I have a skunk story. I had not been very long removed from the land of skyscrapers and concrete on the morning I went into the barn to feed my much smaller group of horses. There in the aisle was a skunk. I have no idea how it got into the closed barn, but it did. Not only was it a skunk, but an obviously rabid skunk.
I, the city girl, stared at it in disbelief for a moment before it came at me. There was a plastic manure fork on hand and I used it to fend the animal off. It wandered drunkenly around and then turned again. I did the only thing I knew to do, I opened the front door and proceeded to pitch the thing out. My barn is 130 feet long and I had to pitch it about 115 feet of that length. I was throughly sprayed.
I got it out, shut the door and tried to calm my racing heart. I don't own a gun and wouldn't know how to use it if I did, but I intended to call a neighbor to shoot it, but it seemed to be gone.
My greyhound Nellie wandered about with intent all day, looking for something. I assumed she was catching the scent of the now departed skunk. She showed me I was wrong in the afternoon when she came trotting out of the barn with it, shaking and killing it as I watched. Sight hounds are not to be fooled with.
All dogs and horses needed to be boosted for rabies, Nellie and I needed to be washed with skunk scent remover. And I have had apprehension every time I see one.