I've grown quite accustomed to posting book excerpts at my OTHER blog, Truth is... (http://www.DeweyTruth.blogspot.com), but around here, the corn is mostly home-brewed. Well, today is the exception that proves the rule, because Reader's Digest published an excerpt from Ellen Stimson's book, Mud Season, that had me grinning from here to eternity.
It seems the author had a less-than-flawless transition to rural life in Vermont, having moved there from St. Louis. The focal point of the excerpt was a one-day battle with a skunk who had decided their chicken shed was a take-out restaurant. It had killed two chickens before they were able to chase it off.
Well, they got their son to dispatch the varmint with a single shotgun blast, but that didn't end their misery.
I know, I know...this is only funny because it happened to someone else. I'm a baaaaaad boy.
It seems the author had a less-than-flawless transition to rural life in Vermont, having moved there from St. Louis. The focal point of the excerpt was a one-day battle with a skunk who had decided their chicken shed was a take-out restaurant. It had killed two chickens before they were able to chase it off.
It was a rough morning that cost us two hens, but in the end, it could have been much worse. I know this because when the skunk came back that afternoon, it was much worse.
You might be thinking that skunk smell is unpleasant - we've all smelled it on the highway as we passed through an unpleasant spot or two - but I can tell you that a skunk attack, up close, is on a whole different scale. We seemed to be frying rotten eggs on a flaming old tire.
I was slack-jawed and stunned. My eyes watered. John puked.
What to do, we thought, as we stood on the screened porch watching the skunk tucking into the chicken formerly known as Edith.
Well, they got their son to dispatch the varmint with a single shotgun blast, but that didn't end their misery.
Our skunk travails were not over. We had inhaled far too much skunk bomb. You might ask, "How much is too much?" Turns out, you know it's too much when everyone in the house is throwing up. And as soon as we had the human vomiting under control, the dogs decided to join in.
When I was finally able to process the whole situation, I decided to take some table scraps out to the poor chickens. They had lost three of their sisters and deserved a treat. So out I went with potatoes and corn in hand.
A funny thing about chickens: When they are frightened, they will hide in the rafters.
Having diarrhea.
On my head.
I know, I know...this is only funny because it happened to someone else. I'm a baaaaaad boy.
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