Ever wake up in the middle of the night to the unmistakable scent of skunk wafting through your bedroom windows? Unfortunately, this was a fairly common occurrence for us last summer. We became convinced we had a skunk living under the floorboards of our attached shed.

Unless you live or grew up in an older home, the term "shed" may hold little meaning for you. Sheds came about because our ancestors needed a way to beat the weather. In a shed, you can work, wipe your feet off, and collect all kinds of “stuff.” Sheds can be free-standing outbuildings, but many are connected to a house. Ours is separated from the kitchen by a door, and because of this, what happens in the shed may not stay in the shed, to paraphrase a popular expression.

Once, several years ago at dusk, as I sat reading by a window, I looked out of the corner of my eye and saw a little brown bat unfurl itself from my curtain that hung not more than 10 inches away. The blood-curdling scream that came from my lungs was much larger than the bat’s ability to do me any harm.

We thought the bat probably had been in the shed before accidentally flying into the house when someone opened the shed to kitchen door. Once in, it needed a place to sleep, and the curtain afforded a dark, quiet spot. As twilight approached, s/he was ready to leave, and so did when my husband, who remained calm despite my display of pure adrenalin, did the only logical thing: he opened the kitchen/shed door to allow the bat to leave the same way it had come.

Our adventures with the skunk in the shed were a bit more alarming. One warm Saturday in August when our grandchildren were running about outdoors, my husband came into the house as I cleaned up the aftermath of breakfast.

“I’m going to need your help,” he said.

“What do you want?” I replied, not looking up as I filled the dishwasher, expecting the usual request for assistance with carpentry. I usually serve as the in-house gofer.

“Well, you might want to come look at this,” he whispered.

"O.K., but nothing gross,” I whispered back.

“You be the judge,” he hissed as I followed him out into our shed.

Slowly and carefully, he lifted the lid to our Rubbermaid trash can. As I peered over the edge, I looked into the saddest pair of black eyes I’ve ever seen. A young skunk had apparently fallen into the bottom of our empty trash barrel while exploring our shed area looking for edibles and couldn't climb out. Although the sight of white stripes on black usually signal a need to back off, the look in its eyes spoke to both of us. I felt it was a female who may have had a family somewhere she had to get back to.

What were we to do? The dilemma may not seem so obvious, but if we were to release her back to her natural home, we would have to move her and her current container carefully to not frighten her into her well-known and feared mode of defense. Need I say more?

After we had rounded up the kids and warned them, my husband cooked up a plan: he would tie a long string onto the handle of the barrel, gently carry the barrel out to the edge of the woods not more that 50 feet from our shed, and run like heck back to the designated safe area before pulling on the string. Everyone lined up to view this suspenseful event.

The honor of tugging on the string went to my first-grade granddaughter, Julia, who performed her task perfectly. The bucket now rested on its side, lid off. At first, nothing happened. No movement. No odor, either. Then we caught a glimpse of white stripes on black and the skunk quickly scampered into the cover of a woodland area.

We all cheered. I had my camera out, but due to the uncertainty of the main character's behavior, I took a great picture of the woods right over her head. The real picture was at the human end of the string anyway. The little ones were hopping up and down, so excited at such a sight. The older boys were torn between excitement and trying to appear more sophisticated than their younger siblings.

Would the skunk come out? Would it spray? Stay tuned after this announcement. Isn’t this the tease we hear too often as so-called news is promoted in a hysterical manner? None of that here. This was the CNN of Life: Live! Happening now! What do you do for an encore?

By Helen Downing, Master Gardener