DON'T Do It!!!

I knew he would. But I had to try.

I'm sitting here, reeking of skunk. My favorite cowboy shot him under the deck where I moved the cat feeder because some animal--a coon, I thought-- was eating all the food when it was in the barn.

The dogs let us know he was back, and my favorite cowboy grabbed my .22 and a little light. You could see his eyes shining back at us out of the farthest corner. Caught in the act. "I've only got one shell" said Ray. Can't we wait 'til he comes out"? I asked, already knowing the answer. We've been through this routine before. More than once. He fired. Click. I smiled. It was the empty shell we always leave in the chamber. He had to go get more shells, so I stood guard, just out of sight, hoping Mr. Skunk would exit. Tina, the cat ignored me, and went on in.

By the time I got her to come back out, Ray was back, and Mr. Skunk had disappeared into the middle of the heap I'd made yesterday, trying to secure the catfood. After kicking the heap a time or six, the skunk came out. He hadn't sprayed yet. Then, Ray shot him. He crawled back in the corner to have the last laugh--and died.

I traded Ray a shovel for the gun. I was downwind from him as he walked down the driveway, and caught the full effect. Gagging and eyes watering, I ran around to the other side of the house.

Summers in cowcamp were the worst for skunks. Ray tells about the first year he worked on the ranch, when cowcamp consisted of a ramshackle little homestead era cookshack where the cook slept, and sheepherder tents for the cowboys. One morning the cook woke up hearing scratching. As he laid there looking around to see where it was coming from, he saw a skunk right by the fridge. He grabbed his pistol, and nailed it, right there. The skunk crawled behind the refrigerator to die, and when the crew came in for breakfast, they had to haul that stinking carcass out first.

The steps. Kristy feeding our "lawnmowers". We had to
move the dogfood to the horsetrailer because her horse, Old Yeller
would scare us to death at night when he would come up the steps
to help himself to dogfood.

When he became cowboss, the first thing Ray did, was have a new bunkhouse/cookhouse built. Skunkproof. Next, he hauled up an old 3-bedroom trailer for our family to live in. We converted it to propane, so we had a propane fridge, stove, lights, water heater, and even heat. He even found enough old boards and tin around to make a tiny porch around the steps. I knew there were a couple of skunks under the trailer, but they hadn't made a stink--yet, so I didn't say anything. But one afternoon, as Ray sat on the step and bent over to lace up his boot, there was a little furry, black and white face peering back at him from under the steps.

He dashed in to get the gun. The little guy ran back under the trailer. "No! Don't you dare shoot him under there!" I argued a lot harder that first time. But he shot him anyway. Under the trailer. In the middle of a hot, stifling, summer. It was bad. I mean REALLY bad!

This cowcamp barn was a haven for skunks.

Mrs. Gilchrist, my teacher for 1st through 3rd grade, is probably laughing in her grave. My sister, oldest brother, and I, found a dead skunk along the highway while walking the mile and a half to school. We stopped and examined it, and kicked it around a bit, before proceeding on our way. We didn't really notice any smell, but as soon as we walked into the classroom, Mrs. Gilchrist marched us across the road to the little country store, where she bought some tomato juice and made us wash our shoes with it.

I admit. Skunks are pretty cute. And it's actually quite amazing to me how God equips the most helpless animals with such powerful self-protection. But I still hate skunks. I knew Walt Disney was fiction the first time I saw Bambi, and his cute little friend called "Flower".

Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created. Rev. 4:11