WOW. 1K Supporters for Rehabilitating SoCal Wildlife. Go you!

We did it! 1,000 supporters to Rehabilitate Skunk Wildlife in SoCal and growing! Your dedication and immense support is beyond measurement. Thank you all for your compassion to this cause. Thanks to you, more people are becoming educated about skunks and the preservation of wildlife with the end goal of passing a law which will allow for more skunk sanctuaries and rehabilitation centers. To mark this special occasion, I wrote this short story to continue opening new doors and raising awareness for skunks. I've personally been an outsider my whole life, even as an adult. As a writer, having a voice where others do not has been something I've used as a gift to lift spirits and start discussions rather than hurt or inhibit. Enjoy. “Somebody out there loves you very much,” I whispered as I gently closed the cardboard box with tears flowing from my eyes, “and you're gonna make it.” Their mother was taken from them far too soon, on Mother's Day. Hit and run in a busy intersection of LA. I knew they'd been alone and without food for at least a few days so without hesitation, my partner and I took it upon ourselves to bring them into our home despite their bad reputation. Memphis (after the scientific name Mephitis mephitis) was the biggest of the bunch followed by Jack Sparrow, named after the rum-loving pirate whose character motivations were modeled on the flirtatious likeness of Pepe le Pew. Then there was Buddha, whose markings resembled a yin-yang. The name suited her laid-back personality, but was also a nod to their zen nature as “balance keepers”. Weasel was named after the type of mammal they are, which I did not know prior to this experience, and Alfonzo just because. Pebbles was found with a pebble stuck to her head. She was the confused one of the bunch who always got stuck in corners. Without fail, her brothers and sisters came to her rescue, time and again, to wrangle her back to safety. I admired that so much about them. Last but not least was Prowler the Explorer, the tiny, fearless leader of the bunch. Though she was not physically the strongest or most sturdy, Prowler ventured out of the den without the permission of the others, at the risk of her own well-being, to find food and make new discoveries for the family. I called every wildlife facility in Southern California including some zoos and animal control centers that day only to be told that they were full or didn't cater to skunks, and that I should simply hire an exterminator to “rid” the problem. That simply wasn't an option for me. Because skunks are often thought of as nuisances and pests, the vacancies at clinics are severely limited. Luckily, three of the babies would be going to a foster home where they would be kept as pets and nursed to full health by a loving vet tech. The only place with an opening for the remaining four was a shelter about 45 minutes away. That night was a cold one, especially one month away from summer in the Valley. Huddled in layers of blankets and the daily newspaper, inside of a cozy double-layered box, the babies were far out of harm's reach at street level where mangy alley cats and hungry coyotes patrolled at night. “Goodnight, sleep tight,” I said as I tucked them in one by one. Skunks are primarily nocturnal and these ones especially liked catching up on their beauty sleep until it was the perfect temperature to sunbathe – all except for Prowler, of course, who was up-and-at-'em at the sound of my screen door opening. In just two days, I learned what each of the skunks needed individually, and more so, what they all needed– love, warmth, a safe home away from danger, and each other. They spent their afternoons latched onto one another in a line or dog pile, wrestling, and playing follow-the-leader. My heart yearned for humans to be more like them. When feeding time came around, some of the babies, like Pebbles and Memphis, readily anticipated being held, stroked, and weaned, while others –not naming any names, Weasel– would stamp their little feet and perk up their tails in protest. Right afterwards, they'd go back to scurrying around the patio playground until they were exhausted. Just like kids or puppies. The final hours I spent with them were both joyous and heartbreaking. Memphis, Alfonzo, and Jack were separated from the group and taken to their new home all before breakfast. Weasel, Buddha, Pebbles and Prowler stayed nestled close throughout the duration of our journey to the shelter. The babies remained sound asleep in their temporary den decorated with an old, jingle-bell cat collar found in the brush – an ode to their birthplace under the stairs. “You are all so very special in your own ways,” I told them as I said goodbye at the animal shelter. One by one, I held them and kissed them on the head. “You're gonna make it,” I told them, choking up, “somebody out there loves you.” And as I tucked them in for the last time, closing the lid, “that somebody is me.” As I left the shelter empty-handed a woman asked me, “kittens or puppies?” and as I wiped a single tear rolling down my cheek, I told her, “neither. They're skunks.” Thank you all for your continued support for this cause and others such as Promises for Pepe. If you have not yet read her story, please do.