Must be the beef.
Dreampt last night of having adopted a skunk from the local animal shelter. It was a tiny thing, soft and inquisitive as a whole herd of raccoons, so it required some energy to keep up with it until I had properly skunk proofed the house. I had a friend who had one as a pet when I was young, so I know what they’re personalities are like- I like Skunks a lot more than I like cats.
Anyway my dream skunk was not de-scented, so everyone treated him like an alderman correcting Rahm Immanuel’s grammer; really, it wasn’t necessary because the skunk was not anywhere near spraying. I spent a lot of time with it, in my dream, and in a moment of quiet I heard the skunk actually say something. It was a shock to hear that it could talk, it had a tiny voice with a sort of a Czech accent, and it made it ever so much cuter. Needle sharp teeth, though, and I was playing with it as I woke and I swear I woke up and looked for holes in my thumb.
Sometimes a skunk is just a skunk.
I knew of a family that had a pet skunk that they THOUGHT was de-scented. Then one day the skunk was in the living room and something fell with a loud crash in the kitchen …
A Czech accent? Like a “wild and crazy skunk!!”?
I was “adopted” by a skunk when I was a kid. This was shortly after the nannies in Olympia (WA.) banned indeginous animals as pets. A nosy nelly neighbor called Animal Control, who wanted me to put Blossom, is there any other name for a skunk?, in a cage in their truck. I deferred and told them if they wanted her in the truck, they could put her in it. She had a litter to care for. To make a long story interminable, they just went away. Good move, Blossom was “carrying.” After her babies matured and moved away Dad and I took Blossom to a vet and had her disarmed and given the standard “Cat” innoculations. She lived another 9 delightful years. We saw no rats or mice in the entire neighborhood until she went to the big comfy bed in the sky.
She was much more cuddly and affectionate than any cat with the added benefit of seriously jacking up strangers who came to the door. Blossom thought it her duty to answer the door. That always cracked my Dad up.
I’m pretty sure dreaming about a skunk is a very good omen.
Gerry N.
My parents had a pair of skunks shipped to them via rail while stationed at Fort Bliss, before I was born. Bought from a breeder and assured they had been de-scented, they moved them right into the small apartment off base with them. After bathing them both in the sink, as they’d arrived through a sandstorm, they discovered they most assuredly had not been ‘fixed’ in multiple ways. The female they named Tinkerbelle, the male, Nike, as he frequently misfired. I think the last straw was when they decided their favorite nesting place was the pockets of Dad’s college sweater. Shortly after that, they were gifted to the El Paso Zoo.