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Illustration by Drew Shannon
The stench hit me like a dump truck as I opened the front door. My eyes watered. My nose hairs tingled. My throat tightened.
Skunk.
“Stay in the car!” I yelled as my teens began unfurling themselves from the backseat.
I swallowed the reflexive retch gurgling up from my stomach and waved the front door open and closed, hoping fresh air would help. It didn’t.
Mustering every ounce of courage, I ventured in, breathing through my mouth. The acrid smell wasn’t outside the house – it was inside. I tried not to think of what it was doing to my lungs.
“Oh my God!” my daughters gasped from behind me on the porch.
“I know – stay outside!”
Instead, they ran upstairs and slammed their bedroom doors behind them.
“Open your windows!” I shouted as I opened every window I could find.
So began my battle with the smell. I quickly poured a stiff drink and went out back to breathe some fresh, skunk-free air. At least I was not due to host my women’s euchre game until September. It was only June.
The next day I went to work. I laid out dishes of odour-absorbing vinegar at various heights and locations throughout the house and bought odour-sponges, charcoal filters and Glade plug-ins. The house now smelled like skunk drenched in Axe Body Spray.
Channelling my inner detective, I sniffed every nook and cranny. The Smell seemed to be emanating from the stairwell landing to the basement. I taped up a plastic drop cloth around the opening connecting the befouled basement to our living space. Why didn’t we have a proper door to the basement?
Trusting time to work its magic, I waited. Every day I woke up thinking the trial was over and the Smell had abated. But I was just getting used to it. Walking back inside the house even after just a few minutes brought the assault back to my senses. Was a skunk living in our house? Perhaps tucked up under the basement stairs like that raccoon last summer? I lay awake listening for scratching noises at night.
At the three-week mark, I broke down and called a professional. The pest control company sent someone the next day. I brought the exterminator around to our basement door, determined not to let more of the Smell sneak its way upstairs. Tears sprang to my eyes immediately from the stench. He seemed unfazed.
“Well, if there was a skunk in here for the last three weeks with no food or water, you’d have a very different smell in here. And maggots.”
Suddenly I was happy it was just an odour invading my home.
The exterminator began sniffing the walls, air vents and corners with a professionalism that put my own sleuthing to shame. I explained how our basement had been a revolving door of contractors this past spring. He nodded sagely.
“There were a lot of juvenile skunks around then and even now. You can tell by the divots in the mulch around your house. Maybe one came in, sprayed when it heard someone walking around, then ran out.”
Sounded plausible. The exterminator sprayed a mysterious liquid around the external doors and gardens then soaked a few rags in it and placed them in containers around my laundry room. He handed me the rest of the bottle with a reluctance that hinted I needed to prove worthy of its contents.
“They use this in morgues to get rid of the smell. It should help.”
I accepted the gift reverently and paid him. Once he left, I went inside and sprayed the morgue cleaner on every wall of the basement, smiling in triumph. The smell had met its match.
Or not. Six weeks later, my daughters still wouldn’t do their own laundry in the basement because of the smell. Upstairs it was faint, but I could still detect it. Worst of all, I was hosting my friends in just two weeks.
Giving up on magic remedies from the morgue, I searched Google. Air circulation and sunlight are the best remedies, I read.
The smell was in a windowless basement. What to do? I created air circulation where there was none. Ripping down the vapour barrier, I strategically placed fans in the basement, at the back door and at the top of the stairs. I couldn’t do much about bringing sunlight in but maybe I could blow it away.
The new strategy seemed to pay off. After returning home one afternoon, I sniffed. No skunk! Even the girls had stopped dramatically gasping for air when they entered the house.
Euchre night arrived. I set up the tables, put out snacks and placed a few scented candles in strategic locations after turning off the fan vortex. I was ready.
“Oh, did your dog get sprayed, too?” one woman asked as she walked in.
Shaking my head and giving her a tight smile, I asked the only question I knew would take everyone’s mind off the smell.
“What can I get you to drink?”
Kimberly de Witte lives in Toronto.