convinced that it wasn’t going to spring up and run up my leg. Irrational fear, it was well and truly dead. I began to arrange the trash bags so that I could lift the skunk with two shovels into the bag.

It weighed so little, I was surprised. Into the bag it went with no issues. Triple knotted and secured in seconds. I walked down into our back yard to the middle of the wild flower garden carrying the bag and shovel and began to dig. I hoped the smell of lavender would help to counter skunk. Digging was harder work than I imagined because wildflowers have long, deep roots. Eventually he was in the ground. I did not stay to give a eulogy.

Next, the shovels and the tool room had to be dealt with. Even more unfortunate, the skunk had been ill before he died, whether from poison or heat. There were presents all over the concrete floor. Armed with the trusty shovel, I cleaned up the mess and then bleached the floor. Just straight bleach and a mop. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I left it to my husband to finish up with soap and water later.

After discarding my gloves and clothes in the trash and taking a long hot bath, I felt weirdly accomplished. I was triumphant over the terrible. I had faced the unknown with action. I had the agency of self determination. I realized that when faced with something unexpected and unpleasant, the worst part of the ordeal is the wringing of hands and the wondering of why this happened. There is a calmness in action and a peace in knowing you are doing the best thing you know how. I will remember that the next time I am skunked (hopefully only metaphorically).