Infamous shootout skunked Stanwood

Published 5:43 pm Monday, March 17, 2008

Snow has finally retreated from our yard. Tulips and irises promise to bloom. New babes can be spotted in pastures frolicking under the watchful eye of vigilant moms.

And skunks have emerged to enjoy the promises of spring. We know this because one gave his life to a fast-moving motorist shortly before we passed the place of his demise.

Although we wish them no harm, we do not welcome skunks as we do the rest of spring’s animal newborns.

A recent run-in with the neighbor’s dog left our neighborhood skunk irate, the dog in a state of shock and an area near our bedroom window very aromatic.

Like some old-timers, I enjoy retelling a good story from the past. Skunks played a major role in one of my all-time favorites.

In the early 1970s, Stanwood’s city business office was located in an aging wooden building owned by the city clerk.

The previous city clerk who had conducted city business there for many years previously owned the building. The foundation was in poor shape, making for easy access underneath to the cozy dirt darkness.

Very early one spring, a family of skunks checked out the local real estate and took up residence beneath the clerk’s office.

Just a bit up the street was a house with a small flock of chickens in the back yard. The promise of dining on stolen eggs, chicken feed scattered in the yard and foods gleaned from overflowing garbage cans may have been part of the attraction for the new family.

Roaming dogs must have annoyed the skunks because odors began to move upward into city hall. At first it was just an irritant, but as the odors persisted and attached to documents and records, the skunk presence was hard to ignore.

Stanwood was part of my Herald beat. I was in and out of the clerk’s office at least once a week. When the council meeting agenda had to be aired out before I could take it into the house, things were getting really bad.

Customers to the city’s place of official records began to complain vigorously. Skunks downstairs may have been kind of funny initially, but the joke quickly wore thin for their unwilling landlord.

You can scrub a dog with tomato juice and get rid of most of the skunk smell, but you can’t use tomato juice to wash legal documents.

The city clerk tried a variety of store-bought deodorants geared toward bringing the “fresh smell of springtime” indoors. Then he tried bombarding the downstairs guests with mothballs.

Sadly, the springtime smell of skunks prevailed without respite.

The police chief, a frequent visitor to the clerk’s office, was called in to consult.

At first, traps were strategically placed, in the hope that the critters would either be caught or recognize they were not welcome.

No luck.

Law officers moved the traps to different spots.

The standoff continued.

Skunks sprayed. Officers retreated.

Then, what became known in town as the Great Stanwood Shootout, came to pass.

One blue-sky morning, a skunk was spotted, apparently held fast in one of the traps. The police department was called in to gain control of the prisoner and remove him or her from the premises.

The officer approached with caution. Each had the other in his sight.

The skunk fired first, a full volley.

Highly irritated, the lawman returned fire. He missed, probably because his eyes were watering.

In the ensuing chaos, the skunk escaped from the trap.

The aroma upstairs made the offices almost uninhabitable. No place for old men ­ — or folks of any age, really.

A few days passed without any new volleys on either side.

The skunks moved away quietly one night while the neighborhood slept, dogs and all.

I like to think they found a lovely pied-a-terre under an empty cabin or in a patch of blackberries on Camano for the summer.

A few years later the city clerk’s office moved into Stanwood City Hall, a sturdy building with a solid foundation.

The skunks never returned to share the hallowed halls of city government.

The “shootout” remains a minor legend from Stanwood’s past that’s good for a giggle when when old friends gather to share a glass of wine and memories of younger days.

“Ahh, I remember the day so well. … I think it was the younger officer who fired, not the chief.”

Linda Bryant Smith writes about life as a senior citizen and the that issues often irritate or amuse now that nothing is ever truly fixed but her income. E-mail her at ljbryantsmith@yahoo.com.