My buddy the ninja skunk
Within the depths of the Monte L. Bean Life Science Museum resides a spotted skunk. But this is not just your everyday, run-of-the-mill spotted skunk. No - this is an epic, talented, hand-standing skunk that would be about to spray you had it not met its untimely death years ago.
Earlier this year, I applied for a position with the Western North American Naturalist, a peer-reviewed, scientific journal headquartered in the Bean Museum. When my future boss invited me in for an interview, she informed me that the journal office was right next door to the hand-standing skunk. Not yet fully understanding the implications of such a hand-standing skunk, I thought that was an unusual method of direction-giving. Shortly after beginning my job, I read an article about the journal in a magazine. Much to my amusement, the article introduced the journal as residing next door to my skunk buddy. I laughed to myself at the strange obsession that seemed to exist with this skunk.
But now, after three months of working in that office, I finally understand. You might say I have been converted to a love of that little skunk. For reasons unbeknownst to me, the walls which comprise my office are fake, apparently installed some time after the museum was built. As such, we can hear everything that goes on outside, almost making me feel like I work in a preschool when all the crowds of children on field trips or outings pass by. And almost every time someone passes old Skunky, they start to laugh. "Look! That skunk's doing a handstand!" And then all the siblings in the family have to tell all the other siblings, and then they have to find mom and tell her. And then the mom tells them that that's how skunks really spray you. And they all think it's the funniest thing in the world. My boss and I decided we'd be rich if we had a nickle for every time an exchange like that occurred.
On the inside of our office door is a collection of some of the best things we've overheard children (and adults) say about Skunky. Here are a few favorites from that list and my own overhearing:
Child: "I can do that!!! Watch!"
Mother: "Not right now!"
"He's like 'whooooo!' like a gymnast!"
"He's doing a talent for us."
"It's a ninja skunk!"
"They don't really do that. I think they just made him that way to be funny." (This comments makes me envision taxidermy tap-dancing pigs, or elephants standing on one leg, or bears doing ballet. I think those would be good additions to the museum.)
And the most common: *giggle* "Look at this cute skunk! He's doing a handstand!"
It's always interesting to note the different levels of skunk education which the observers possess. Some children are proud of their knowledge that a hand-standing skunk means they will soon smell terrible, and most adults tell their children that such is the case. But at least once, a mother informed her children that skunks didn't really do that, and I had to smile. (See above comment about ballerina bears. Because, really, the museum's trying to be realistic, not silly.) One day, I actually learned something when a father informed his family that it's only the spotted skunks that stand on their hands to spray, while striped skunks merely raise their tails. That explains why Skunky's next door neighbor, a striped skunk, is a decided non-participant in ninja antics.
While Skunky is not the only animal people get excited about outside my office (the sea otter and bunny rabbits are also big hits), he is definitely the most popular and elicits the most enthusiasm and personality from museum patrons. And because of their enthusiasm and excitement, I've become a stalwart fan of Skunky. It's a great thing to be neighbors with a ninja skunk.
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| Super cute, no? |
Earlier this year, I applied for a position with the Western North American Naturalist, a peer-reviewed, scientific journal headquartered in the Bean Museum. When my future boss invited me in for an interview, she informed me that the journal office was right next door to the hand-standing skunk. Not yet fully understanding the implications of such a hand-standing skunk, I thought that was an unusual method of direction-giving. Shortly after beginning my job, I read an article about the journal in a magazine. Much to my amusement, the article introduced the journal as residing next door to my skunk buddy. I laughed to myself at the strange obsession that seemed to exist with this skunk.
But now, after three months of working in that office, I finally understand. You might say I have been converted to a love of that little skunk. For reasons unbeknownst to me, the walls which comprise my office are fake, apparently installed some time after the museum was built. As such, we can hear everything that goes on outside, almost making me feel like I work in a preschool when all the crowds of children on field trips or outings pass by. And almost every time someone passes old Skunky, they start to laugh. "Look! That skunk's doing a handstand!" And then all the siblings in the family have to tell all the other siblings, and then they have to find mom and tell her. And then the mom tells them that that's how skunks really spray you. And they all think it's the funniest thing in the world. My boss and I decided we'd be rich if we had a nickle for every time an exchange like that occurred.
On the inside of our office door is a collection of some of the best things we've overheard children (and adults) say about Skunky. Here are a few favorites from that list and my own overhearing:
Child: "I can do that!!! Watch!"
Mother: "Not right now!"
"He's like 'whooooo!' like a gymnast!"
"He's doing a talent for us."
"It's a ninja skunk!"
"They don't really do that. I think they just made him that way to be funny." (This comments makes me envision taxidermy tap-dancing pigs, or elephants standing on one leg, or bears doing ballet. I think those would be good additions to the museum.)
And the most common: *giggle* "Look at this cute skunk! He's doing a handstand!"
It's always interesting to note the different levels of skunk education which the observers possess. Some children are proud of their knowledge that a hand-standing skunk means they will soon smell terrible, and most adults tell their children that such is the case. But at least once, a mother informed her children that skunks didn't really do that, and I had to smile. (See above comment about ballerina bears. Because, really, the museum's trying to be realistic, not silly.) One day, I actually learned something when a father informed his family that it's only the spotted skunks that stand on their hands to spray, while striped skunks merely raise their tails. That explains why Skunky's next door neighbor, a striped skunk, is a decided non-participant in ninja antics.
While Skunky is not the only animal people get excited about outside my office (the sea otter and bunny rabbits are also big hits), he is definitely the most popular and elicits the most enthusiasm and personality from museum patrons. And because of their enthusiasm and excitement, I've become a stalwart fan of Skunky. It's a great thing to be neighbors with a ninja skunk.
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