Spring arrives with longer days, a lost hour of sleep… and apparently the return of the neighbourhood skunks.
Saturday night was the annual spring ahead clock change—the night you go to bed already knowing you’re about to lose an hour of sleep.
We had already been asleep for a couple of hours when, at about 12:45 a.m., Piper started whining.
If you have a dog, you know that sound. It means get up now.
So out I went to let her into the backyard.
This time of year always requires a bit more caution. When the clocks move forward, spring is just around the corner, and the wildlife starts returning to its usual habits. Around here that includes skunks.
During the winter they’re mostly dormant, so those early morning dog outings aren’t much of a concern. But in early spring and late autumn, skunks are awake and busy—looking for food, looking for mates, and generally looking for mischief.
And our neighbourhood definitely has its share of them.
Over the years I’ve had several dogs get sprayed. It’s never a pleasant experience, and once it happens you never forget that smell. Piper—who will be three next month—had managed to avoid that particular rite of passage so far.
But Saturday night, I had a feeling our luck might be running out.
As soon as she went outside, I heard a couple of sharp barks.
“Oh great,” I thought. “She’s found something.”
I also found myself hoping she wouldn’t keep barking too long, because it was nearly one o’clock in the morning and the last thing I wanted was to wake the neighbours. I was reluctant to call out to her and make even more noise. And since I was standing there in bare feet and a nightie, I really didn’t want to head out onto the back deck—or worse, into the yard—to chase her down in the still very cold night air.
I always switch the back light on when Piper goes out, and when she runs across the yard a motion-sensor floodlight on the shed lights up the rest of the yard. In theory, the lights help—skunks usually prefer to skedaddle when things suddenly get bright.
Piper, however, had other ideas.
The next thing I saw was her tearing across the backyard, full speed, straight for the fence, barking like she’d just discovered something very important.
That’s when the little voice in my head said: This could be the night.
When I let her back in, I was cautious.
Piper wasn’t wearing her collar—she never does overnight because we take it off when she goes into her crate to give her neck a break.
But the moment she came in, she ran straight through the house into the living room… and onto the couch.
And that’s when I thought I smelled it.
Not the full, eye-watering, run-for-your-life skunk smell.
But definitely… skunk.
All I could grab quickly was her retractable leash. I chased after her, looped it around her like a last-minute lasso, and hauled her off the couch.
At this point it was 1:00 a.m., and I had to wake my husband to help with what was clearly about to become a midnight dog-washing operation.
He started the tub.
And to Piper’s credit, she walked right into it.
She’d had a bath the night before after coming home from doggy daycare on the farm completely covered in mud, so perhaps she had already accepted that baths were unavoidable. A good thing too, because Piper weighs over 80 pounds and a wrestling match at one o’clock in the morning would not have gone well for any of us.
I found a bottle of Dawn dish soap, which is often recommended for skunk incidents. I couldn’t find hydrogen peroxide or any of the other ingredients in the typical skunk remedy recipes. Baking soda crossed my mind, but at 1 a.m. we decided the Dawn would have to do.
So Piper got her second bath in two days.
Afterward, she spent the rest of the night in her daytime crate in the spare bedroom, which she was not thrilled about. Piper very much prefers sleeping in our room.
But I wasn’t taking any chances with that smell.
The funny thing is, it never turned into the full skunk disaster we feared. The smell lingered lightly through the night, but it was more like she had caught the tail end of the spray rather than a direct hit.
By the next day, the house smelled fine.
And so did Piper.
We were certainly sleep-deprived when we got up the next morning, but all things considered, it was a very good outcome.
Now, however, I find myself ringing the dinner bell first thing in the morning. After turning on the porch light, I stick my hand out the door and give the bell a few good shakes, hoping the noise will scare away any skunks before I let Piper out.
The neighbours must wonder what on earth I’m doing when they hear a bell ringing at six o’clock in the morning.
The next time I’m out shopping, I’ll probably pick up a whistle too. I understand that giving a quick blast is another good way to startle skunks and encourage them to move along before an enthusiastic Labrador discovers them first.