Forced into a man-to-skunk standoff

10/10/2006

Walking home late last week, with darkness all around, I was suddenly face-to-face with one of the most feared and reviled creatures on our planet.


It wasn’t some drug-addled junkie all jacked up on methamphetamine that I met, nor a bible-toting religious zealot ready to beat me into submission with Psalms and Proverbs—although both can be rather dangerous if they catch you off guard.


No, I met a skunk.


We both rounded the corner of a building at exactly the same time, and surprised each other. Neither of us expected to see the other out roaming at that time of night, and we froze in our tracks in some sort of comical man-to-skunk standoff.


It has been said your entire life can flash in front of your eyes during times of mortal peril, that time slows down to a crawl. I think this is the result of that surge of adrenaline you get in such circumstances, and mine was flowing, even as we stared each other in the eye, barely a few feet apart.


Neither of us budged an inch, sizing up our surprise adversary for what seemed like minutes. It was actually only a few seconds, but it was plenty long enough for me to lock into the weasel’s gaze, and realize he wasn’t taking a backward step.


Suddenly, I noticed Mr. Skunk was just as worried about me as I was about him. From an early age, sensible people are taught to avoid skunks. What skunks learn about us is anyone’s guess.


His stance told me he was undecided, not knowing if fight or flight was the proper choice. In one on one combat, I like to think I could get the better of a skunk. They are scrappy and capable little hunters, but I had him beat by close to 300 pounds.


The skunk, as we all know, is equipped with a defence mechanism that can spray an incredibly foul-smelling and effective stench several feet from his back end. I knew he had me beat there, even on my best day, after a marathon session of cooked cabbage, baked beans and draught beer.


Quickly deciding that going toe-to-toe with a skunk was a losing proposition, I backed down and made the first move; one slow step backwards.


Don’t look him in the eye, I remembered, but that’s for a bear confrontation. No sudden movements, I thought, remembering the advice for meeting an angry dog. Keep arms and legs inside the bus at all times. No, that was grade school.


Luckily, the skunk made the next move, and waddled away with that impressive black and white tail puffed up as large as possible, letting me know he probably had the right of way the entire time.


I stopped at a single step of retreat. I had my pride, after all, and wanted to make sure he knew I wasn’t some wimp he could just push around. Next time might even be different—but I doubt it.