Mourning The Wildlife

I got my car washed today and saw a sign that said, and I’m paraphrasing, “Please pardon the inconvenient smell, but a skunk somehow got trapped in our walls and died. We apologize for any inconvenience.”

It smelled bad too. Real bad. But it made me wonder, do skunks have funerals? If so, do they write obituaries? 

I don’t know, but here’s mine:

On Wednesday, Charles “Ray” Binnish, beloved brother, friend, colleague, husband, son, father and skunk, went to meet whatever he called god wherever he called heaven. He was 5. 

Unfortunately, Ray passed on after being trapped in a wall and dying an excruciating death, which probably took place over several weeks as his body became weaker and weaker until finally his kidneys and liver quit working and then his heart. The angels — or whatever he called celestial beings — took him to his final resting place, which was certainly not a Hefty Cinch Sack the owners of the car wash tossed him in before unceremoniously dumping his carcass in the large garbage container out back. (Although we think Ray would have enjoyed that) He will be missed by all.  

Ray is survived by his wife, girlfriend, second girlfriend, a casual acquaintance he hooked up with after a late night hunting trip, his other wife, the wife that was run over by a car and doesn’t get around so good, the other girlfriend that got hit by a truck and is missing and assumed dead but probably misses him too, some 378 children and numerous grandchildren. 

He was an avid outdoorskunk and loved to eat garbage, scare humans in their own backyards and spray creatures large and small with his effluvious “ass spit,” which, for the unskunked, is what we call our “spray.” For many years, Ray provided tirelessly for the creature he loved most, himself.  More importantly, he was indefatigable in his quest to obey his instincts by: eating, sleeping and spreading his DNA into the next generation. 

A memorial service is planned for 3 p.m. this Friday at one of Ray’s favorite places, the trash cans behind Bubba’s Fried Chicken restaurant on Preston Road in Frisco. He could not wait until the restaurant closed every night and copious amounts of uneaten chicken, french fries, mashed potatoes and, his personal favorite, chicken and dumplings, were thrown away and left for, unbeknownst to Bubba or his clientele, the local skunks. He would gorge himself, chase off anyone who dared intrude and then went about his way looking for female skunks who were in a “frenzy”.

In lieu of flowers, please make a donation in Ray’s name to the World Wildlife Fund or the former WWF, now the WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment, his two favorite charities.


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