Dear Editor:
Friday morning was much like any other. Eat breakfast, read the newspaper, walk the dog.
As I left the house, I saw two skunks waddle rather quickly toward me from our neighbour's yard. One of the skunks had a jam jar stuck on his head. The unencumbered skunk had a thought bubble above her head: "Help my friend, help my friend, help my friend." Since my dog and I had been skunked only two months before, my thought bubble said, "Not again, not again not again."
I tucked the dog under my arm and made a beeline for our front door as the skunk with a jam jar on its head waddled past me and squeezed under our fence. Later on I braved the unknown and went outside to continue the dog walk.
A little way down Fromme Road I met the unfortunate jam-jar-headed skunk again and my compassion gene kicked in.
The skunk stopped dead in his tracks as I stared at him, thinking, "Look, I will take that jam jar off your head but you must promise not to spray me." It was as if he knew the bargain.
I took a firm hold of the jar and held on while he rolled over on his back and pumped his little legs in the air. A battle of life and death had begun.
I have never knowingly been this close to these adorable feral creatures. As I pushed on his shoulders to give him some assistance, I noticed his fur was incredibly soft.
In a few long seconds the jam jar popped off his head. I knew it would. Since it went on his head, ultimately I knew it had to come off.
With a certain dignity he righted himself on all four legs and stood staring at me. I stared back.
A good deed was done.
If there is a cosmic consciousness to skunks, I and my dog may never have to worry about being skunked again. There is a moral to this story: Now that we don't put glass jars in the recycling box, please people, make sure to keep lids on your empty jars.
Jam is crack cocaine to skunks. They deserve to live.
Did I tell you how soft they are?
Roxanne Davies
North Vancouver
