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In my experience, it only takes one bad encounter with a little skunk critter to teach people a lasting lesson: Stay Away From Me! Kind of like open carry. :embarassed: :embarassed:
 

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Pepe LePew, indeed. When my yellow Labrador was less than a year old I took him pheasant hunting for the first time in western North Dakota. He started getting 'birdy' in some tall CRP grass, so I expected he might flush a pheasant. He didn't; he kept poking around in a thick clump of grass, so I came up beside him and kicked into the shadows with my boot. Big mistake. My boot got sprayed and so did my dog. Not even a bath of tomato juice got rid of the odor. The boots had to sit outside of our motel room, along with my hunting pants. Took days for the odor get down to bearable. Good lesson for both of us.
 

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Pepe LePew, indeed. When my yellow Labrador was less than a year old I took him pheasant hunting for the first time in western North Dakota. He started getting 'birdy' in some tall CRP grass, so I expected he might flush a pheasant. He didn't; he kept poking around in a thick clump of grass, so I came up beside him and kicked into the shadows with my boot. Big mistake. My boot got sprayed and so did my dog. Not even a bath of tomato juice got rid of the odor. The boots had to sit outside of our motel room, along with my hunting pants. Took days for the odor get down to bearable. Good lesson for both of us.
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When I worked in the defense industry, we had a warehouse that got invaded by a porcupine one day. One of our goofy armed "security" guards rushed to the scene. We went about eating lunch until we heard sirens.

We later learned that our erstwhile "hero" decided the best way to get said porcupine to leave the premises was to kick him - with predictable results. The "hero" left the building on a stretcher, screaming in pain. I couldn't finish my lunch for snickering so hard.
 

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My son, when he was about 3 or 4 years old would tell us in a unique way when he smelled a skunk. He would loudly proclaim that he smelled a "stunk". My rule for skunks is simple - wherever it's going, I'm going the other way.
 

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I was in my 18-wheeler one morning waiting to make a delivery. There was another truck waiting, facing me, on the other side of the driveway.
I saw movement in the bushes next to my truck. It was a very fluffy skunk.
It rummaged through the bushes then walked under my cab and crossed to the bushes on the other side of the street. PLEASE DON'T GET RUN OVER RIGHT HERE!
It crossed back, again under my truck. I was eating a Subway sandwich. I tossed some chunks to the skunk which it ate (animal cruelty?).
I fed it a bit, then got out of the truck (opposite side from my new friend) and walked to the gate to check in. Little buddy followed a short ways then disappeared into the bushes.
The other driver was amazed at the encounter. I told him that they don't want to spray. Producing spray takes calories that they don't want to waste. If I'd tried to hurt or kill it, it would defend itself. I was no threat (other than feeding a crappy snack).
I think humans are about the only species that attacks unprovoked.
As to the OP, the pictures didn't open, so I guess I'm relating to other responses


Sent from my SM-G955U using Tapatalk
 

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My grandfather had an old Sooner dog that never learned to avoid skunks and was always getting sprayed, stunk to high Heavens. One time while hunting in the mountains of northern California I kept hearing an unusual rattling sound but could not figure what it could be, finally going down the trail I saw what it was, a porcupine. As I approached it it looked up like just who are you then ambled on down the trail.
 
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Some dogs are better than others. My current Springer is not much into fur. She's got a hellava feather fetish though.
 

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When I was a kid I’d see skunks around here all the time (including road kill). I can’t remember the last time I saw one.

Now, two thirds of a lifetime ago, when I enlisted and went to Ft. Knox; the drill sergeants made a point to announce “to all you city boys (I wasn’t); don’t try to pet the striped kitties.”
 

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Around the Fall of 1954, my mother had a 1950 Ford. She came home from work and then later that evening, we were going somewhere. She started the car to a horrible noise and smell. A skunk had got into the engine compartment. When she started the car, the skunk got into the fan and fan belt. That car smelled horrible. She took it to a garage and they steam cleaned it, but it still smelled for a long time.
 
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