Something's Rotten in the Village of Mimico

Or so it would seem by the smell coming in the window.

I was sitting at home this afternoon, reading blogs and hoping I might think of something interesting to write about when I became aware of a faint odour on the cool breeze. It was slight at first, the odour. So I ignored it and continued my reading. Soon however, the scent grew stronger and more pungent until at last it was impossible to ignore. It was the unmistakable smell of a skunk. I bore it as long as I could, Ms J, but eventually I was forced to close the window. The office upstairs here was pretty rank so I sprayed some bathroom deodorizer and soon forgot about the incident.

When it was time to return to work, I stepped into my boots, pulled a sweatshirt over my head and opened the front door. The smell of skunk hit me immediately. It was staggering. I stepped outside and looked around carefully. I knew the animal had sprayed nearby. Perhaps it was still around.

An apprehensive search in the flower bed and around the shrubbery turned up no sign of the malodorous mammal so I turned and looked out to the street. There, in front of the house next door, lay the lifeless body of a skunk. It had been struck by a passing car, I suppose. Cautiously, I approached it. The unfortunate creature still oozed crimson from a mortal wound to the head. It was definitely dead.

I hurried to the shed where I retrieved my gardening gloves and a large plastic trash bag. I returned to the skunk and stood over it a moment. In a futile attempt to defend itself, it had sprayed its vile musk. It stank terribly. My stomach began to heave and I pulled the collar of my shirt over my nose. I was loathe to touch the animal at all, let alone lift it and put it in the bag I carried.

I took a deep breath inside my shirt and held it. Then I grabbed the tail, raised the animal and lowered it gently into the bag. Wrinkling my nose and squinting against the ammonia-like vapours, I carefully knotted the bag at the top. Then I put it with the trash that waited collection at the curb.

Fifteen minutes later, I was on the train heading downtown.

"I smell a skunk," said my mate, frowning and sniffing the air.

"Oh that's not a skunk, it's me you smell," I said and I knew that didn't sound quite right. "I found a dead skunk just as I was leaving for work today. I put it in a bag."

"Whaddaya mean ya put it in a bag?" he said. "Do you normally collect dead skunks? Is it a hobby of yours?"

"Well," I began, "I was sitting at home this afternoon, reading blogs and hoping I might think of something interesting to write about when I became aware of a faint odour on the cool breeze...."

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