Page 47 of When to Call a Blitz
An astronomical amount of dish soap, a couple boxes of baking soda, and a few bottles of hydrogen peroxide arehopefullyall we need to get this smell off of us… and out of the house.
Emmett crosses his arms over his broad chest as he pouts. “Jeff Corwin was cooler.”
“Yeah well Jeff Corwin is still alive and well, Big Guy.”
He rolls his eyes and I pause, my hand mid-air as I go to grab a bowl. “We need to get them out of here before we do this soak.”
His eyes widen. “Why don’t we call animal control? They’ll take them outside.”
“No,” I tell him firmly. “What if they decide that they’re evil or something and,” I look around as if the skunks can hear before I whisper, “kill them?”
Emmett leans forward. “Heidi what thefuckare you talking about?”
Throwing my arms into the air, I toss my head back. “I don’t know! I just don’t want the skunks hurt at all. We can take them outside or something!”
“And how do you suggest doing that?”
I think for a second. “We can trap them.”
“How?”
“A box.”
Emmett thinks about this for a second, and without a word turns on his heel and heads to the garage, coming back a moment later with a plastic box and lid. “We can get them in here,” he holds it up like a man holding a fish on a dating app.
I stare at him. “And how do you supposed we do that?”
His eyes go blank. “What do they eat?”
“Flesh.”
Emmett’s skin goes pale. “Heidi you’re not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be.” I try to keep my face stoic, but I feel my lips tilt downward as I fight a smile.
His eyes narrow and he lowers the box.
Pulling out my phone with a sigh, I look up what skunks eat. “Do you have cat food?”
“We don’t have a cat.”
“Well maybe you should get one and your daughter won’t bring wild fucking animals into the house, Emmett.”
He shakes his head. “This would still be a problem.”
I roll my eyes. “Do you have canned fish?”
“That’s disgusting.”
“O—okay,” I say under my breath, scrolling further. “How about peanut butter?”
He nods at this one, perching the box against the counter and grabbing a large container of peanut butter from one of the cabinets by the sink.
“Peanut butter,” he says flatly, handing it to me.
I take it, not understanding what’s happening. “What do you expect me to do with this?”
“We’re trapping skunks.”
