The Skunk with Taste
“Josh! Did you do the dishes?” came the voice floating up the stairs. Now, I know it’s selfish, but I HATE to do the dishes. Ask me to do any other sane chore you could think of and I would do it, pronto, no questions asked. But there is just something I can’t identify about doing the dishes. I sighed. Duty calls.

“Coming, Mom,” I answered. I put down my book and got off my couch. I walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. I caught sight of the sink and groaned. It was piled high with grimy utensils, plates, bowls, and pots that had been building up there over the last five or six days.

I set about the task, eager to be done. In about an hour I was done. I don’t want to sound like a whiner or anything, but at the end of it, my arms ached from all the scrubbing, so I decided to open a window. Big mistake.

The cool breeze was refreshing. I went back upstairs and plopped on my bed to read. I didn’t get to enjoy this for five minutes! After a while a piercing shriek assaulted my eardrums.

I rushed downstairs to find my mom cowering from a little furry thing with a stripe down its back. I recognized it as a skunk. I groaned. Mom screamed. It turned and hissed. I groaned again. Mom screamed louder.

The skunk backed up against the kitchen wall and raised its furry behind at me. Its intent was obvious. I stumbled backwards defensively. I backed straight up into the counter. I groped around for something to defend myself with. I found a can of air freshener. A crazy idea struck me then, crazy even for me.

I aimed the nozzle at the skunk and let loose the entire can! To my amazement, the creature didn’t spray me! It hopped right out the window, back the way it came. I watched it run circles in the garden, smelling itself all over, obviously pleased with its new scent!