Walking through Prospect park today, my brother reminded me of this story: The Time that Damned Baby Skunk Stole me Beer.
Our house in Somerville had a fantastic back porch, with a grape arbour. There was a skunk who lived underneath, and whom I would see regularly, and address politely as Mr Skunk. I'd wish him a good evening, and kept an eye out for him, but certainly didn't feed him. One summer, Mr. Skunk had her little mini skunklets under the porch. I changed my method of address to Ms. Skunk. Say what you will, but skunklets are possibly the cutest things in the world- cuter than ducklings, maybe even cuter than kittens. So I sat down on the porch, and had a talk with Ms. Skunk. I told her that she and her kits were welcome to stay, but mustn't spray me, my dog, or my tenants, and, in fact, should avoid spraying on the premises at all. they kept up there side of the bargain, so we had a skunk family as semi-tenants.
One weekend the gals upstairs had a barbeque- LOTS of folks on the back porch. This apparently woke up the sleeping, rebellious teenage kits. One of them peeked out from under the porch, on the side. He came out part way, grabbed a beer, and took off. Now, I'm sure that's not what actually happened, that he simply came out part way, got scared, turned around and ran back under, knocking over a beer bottle in the process. But from my perspective, that skunk totally stole my beer
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