On and off all summer long a skunk has been knocking over my trash and spreading it around. Not the worst thing that can happen in Vermont, I guess.

On October 4, I could smell “skunk” inside my building. Not good. I did a little research to determine if he/she is living under the porch. Yes, nice and cozy! So, I get a little cranky. Cranky leaves a bad taste in my mouth, very hard to get rid of. I borrowed a “Havahart” trap from my neighbor and I baited it with a peanut butter covered cracker. I figure everybody loves peanut butter crackers. Then I put the trap inside of a huge garbage bag.

Ok, now what? What if I trap one?

Needing to make a plan, I called the closest State Police Office and spoke with the game warden to explain my situation. He told me that “due to the high probability of rabies” it is illegal to relocate a skunk in southern Vermont.’

What the hell does that mean?

“If you catch one you will have to kill it.”

Hmmmm, how do I do that?

“Shoot it, would be best.”

That’s all well and good but I don’t own a gun. Can I drown it?

“Sure, that’ll work.”

I ask him how many are likely to be living under my porch?

“Most likely one or two, but others may live nearby.”

This all sounds just plain nasty! Suddenly I begin to compare myself to people who enjoy dropping a lobster into a pot of boiling water. Ugh!

In a brief conversation with the town animal control officer, he did offer to dispose of the critters after I trap them, my cost would be a low $50 each. After thanking him for his generous offer, I declined.

Nightly the skunks and raccoons do their best to dismantle the bag from inside the trap. Each day as I approach the trap I assess the condition of the bag. The bag gives me an idea of the critter’s size, and on more than one occasion, its mental state, but never the species.

Next, I slowly approach the cage with a broom handle and flashlight so I can determine what is in the cage. If the bag isn’t too badly tattered I cover the trap with a moving quilt and put it into my car. Sometimes I find the bag is completely shredded or pulled bit by bit inside of the cage (indicating a very large or seriously ticked-off critter). A completely destroyed bag requires that I cover it with first a heavy plastic drop cloth, and secondly with the moving quilt before putting it in the car and moving on to the next phase.

The first night, Louie took the bait. I drowned him. The second night Lucille goes into the trap and into the water at dawn.

The third night, another one is in the trap. After a long drive to the lake two days in a row, I decided to scout a more accessible water spot, closer to my home. In hindsight I am quick to admit, I chose poorly. The pitch of the pond is steep and I fail to place the trap perpendicular to the slope. A moment after submersion skunk number three thrashes and the trap rolls into deeper water. Damn! Now I’m going to get soaked retrieving the trap.

Within two seconds I realize that when you turn a trap of this type upside down, the doors open. Double damn! Retrieving the trap is no longer my biggest problem of the morning. The skunk pops to the surface and he is a surprisingly strong swimmer. I name this one, Michael, as in Michael Phelps. He swims to the far edge of the pond, climbs out and shuffles into the woods without looking back. Mr. Phelps senses my embarrassment but refuses to mock me.

Night four, skunk four. Bernice. Skunk five, Gracie. Number six is Martha. Seven is Steven. I name number eight Sophie. Number nine is the largest one (so far) Big Frank. I can’t help myself I’ve got to call number ten, Letterman. Number eleven is Benny. Up until this point I would go into the water twice each morning to do the skunk baptismal. Once to place the trap and contents in water greater than twelve inches deep. And again several minutes later to retrieve both of the items.

October 20, due to repeated morning temperatures in the upper 20s, I changed watering holes. The morning of the 20th gave me skunk number twelve, Rita. I found a concrete retaining wall where I can now stand each morning and lower the disease-ridden critters to their deaths without getting my feet wet. This latest change takes a seriously crappy job and makes it better. Minimally better.

Skunk number thirteen, is named Lucky, nickname Not-So. Skunk number fourteen, Claire.

This may sound to you like it’s all fun and games. Believe me. It’s not. The game warden told me that I need to have an empty trap for four consecutive nights, only then can I consider my problem gone. Since this odyssey began I have yet to go more than two consecutive nights without trapping something.

Current count 14 skunks, five raccoons and a house cat. Law enforcement did not require me to kill anything other than the skunks. Thank Christ! But, then again, the game warden and I never discussed anything except skunks. There will be no further inquiries on my part.

A little known fact, which is working to my benefit: The state does not autopsy critters on the side of the roadways to determine their cause of death. Tires are always blamed. And that, my friends, is a good thing.

Some people have asked and you the reader may also wonder. Why this beautiful little Vermont village has so many roaming critters?

The answer, I believe, lies in the residents’ and renters’ disregard and ability to leave household trash wherever and whenever they want, without a trash can or lid. I hear you thinking. “There should be a law or ordinance against it!”

Au contraire, there is. “Garbage and Rubbish Ordinance” Adopted the eighth day of November 1971. I won’t bore you with the whole thing. Here are three sections pertinent to this story:

2.07 Bags shall be securely tied at the top and secured within a container and away from animals.

3.01 No rubbish, trash or garbage shall be set out to be picked up at any time prior to 6:00 a.m. on the day of collection.

4.02 The violation if this ordinance shall be a misdemeanor and a fine not exceeding $100.00 per day may be assessed for each offense.

This ordinance was amended and re-adopted on the first day of April, 2008. Apparently as an April Fool’s Joke. My limited research of Town Records produced no records of revenue generated by this ordinance. Thirty-eight years this ordinance has been on the books and not one fine. Unbelievable.

Michael Maston lives in Ludlow.