It’s Wednesday. The trailer area smells like skunk again. Seems to be a standard occurrence by the middle of the workweek.
Since I’ve been working here, we have encountered at least a couple skunks in our traps each week.
After the first week of the field season, when trapper Ty got blasted in the face by a striped skunk, a method was developed for safer release of the skunks. However, it is inevitable that something will receive the brunt of the smelly anal-assault. Usually (and hopefully) this is a pillowcase that we cover the skunk-filled trap with.
Getting the pillowcase safely over the trap presents a bit of a challenge, and definitely gets the blood pumping.
It requires a patient, calm approach towards the front of the trapped skunk. It seems arbitrary to say it, but DON’T approach from behind. If the animal starts pawing at the ground, stay put for a moment, then slowly begin the approach again. If the tail end makes any sudden movements in your direction, clear out immediately!
When within close enough range, quickly drape the pillowcase over the entirety of the trap. It is important you don’t miss, as this sudden movement will usually startle the skunk into spraying.
When I did this the first time, I heard an intimidating “PSH” only a fraction of a second after I got the pillowcase over the cage. A yellow stain quickly soaked through the pillowcase directly under my nose, and I was struck immediately by the warm, nauseating stench of garlic, onions, gasoline, and rotten eggs. Skunk smells quite different up close. Thank God for the pillowcase, or I would have received the spray full in the face. He must have been able to sense my exact whereabouts, ‘cause that squirt was dead accurate.
Once the pillowcase is secured, cautiously locate the head of the animal and open the trap from that end. Because the skunk can’t see beyond the pillowcase, he’ll probably need a little coaxing to leave the trap. So just gently shake it ‘till you see him scurry out. Then run. The opposite direction!
In an effort to step up my trapping skills, I betrayed a squirrel today.
With patience and persistence, I gained the trust of a rotund, tassel-eared Aberts squirrel.
Under the trailer I am currently living beside is a large Tidy Cats kitty litter tub we use to mix a five-to-one mixture of oats and peanut butter into bait. Squirrel bait. The lid was only halfway on, and the container was fallen on its side. Naturally, the inner walls—pasted with remnants of the gooey, tasty bait concoction—were an enticing prospect too good for any right-minded squirrel to pass up.
Now I’m sure this particular squirrel was a regular at the Williams Ranger District’s many campsites and waste receptacles, so he was at least a little familiar with the ways of humans. He was bold, and didn’t think twice about my presence.
So there I was—in my lawn chair, shaded by a large, leafy gamble oak. My nose was in a book and I was serenaded by the soothing sounds of chirping birds and highway noise, when he strolls up all casual.
I see him, he sees me. There is a mutual understanding. Or so he thinks.
I must admit I do enjoy messing with creatures of lesser intelligence than I. Needless to say I have been enjoying my job as a wildlife technician aka small mammal handler.
I also enjoy babysitting…
After a brief stare down, I’m able to give him the impression it’s ok to mow down.
“Buffet’s open all afternoon,” I would have told him if I had though of something clever like that to say at the time.
He went for it, headfirst into the tub with his bushy gray tail the only thing visible outside. I creeped to within kicking distance (not that I would…), before he regained his guard. He gazed up at me intensely with his perfectly round, beady black eyes.
With a calm and friendly expression, I invited him to have 2nds. After a few tense moments he did.
I quickly assessed my options. I wanted a quick and clean capture, no squirreling around. Childish pun most absolutely intended.
The kitty-littler tub was positioned awkwardly behind the trailer’s steps, so I would have to attack from a weird angle.
I knew my window of opportunity was rapidly closing. I had to act. As I lunged forward to close the tub, I had visions of a pissed off, sugar-happy squirrel clawing up my arms, hissing and clicking maniacally as he made his way to my face.
Perhaps this caused a slight hesitation, and the Aberts was able to squeeze through the lid I was trying to close and scamper off to a nearby tree, where he angrily yapped at me from a low branch. There was a sense of betrayal in his chirps, is if saying, “I though we were cool, man!”
Oh we’re cool, all right. Why don’t you come by tonight? I’ll have dinner waiting.
