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[QUOTE="cto, post: 1005540, member: 412"]
My uncle was a heavy equipment operator and was driving a bulldozer that ran over a skunk's nest, killing the mother and all but one of  the babies (which, by the way, are called kittens).  He felt terrible about it, so he picked up this tiny creature with unopened eyes and put it in his pocket.  At the end of the day, it was miraculously still alive.  Knowing that my mother and I loved animals,  he brought it to our house.   It was more dead than alive.  We stayed up all night keeping it warm and feeding it warm milk from a doll's baby bottle.  Somehow, it was still alive the next day, and it kept getting bigger and stronger as we continued to improvise ways to take care of it.

Suddenly,  it started to develop its  scent gland... which is set off,  involuntarily, by stamping its feet and raising its tail when it is startled.  We realized we could not keep her in the house once that began to happen,  but we also realized we could not let her loose because all she knew was humans and living in a house.  So my mother found the only vet for miles around that would operate to remove the scent gland (a very messy operation).   We had very little discretionary money... and my father could not believe that my mother spent what he considered a fortune on this little skunk,  but she did.

Odd epilogue:  My uncle died at age 95 the day we beat Oklahoma in 2003, and I was asked to give the eulogy at his funeral.   One of the stories I told was how he was responsible for me having the best pet ever.
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