Ewww, who farted? It must’ve been Squirt the Skunk, but we’ll forgive him because he’s just soooo dang cute!
Chubby and cheerful, Squirt’s been stinkin’ up the Beseiker Municipal Campground since 1992. Clutching a bouquet of flowers in a futile attempt to mask his acrid stench, this bucktoothed beauty demands that visitors ‘have a nice spray!’
But how did a 13-foot skunk end up in this heavenly village? Apparently the locals wanted to boost tourism, and decided a skunk was the only answer. Beseiker’s mayor, the aptly-named Warren Wise, is only too happy to explain.
“Beiseker has a fairly high skunk population, and it was almost like a bit of a joke that got taken seriously,” the Wise Guy chattered. “Then they decided on it and it sort of became the official mascot.”
I suppose that makes scents, o Wise One!
After much public confabulation, the funds were raised to build a giant pungent varmint near the freeway. Few Beseikers will forget his coming out party, although some of the locals got a little skunk and disorderly.
Beseiker – which stands roughly halfway between Western Wayne and the World’s Largest Dinosaur – has gone berserk for Squirt, with T-shirts, caps and stickers on sale. There’s even a frighteningly-realistic Squirt costume that’s wheeled out for street parades and school fetes. My all-too-brief time within the ensemble, at the insistence of the tourism board, is something I shall never forget.
Tragically, not everyone has found room in their heart for this black-and-white delight.
“We’ve had some people in the village say, ‘Well, we shouldn’t be a skunk’, but it’s gone over pretty well, I think,” Warren Wise lamented. “It’s kind of locked in now.”
As far as I’m concerned, anyone who doesn’t love Squirt can go to smell!
Do you really want to squirt me?
Do you really want to make me cry?
As someone confined to the fringes of society due to my divisive peccadilloes, I was immediately drawn to Squirt. He’s a loner, too, cast asunder due to his unfortunate body odour and controversial political opinions.
Like myself, Squirt just wants to fit in, just wants to be loved. He wears a cherubic grin as he glances hopefully at the passing strangers, but inside his stout trunk churns an emotional tsunami that threatens to consume everything before him.
Still, Squirt stands there. Hopeful. Stoic. Clutching his garland of posies, forever hoping the world will look past his poor personal hygiene to see the kind, thoughtful skunk underneath.
Trust me, it’s not easy being the smelly kid.
In a sign of solidarity with my bosom friend, I befouled my trousers on that warm spring afternoon. You might call me a hero, but I’m mortal like the rest of you. I’d do anything to ensure that a Big Thing doesn’t know one moment of sadness.
Obviously pleased with my act of selflessness, I was mincing about for the cameras when a disgruntled maintenance worker stormed over. From a safe distance, he started to grill me.
“Bigs,” he spluttered, tears of emotion pouring from his eyes. “Did you defecate in your pants or somethin’, eh?”
Overripe with panic, I blamed Squirt for the spicy fragrance hanging heavy in the crisp Alberta air. The janitor, however, was not convinced.
“You know Squirt is made from fiberglass, eh?” he managed to spit out between gags, before turning the hose on me.
Why won’t people just give me a chance?
