my cart |

(To view entire post, click on the "Read more" link under each post)

Craig Johnson's New Year Bonus - The Skunk Story

Mon, 01/05/2009

(View entire post here)

A note from Craig Johnson:

All right, so I got enough responses not only to this year's short story but also to the intro, in which I mentioned the skunks, that I'm relaying that story as a New Year bonus. There seemed to be an unkindly curiosity, and I'm beginning to wonder about my readership and what Abraham Lincoln referred to as ‘the kinder angels of our natures' . . . .

Bonus Story:

I was getting grain out of the bins in my tack shed just last week when I discerned a familiar noxious smell wafting up from under the floor. Never having dealt with skunks before, I called up game and fish and asked the nice lady on the phone what, other than a double-ought dose of lead, my options were. "We've got a trap we can loan you."
            This introduced a number of ancillary perils. "Yeah, but what do you do after you catch the skunk?"
            "You reintroduce it to the wild."
            This rather prosaic response seemed to leave out one essential point. "Yep, but how do you keep from getting sprayed?"
            "It's a special trap just for skunks, a tube that doesn't allow them to raise their tails."
            The SKUNKENATOR, as was written on the side of the metal, worked on the basic premise of the live traps I'd dealt with before but, as the lady described, contains the little critters in such tight quarters that they can't use their primary weapon.
            I baited the device with a little mixed-grill cat food and went to bed. The next morning I was rewarded with a Pepe Le Pew, who was snoozing in the SKUNKENATOR, and the impending drama of reintroducing him to the wild.
            I tried to think of anybody I knew who needed a very special holiday gift but ultimately decided that the marshy spot near Healy Reservoir (about 14 miles from the ranch) should suit the little fellow just fine.
            One of the biggest advisories printed on the side of the SKUNKENATOR is the warning that upon release, the operator must be patient. Once you open the grated end at the front of the cylinder, you need to move to a safe distance and allow nature to take her course at her own pace. Fortunately, I'd brought a book-Louis Bayard's The Black Tower-fabulous, by the way. Unfortunately, a cheery young man by the name of Chris pulled up, intent on doing a little ice-fishing. I got out of my truck and explained why he might want to take the other path to the lake.
            "How long have you been out here?"
            "About thirty minutes."
            He joined me in studying the SKUNKENATOR, resting on the path a hundred feet away--where it was quiet, too quiet. "I can see how you wouldn't want to go back over there."
            He went on his way, and I continued to lean against my truck.
Despite Lou's remarkable prose, I lasted another five minutes.
Apparently, the SKUNKENATOR was so comfortable that the creature felt compelled to set up housekeeping. The idiot that lives on my shoulder started coming up with ideas on how I could rush the nature pace thing but still not have to live in the tack shed for the holidays. I figured if I took hold of the handle on top and slung the tube in an outward direction, I would effectively be firing skunk cannon. I calculated that by the time he hit the ground and discovered where to spray, I'd be back in my truck and headed down the road. Trust me, no Olympic shot-putter in the history of the world has ever applied as much emphasis into the action as I did this one. I was rewarded with the sight of a very handsome and surprised skunk that spread his little limbs fully out, hit, rolled once, then sprang up ready to spray-but thankfully not in my direction.
You know, it worked like a charm. The last time I saw my skunk he was bounding off toward the lake-and Chris, if you're reading this? I have a lovely tack shed that's available for the holidays.