I know y’all think I lie a bunch and that maybe Granny’s not really so bad as I make her out to be and, well, maybe that dang Rooster might not be as bad as he seems either. And, I gotta admit that sometimes I might stretch a story a little just to get a laugh. Maybe I tell a little stretcher from time to time just to get somebody to squirt coffee or beer out their nose, ’cause I REALLY love when that happens. But MY HAND TO GOD this is one is NewYork Times Sunday Edition TRUE
You know, out here on the place, we’ve got coyotes and rabbits and wild hogs and cows and stuff, but the most hated of all the wild animals out here is those dang skunks! And for some reason, we’ve got a bumper crop of ’em this year. I don’t know if it’s something in the air that’s got ’em reproducing like bunnies or what, but they’re thick as theives right now. The kids on the school bus count skunk roadkill instead of pulling the girls hair and throwing pecans at the driver. Bus drive says he don’t mind, “It keeps ’em quiet,” he says.
ANYWAY – I told you that to tell you this.
We’ve had a dang skunk under the house for about a week now and it’s ’bout to drive me crazy. Our lady preacher and her husband won’t come see us anymore because they were her one time when the skunk blasted off under the house and I’m thinkin the Pastor, who’s a big city girl, might of thought it was me liftin’ my leg with a silent comment on her blessin’ for our dinner. Yep – right as we were sittin’ down to eat dinner with the Preacher, we got gassed by that dang skunk.
So – I decided last night to wait up for that little sonofabitch to come out from under the house and I was going to blast him to Kingdom Come with my new shotgun. Skunks sleep all day move around at night for you city people. It must of been somewhere around 3:30 this morning, it’s 46 degrees with a brisk breeze from the north. I’m wearing a short sleeve shirt and cargo shorts and boots and my teeth are starting to clatter a bit, but I’m not going in the house until I kill that raskle.
I was standing at the corner of the house, in the dark, there’s no moon so it’s a perfect night for skunk huntin’. All of a sudden I hear the little shit start scratchin’ and diggin to come out and I’m locked and loaded with my 12 guage aimed at the scratching noise. I know that any second he’s gonna bust out from under the house and take a run toward the back fence to get back to whatever skunks get back to when they run thru the pasture at night. Anyway – I’m steady pulling pressure against the trigger so I can blast him as soon as he pops out and I’m straining to see thru all the dark and trying not to shiver in the cold wind and thinking warm thoughts when all of a sudden one of our dang cats rubs up against my leg.
I’m tellin’ y’a, I jumped and screamed like a little girl and blew a hole in the side of the house that you could throw a jar of peach preserves through. Problem was, it was the wall to Granny’s bedroom. So, there I was, prob’ly four o’clock by that time, it’s dark, I’m pissed off, scared, mad, and got my flashlight on that dang skunk’s ass as it runs off toward the back fence, I’m standing out in the cold wind, cargo shorts are soaking wet, I’m sloshing around in boots full of piss and suddenly this little, skinny hand slams down on my shoulder.