Driving Minnie's Piano (9 page)

^{When the plane's door opened
again in Toronto and we walked into the terminal, I watched the
faces of the airport workers we passed. Some frowned, some
squinched up their noses. I think that we all smelled a little bit
like skunk by then and everywhere my fellow passengers went that
day, the smell would be noticed. It's amazing how an early morning
smell of skunk in Nova Scotia would turn up at lunches and business
meetings and sporting events in Toronto, twelve hundred miles away
that same day.}

^{Back home in Nova Scotia, my
family was having a worse time than me. I felt a certain pride in
my success at flying all the way to Toronto without anyone pointing
me out as the man who smelled like skunk. Fortunately, there is a
piano in the airport in Toronto and I sat down and played
Pachelbel's Canon and a couple of other songs to celebrate my
achievement.}

^{At that very moment, however,
my daughter Pamela was crying in the principal's office at Ross
Road School. Kids on school busses are never fooled about where
skunk smells come from. Pamela got on the bus and immediately
everyone knew. They made fun of her all the way to school and into
school and she toughed it out until ten o'clock when she couldn't
take it any more.}

^{She called home and her mother
came to rescue her from the cruel insults of her classmates. For
weeks and months afterwards, unmerciful kids would remind everyone
about the time Pamela came to school smelling like, well, you know
what.}

^{While Terry was picking up
Pamela, Sunyata arrived home on this cold winter day to see all the
doors and windows to the house were open and clothing strewn all
over the entire lawn. She let out a scream and ran towards the
house, assuming that some insane burglar had invaded her home,
stealing things and leaving piles of unwanted clothes on the lawn.
But as soon as she got inside, she realized it was worse than that.
The house wreaked badly and Terry had distributed clothes outside
to rid them of the smell.}

^{An expensive machine was
rented to supposedly kill the skunk aroma but it barely made a
dent. The skunk, after all, was living under the house and even if
he wasn't in full defense mode, he continued to let his presence be
known. At night you could hear him scratching around in the dirt
below. And his perfume pervaded everything and everywhere. It would
hang around for a long time. Nearly two months later, I could open
my old leather briefcase in the university classroom where I
taught, and out would pour the olfactory signature of
skunk.}

^{I returned from Toronto a few
days later to confront a family in rebellion. Because I had escaped
skunk city for a few brief days, I felt the full wrath of two
daughters and a wife who had been coping with the physical and
psychological impact of a house under skunk siege. My wife walked
around with tissue paper stuffed up her nose. Sunyata used a
swimmer's nose plug. Pamela, whose bedroom was farthest from the
skunk problem, kept the door to her room shut tightly and, when
necessary, ran through the rest of the house holding her breath
until she could get outside.}

^{It seems
that everyone had advice about how to get rid of skunks. Many
advised killing them with poison, but I couldn't bring myself to do
that. The skunks really meant us no harm. My favourite advice by
someone who claimed success in skunk eviction was
this.
You wire up a bright
light and a radio to play somewhere near where the skunk den is. It
will scare them away.}

^{I liked this non-violent
method immensely. It meant that I had to go into the deeper part of
the basement, however, and get as close to the crawl space as
possible. I put on heavy protective clothes and safety glasses,
climbed down the basement hatchway, ducked under and around the
giant spiders that help protect my old house from unwanted insects.
Then I found my way to the northeast corner. I shone a flashlight
into the crawl space and could actually see branches, leaves and
scraps of cloth all bunched up into something like a
nest.}

^{I didn't poke it or prod it or
make too much in the way of loud noises. Instead, I ran an
extension cord, plugged in the light and the radio, set the dial to
the heavy rock station. The sounds of Metallica echoed around the
cold frosty cellar. That would do it. The skunks would be annoyed
by light, afraid of the heavy metal music and go somewhere
else.}

^{Two days passed and there was
still the sound of scratching beneath the floor. The darned music
was keeping us awake at night as well. It wasn't working at all.
Instead of driving the skunks away, maybe they were thinking we
liked them so much we decided to give them some creature comforts
like a glowing light bulb and non-stop, around-the-clock
entertainment in the form of loud guitars and smashing drums. The
next day I pulled the plug on the frills for the skunk
family.}

^{The expensive odour-killing
machinery was returned and the familiar smell continued on. I
bought a handmade live skunk trap from a farm supply store but it
didn't work. I baited it with mackerel and the skunk got away with
the fish every time. So I bought a bigger trap. It turned out my
skunk was a really big skunk that required a large wire cage called
a Havaheart trap. On my third night back home, I set the big trap
on the lawn, placed a fresh piece of haddock inside and slept
fitfully. I had not really planned what to do if I caught a live
skunk inside the cage.}

^{It snowed that night and in
the morning I awoke to a world of white. Everything was white, that
is, except for the black parts of the skunk that were in my cage.
He looked harmless enough, cute even. I had finally caught my
skunk. Pretty soon our troubles would be over.}

^{I wouldn't even approach the
skunk until I found someone with a truck willing to help carry it
away. I was turned down three times. One person said he'd be happy
to help do just about anything but deal with a skunk. He'd heard
stories of people dealing with skunks who never, ever got rid of
the smell. Eventually, I called a young surfer friend named Glenn,
who had a truck. He thought dealing with a skunk would be funny and
interesting.}

^{When Glenn arrived he saw me
standing in my driveway in heavy rubber boots, zip-up white
overalls, orange toque, heavy work gloves and safety glasses. I
looked like someone about to deal with a melt-down at a nuclear
reactor.}

^{The first thing I did was
throw an old blanket over the skunk cage. The skunk did not like
this at all and took revenge by polluting the front yard with a
toxic cloud. Glenn and I both ran for the bushes in retreat until
the worst of the attack was over. Then there was nothing else to do
but pick up the cage, skunk and all, hidden beneath the old
blanket, and we set it in the back of the pickup.}

^{We drove the skunk fifteen
kilometres away because I had done some research and learned that
skunks will return great distances to favoured “dens.” It was a
remote location by a lake, just off a big highway. Nearby, a local
artist had painted a giant green frog on a rock outcropping. There
were no houses for at least two kilometres in any direction. It was
a great, natural, safe place for a skunk to live out the rest of
his days.}

^{Far back from the road, Glenn
and I looked at each other, wondering how to open the cage to free
the skunk. It would be a dangerous deed. But it was my problem, my
skunk. I pulled down on the toque, positioned the safety glasses in
place, pulled on some rubber gloves and proceeded with great
caution.}

^{I gently raised the metal door
and asked the skunk to leave. He refused. I begged and pleaded but
he would have none of it. He wanted to go home, back to my
house.}

^{In desperation, I asked Glenn
to tilt the back of the cage while I kept the door open. He tilted
and still no skunk. The blanket still surrounded the trap. Maybe
the skunk had somehow gotten out while we were driving. Like a
fool, I put my head down to the open end of the cage and peered
inside.}

^{For a split second I was nose
to nose with the skunk. Then he started to turn around - which
meant disaster. I screamed something loud and horrible and Glenn
dropped the cage. We both ran for the highway. But nothing
happened. Five minutes later we returned to the cage and tried
again. Door open, a gentle shake of the cage and, this time, he
fled for the safety of the woods, black and white tail bobbing in
the air like a flag.}

^{We both smelled awful at that
point but congratulated ourselves on the success. I thought the
story was over.}

^{My family slept blissfully
that night, assured that the skunk problem was behind us. The night
after that was also calm and quiet. But on the third night, I heard
scratching beneath the floorboards and thought that the air smelled
slightly stronger than the usual skunk odour that still hugged the
walls of our home.}

^{Had the visitor returned? Had
he travelled across those many kilometres of frozen winter terrain?
It seemed unlikely, but such is the intensity of a wild creature
trying to find its way back “home.”}

^{The next day I reset the trap
and the following morning, sure enough, a skunk - or the skunk -
was in the trap. I phoned Glenn, who thought it was a joke but he
came right over. We performed the ritual again. I convinced myself
the skunk was smaller than the other one. And this one didn't let
fly with the deadly scent. We drove him to the same spot and let
him go. The theory was this.}

^{A pair of skunks had taken up
residence beneath the floorboards and it would be unkind to deliver
them to different locations. Instead, they would find each other in
the wilderness by the lake near the painted green frog on the rock
outcropping.}

^{That night I was awakened by
my sleepless wife. She jabbed me in the ribs. “Do you hear
it?”}

^{“It's impossible,” I
said.}

^{“Listen.”}

^{I listened. “It's just the
wind. Go back to sleep.”}

^{“No. Listen.”}

^{I listened.}

^{And then I heard the familiar
scratching of little clawed paws in the dirt beneath the house. And
there was something like the scraping of tree branches - the nest.
A skunk was still down there rearranging the furniture of its
living space. Perhaps the happily married couple of skunks I had
moved away had left behind a little one. If so, it would have to be
reunited with its parents.}

^{The next day the trap was set
again and I caught my third skunk. Another successful catch,
another call to Glenn.}

^{“Impossible.”}

^{“But true,” I
said.}

^{And so another skunk was
driven to the lake by the green frog and somewhere in the woods yet
another reunion took place.}

^{News of the three skunks
beneath our house spread up and down the shore and as far away as
Halifax. It seemed that everyone loves to hear a story about
another family afflicted with skunks. Three skunks! What bad
luck.}

^{I refused to believe that
there could be more but my wife insisted I keep resetting the live
trap until it remained empty for up to a week. I humoured her. I
knew better. No way could there be yet another black and white
scoundrel beneath those boards.}

^{But a fourth one appeared in
the morning like clockwork. This time Glenn politely let me know
that he had done his duty as a surfing friend. Three skunks, he
could take. But we were moving into the Twilight Zone territory
here. He could not come over every morning to help me with my skunk
problem. Besides, his truck had the perpetual smell of skunk.
People were starting to notice. His girlfriend was refusing to ride
in the cab. I was destroying his relationship.}

^{So I was on my
own.}

^{I put on the overalls, cap,
goggles, boots and gloves and sat down four metres from the skunk.
I stared at him and began a one-sided
conversation.}

^{“What is this all
about?”}

^{“You're the last one,
right?”}

^{“I don't have a truck this
time, you know.”}

^{“You're going to have to ride
on the roof of my station wagon.”}

^{He looked at me with those
beady little black eyes and sniffed the air. As if I was the one
who might smell bad.}

^{I gingerly dropped the old
smelly blanket over him and carried him to the car, delicately set
the cage on the roof rack and strapped it down with bungee cords.
Next, I followed the familiar route to the distant lake and ushered
another skunk back to where he belonged in the wilderness. His
family awaited him.}

^{Now, some people go their
whole lives without ever encountering a skunk except in a
children's cartoon. Sadly, no one in my family falls into that
category. Some people around where I live even say that there are
no skunks in Nova Scotia. That I must be mistaken. They are very
convinced on this point and think I am a great liar. I dearly wish
that such was the case.}