This is in response to
someone but multiquote didn't work...
Boyfriend can't take care of the skunks, so I do. Boyfriend hates skunks more than anything on the planet. If we smell a dead skunk while we're driving he starts retching. It's really that bad for him. I've thrown up a few times while trying to bag a juicy one, but I do it.
The first skunk I ever shot was one that kept coming around dusk and digging up my fence to try to get in my run. I asked boyfriend if I should shoot it, and he gave me the "Please don't, it'll stink" lecture. Well this was a few years ago and he wasn't living here. He was working the late shift at work so on Monday night I shot the thing (really, I don't listen well). I bagged it and left it in the driveway. I figured I'd feign diarrhea or something at work and leave about an hour early, go home, grab the bag-o-skunk-carcass, strap it to the top of my car, and take it to the dump and he wouldn't be the wiser. I was pretty proud of myself for my ingenuity and sneakiness.
So... about 1030 the next morning (Tuesday) I get a text from him asking if I needed anything done or picked up before he went into work. He's nice like that. So I write back that I'm ok. He then said that he had already been to my house, filled the stove up and took the trash to the dump.
Oh, crap.
So I text back, trying to be as non-chalant as possible... thanking him for doing it. I get back: "And yes, I got the bag in the driveway with the dead skunk in it that I asked you nicely not to shoot."
So anyway, I take care of the skunks by default. And I will never, ever get away with anything.