By: Angela Gillaspie © June 2001

Recently, my Uncle Oscar over in Georgia was plagued with possums. He set traps and caught several possums, including a few that were living comfortably in his kitchen. He didn't take kindly to sharing his trailer with any creature hairier than him and besides, the roaches and ants had first dibs on his kitchen.

Early one fateful morning, there wasn’t a possum in his kitchen trap, so he took his time and savored his coffee and honey toast. While heading out for his daily routine, he peeked at his outside trap and he saw that he’d caught something.

He inched forward and found a small skunk pressed into the cage’s corner. Uncle Oscar was so mad to see a skunk that he had to do something quick. He grabbed his shotgun, popped in a shell, fired, missed, cursed, reloaded another shell, and then fired again at the skunk. His second shot was more effective, leaving a four-inch hole in his trailer - sharpshooter, he ain’t. Nobody does the NRA prouder!

He ran in to his bedroom and peeked outside through his new window. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he almost gagged on the smell. It took him several tomato juice washings to get the skunk odor out of his bedroom.

One night not long after his stinky encounter, he happened to look under his trailer while he was setting his outside trap and he saw six eyes blink back at him. There was a den of skunks living the good life down there - no wonder he couldn’t get the pole cat smell out of his home!

The next morning after catching another skunk, he called his friend Durb to take care of it. Durb was apprehensive, but wanted to help his friend out. Not knowing how to get a live skunk out of a trap, he shot the trespasser with his .38 and loaded the trap into his pickup.

A couple of days later when Durb returned the trap, he informed Oscar that he’d rather kiss a pig than tote off another skunk. He couldn’t get the smell out of his truck and his wife made him eat out on the porch because he smelled worse than that time he spread chicken manure all day.

Soon, Uncle Oscar was rewarded with another pole cat in his trap. Knowing that calling Durb was out of the question, he punched in his brother's number.

Uncle Oscar's brother (my daddy) also didn't quite know how to handle a live skunk in a trap, so using his .22 rifle, he dispatched the snarling critter into the hereafter and loaded the trap into his pickup. Later, Daddy told Oscar that he wouldnt carry off any more skunks because his pickup smelled worse than an old sweet potater rottin in a bucket full of sewage, plus Momma made Daddy eat supper outside on the porch. (Apparently the thought of bathing before supper never occurred to these gentlemen.)

The pole cat carnage was getting to Uncle Oscar - he didn't know what to do. He had more skunks than friends and relatives. Being alone in his Skunk Mission, he decided to use his head instead of his shotgun. After all, the shotgun put a hole in his trailer and his head hadnt.

First, he tried to drive them out with sound. He put his radio next to the bottom of the trailer and cranked up the local country station. The next day, the skunks had Georgia on their minds. They seemed to tell Uncle Oscar, "Hello Darlin’", making old Oscar sing to them, "Bay-bee don’t get hooked on me!"

If loud noises wouldn't force them out, maybe bright lights would! He got some of the brightest bulbs he could find and lit up the underside of his trailer making it look like that flying saucer Aunt Belle saw hovering over her pasture back in 1984. This didnt work either because the skunks seemed to enjoy the brighter lighting (plus it scared Aunt Belle).

Then Uncle Oscar had another idea; he knew that some animals were repelled by the smell of a predator's urine. So he peed in a jug and marked his territory. Maybe those pole cats would be scared off by the smell of his recycled coffee. After a week, all the grass died and the skunks were still under his trailer.

Finally, he decided to fight fire with fire and stink them out. He soaked some rags in ammonia and threw them under his trailer.

Within a couple of days he noticed that the skunks had moved on to greener trailers! Hallelujah! He won! With a sneer, he quickly put some chicken wire around the bottom of his trailer to keep any future uninvited guests out.

Now Uncle Oscar's trailer smells a lot better, no stinky skunks - just the pleasant aroma of dirty feet and possum.

He's learned to live with the possums, but sharing space with a skunk just ain't right. He has his standards, by gum, and he'll try his best to abide by em.

Lord knows, country livin' can be hard (and smelly too).

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