Last night, as I lay on the cold tile, ear pressed to the air duct vent listening to hungry whining baby skunks, I couldn't hold back the moisture in my eyes. John looked at me with the I'm-a-man-so-I'm-not-even-going-to-TRY-to-figure-you-out gaze and patted my shoulder.
"It's going to be ok. We'll just wait until we don't hear the whining anymore, then we'll know."
Know. Know what? That we let living breathing creatures, albeit stinky, starve to death right before our ears?
It was our fault they didn't have their Mamma. Although, in our defense, we didn't know she had babies in there when we had her trapped, carried off into the woods, and released back into the wild.
Despite the stress these little Stinkers have caused this week, I was NOT going to listen to them, literally, die of starvation. Besides once they die, we would have no way, other than the stink, of finding them under the crawl space tarp.
So, we had The Skunk Dude come out again. He reluctantly went into the dark, moist, scary crawl space and heroically rescued the babies.
They will be donated to a local lady who rehabilitates injured or young wild animals and releases them back into their natural habitat....as long as it's not OUR house!