Creator: Good morning, my little friend. I understand you want to speak to me. I hope this early hour fits your schedule.
Skunk: Forget the niceties. And don’t pretend to be doing me any favors. I’ve had this request for an appointment with your secretary since about the time of Noah and his ark. My questions probably started when I was stuck on that ship with all those uppity animals for forty days and forty nights and no escape.
Creator: I detect some hostility in your voice. First, I apologize for the long-wait. I have a crazy schedule. I got here as soon as I could. By the way, you can put your tail down. This meeting doesn’t need to be antagonistic. And in case you don’t know it, your scent doesn’t annoy me. I’m rather fond of it. I thought it was one of my better ideas. I call it Chanel Number 6,482,957. I wish I had put a patent on my idea of numbering all the smells I created.
Skunk: Save your jokes for somebody else. I have a long list of complaints. I want some answers. And since you brought it up, at the top of my list is my smell. I’d like an honest answer. Why did you make me smell so bad? In fact, I’m one of the smelliest animals on the earth. How’d you like to live with that claim to fame?
Creator: As I said, I thought it was a great idea. And you’d agree, I hope, that it works to your benefit. I didn’t want anybody hurting you and I realized I hadn’t given you any mode of self-protection, such as size or weight or combat skills. So, I added the odor gland after the prototype. I wanted you to be protected from serious harm.
Skunk: Well, it seems to me that you went overboard. My body odor is so strong that people can smell me over three miles away. Don’t you think you could have lowered it a few notches?
Creator: Perhaps, but I didn’t want to take any chances with your welfare. Haven’t you noticed that nobody gets in your space? Even the big bear is scared of you. Think about that for a moment. Just about everybody–the horned owl being the exception–leaves you alone. So, I still think the scent thing works to your advantage. You have the highway to yourself.
Skunk: Speaking of which, those roads are a nightmare. Every time I cross one it’s like I’m taking my life in my paws. Can you explain why I can’t see more than ten feet ahead of me? I wonder if you could get across the road safely if you were almost blind as a bat.
Creator: Well, I admit I could have done a better job with your eyesight. It is a problem.
Skunk: Finally you admit something is a problem! Hallelujah!
Creator: No need for sarcasm.
Skunk: I use it to help make my point.
Creator: But haven’t you noticed I did give you a great sense of smell and excellent hearing? Two out of three isn’t bad!
Skunk: I’d trade the smell for the sight. You think I like to smell myself?
Creator: Truth be told–and I’m trying to tell you the whole truth–I had to make an executive decision. Do I give good eyesight to the humans or do I give it to you? I decided the humans had nothing with which to protect themselves–no thick hide, no long claws, no sharp incisors, no fast legs, really nothing except their fists. And I already had made sure you could protect yourself. Remember that smell thing? Also, maybe you take it for granted, but you have almost a hundred percent accuracy when you aim that rear end of yours at somebody. And that doesn’t even require the use of your eyes at the front of your head. You can thank me for that one. Clever move on my part, don’t you think? You can shut your eyes and still hit your target. Can’t think of anybody else that can do that.
Skunk: You make it sound so nice to be half-blind.
Creator: Not really. I feel your pain. But like I said, I had to make an executive decision. So the humans got the good eyesight so they can run from trouble when they see it. You got the perfect aim to keep trouble away.
Skunk: Okay, I get it. The humans need the good eyes. Then explain to me why they don’t use those good eyes not to hit me on the road. I hope you’ve noticed the number of times I get hit by one of those dare-devil human drivers.
Creator: Good question. I don’t have the answer. You need to ask the humans why they drive the way they do. I don’t understand it myself. I sure hope they’re not hitting you out of spite, but with the humans, you never know. They have a mean-streak in them. But I promise you I didn’t put it in them. That came from somewhere else.
Skunk: Speaking of which, do you realize that some of those humans say I’m a symbol of sin? Where did they get that idea? Why are they trying to shame me?
Creator: Sad to say, the humans don’t like to admit that they’re the sinners. They’re always looking for scapegoats, which–by the way–was one of their ugliest moves. Thinking they could somehow put their sins on a goat and send her out into the desert to die and that would wipe away all their sins. Get real. That goat doesn’t carry the mark of sin on it anymore than you do. The humans just don’t want to admit they have screwed up things. So don’t let their name-calling get you down.
Skunk: I guess you’ve heard some of the other names they call me. One of their favorite is pole cat. Like I can climb poles or something. Or like I look like a cat. They need to use that good eyesight you gave them to figure out I’m not a cat and that I don’t pole dance. Then, of course, there’s the name everybody uses–skunk. I’m sure you know that means “fox urine.” Who wants to be called “fox urine?”
Creator: I probably shouldn’t have let the humans have a free hand in naming everything. I’m sorry you have to put up with those ugly names. If it’s any consolation to you, I get called all kinds of names also. They come up with some real doozies for me. Especially when the humans get mad. I told them once that I wanted to be called Yahweh. But they rarely use it. I guess they think they’re clever with all the other names they give me. All I can say is whatever.
Skunk: Let’s talk about another item on my list. That streak of white down my back and up my tail. Do you think that’s pretty? I think you played favorites with those colorful chirping birds, or those cute barking dogs, or even those exotic bar-coded zebras. Just about everybody looks prettier than I do.
Creator. Not so, my friend. Not so. If you want examples, I could start with the porcupine or the wild hog. But I don’t want to shame any of my creatures because all of you are beautiful to me. I chose that white stripe because it makes such a statement. You stand out, buddy. Nobody can miss you. Again, that works to your advantage. Forewarned is forearmed. And think about this. What colors do the humans use for their writing? That’s right. Black letters on white paper so the print is readable. They stole the idea from you. Or maybe from me, depending on how you want to look at it. Actually, I’m happy to give you the credit.
Skunk: I see you have all the answers.
Creator: I do.
Skunk: I’m not going to let you talk your way out of this just because you have a way with words.
Creator: I guess I do have a way with words. But maybe you misunderstood me. I’m not trying to talk my way out of anything. I’m trying to give you honest answers. I’m sharing with you the way I think so you better understand some of the decisions I’ve made.
Skunk: Then explain to me, if you can, why I have no friends. With the deck stacked against me in so many ways, why won’t you let me have friends?
Creator: I can’t be blamed for that one. I never said you couldn’t have friends. It’s just that the other animals and the humans don’t seem to want to get to know you better. If they’d make an effort, they’d see all the same wonderful qualities you have that I see.
Skunk: But they don’t! And that’s not fair.
Creator: Well, to be fair, you have to make an effort yourself. And while you want to put all the blame on them because they don’t like the perfume you use, or you want to blame me because of the way you smell, the truth is you aren’t all that sociable. Sometimes you don’t even like other skunks.
Skunks: What’s to like about them?
Creator: Well, I’d say that’s a good place to start. Begin to like yourself and your fellow skunks and maybe they’ll begin to see that you are worth liking. It’s just a suggestion. I don’t like to force my point of view onto others. But I don’t like to see anyone alone. Someone quoted me to that effect somewhere a long time ago.
Skunk: Trust me. I’m trying to see it your way. So, explain why you decided I can only get a bit of fresh air in the early morning or in the late evening. Dawn or dusk. That’s it. When it’s daylight or nighttime, it seems you want me out of sight.
Creator: Ah, there is an easy answer to that question. Dawn and dusk are my two favorite times of the day. So I wanted to share them with you. You can see they’re my favorite times because of the way I splash the sky with all those beautiful colors. It’s a sign of my excitement that a new day is starting or the old day is ending. So, in fact, you get to see the best times of the day. Very few creatures do. Sometimes it’s just you and me taking in all the beauty in the sky at those special moments.
Skunk: Hmm. I never thought of it that way. So, if you like me that much, why do I get so few years on earth? Admit it. I have a short lifespan.
Creator: Well, I guess I see how you could make that statement. But remember time is not such a big deal to me. I’ve only measured out time in days and in seasons so that the humans don’t get bored. They’re not easily entertained, believe you me. Otherwise, I could live without days or weeks or years. It’s all the same to me. And while your lifespan may seem short to you, it’s really a matter of perspective.
Skunk: What are you saying exactly?
Creator: Well, for example, the mouse lives one year. The dragonfly lives four months. The fly lives four weeks. The ant lives three weeks. I have some creatures that live only three days. Do you want me to continue with the examples?
Skunk: No, I’d just like to know why you gave the elephant seventy years and the tortoise a hundred years. Not to mention the whale to whom you gave 200 years. Seems like you were excessive with some of the animals and got stingy with me when you gave me about three years on average.
Creator: You know, this is one of those things that everybody complains about. I’ve heard complaints from the ones who ask me why they have to live so long. I hear complaints from the ones who say to me that they don’t get to live long enough. I can’t win on this one.
Skunk: That’s your answer?
Creator: Well, if you think I flip a coin, I don’t. And logarithms aren’t complex enough to handle this load of numbers. I’ve come up with my own formula, but you’d never understand it. The simplest answer is, “I look at the big picture.” Sorry to say, nobody else sees the picture as big as I do.
Skunk: And so I guess we’re supposed to trust the decisions you make?
Creator: That would be a good start. But I’m not asking for blind trust. If nothing else, trust my record. It’s an extensive one. It goes back billions of years. If you look through those long years, you’ll see my record always works for the good.
Skunk: I’ll have to get back to you on that one. It’s going to take some research in the stacks. But, while you’re here and in an answering mood–honestly I don’t like to bring up this one–explain rabies. Why do I often get sick with this nasty virus and, if I’m not careful, I give it to somebody else. What’s your rationale on this one?
Creator: Yeah, I agree that virus is nasty. I didn’t have it in Paradise. I really didn’t plan on having it in the world. But my grand plan didn’t work out as I thought it would. When I gave the humans the choice to live with me or away from me, they chose to live apart from me. Things went to hell in a hand basket after that. I’ve had to correct course a few times for their bad decisions, but some of the consequences take a long time to work out of the ecosystem. Especially when they keep on making the same mistakes over and over again and I have to come in with the mop bucket and clean up the mess on the floor.
Skunk: Sounds like something you need to take up with the humans.
Creator: Don’t think I haven’t tried.
Skunk: Even with my poor eyesight, I can see your secretary is peeking her head around the corner, so my time must be up. I’m not sure you’ve given me all the answers I wanted, but I guess I appreciate your time.
Creator: I’m glad we could clear the air. We’ll have to do it again.
Skunk: I’d like that. When can I have another appointment?
Creator: Well, looking at my schedule here on my phone, I’d say my first opening is three thousand years from now. Will that work for you?
Skunk: Probably not. Remember, longevity is not my strong suit–thanks to you–and those humans are turning me into roadkill every day–no thanks to you.
Creator: Oh, I see that does complicates things. Well, let’s do this. If you have any questions in the meantime, I’m going to give you an answer now that you can use whenever you have a question you may want to ask me.
Skunk: Okay, what is the answer?
Creator: The answer is “My ways are not your ways.”
Skunk: That’s your answer.
Creator: Yes. Until we can get together again, just plug in that answer to your big questions. It will have to suffice. As to the little questions, I think it’s safe enough to ask your friends what they think. Even if they don’t have an answer, you’ll find you feel better after talking to them about it.
Skunk:You forget I don’t have any friends.
Creator: Right. Well, didn’t I suggest you make some friends? Now you have the perfect reason for doing it.
Skunk: Easier said than done.
Creator: I have confidence in you. Remember, you are one of my favorite creatures.
Skunk: I wish I felt like one of your favorites.
Creator: Well, if you would start looking for all the good things I’ve done for you instead of picking out the few things you don’t like about yourself, I think it would change your attitude.
Skunk: Whatever.
— Jeremy Myers
Sunday Brunch 