Bird Watching

I'm certainly no "birder." I enjoy watching hawks soar and hunt, but I'm not much into using binoculars and.trying to classify what I see. I just try to enjoy the majesty and power of the more predatory birds.

I was highly impressed with a picture I found on Facebook - it shows the freedom and fire behind a falcon perched in a tree. Pic is below the fold if you are so inclined.

Kinky?!?

YouTube link CBS News Link
Naw, just sweet. Take a break from politics, hate and discontent and just enjoy this one.

The story on CBS Evening News was longer and contained more information, namely at the end: the gentleman was asked what job he retired from.

He replied that he felt perhaps all this was atonement - he sold rotisseries.

I've Done Tolt This Here Story Before

I saw this on Facebook and got a large charge out of it, because I've seen this tableau before. Poor ol' Lady, my long suffering Golden Retriever, would find herself in this position with a problematic skunk that I eventually killed. She was mighty peeved, but she never put herself behind the bully, and she'd stamp her feet in disapproval. Much more than that might have provoked the little bastard. She was very territorial when it came to her food, and wasn't much for sharing. Not. One. Little. Bit.

But when you're outgunned, what do you do? Lady lived to fight another day without having her sense of smell destroyed.

And Here You Thought

You were having a bad day. Someone always has it worse!




H/T Nuckle Kim

Makes Me Nervous

photo from Wikipedia

One of the many advantages to living out on the ol' prairie right smack dab in middle of nowhere in flyover country is the nominal quiet when the wind isn't blowing. This means that one can hear the birds sing, and there are plenty of those out here.

The mourning doves own the super early am and the late evening - I'm serenaded by dozens in the calm of a morning an hour or so before sunrise. Their calls all seem to sound the same at first, but then you start hearing little artistic differences between the birds - some hang on to a certain note longer, some are tenors and a few are bass - at any rate, it's somewhat soothing.

Another overachiever is the mockingbird. I seem to have a couple around every year, and the songs start well before sunrise while other birds are still logging inner eyelid study time. What is cool is the repertoire varies from day to day, and it's hard to tell just what those silly birds will pick up. I've heard that in cities, they mimic car horns, parking brakes on semis and so on.

But what I do find alarming is one song in this ol' boy's playlist. I swear I've heard a rattlesnake rattle, then a rabbit scream, only to realize it's the resident warbler - and that call shows up about once every other day or so.

What bothers me is I have to wonder where he heard that? That's gotta be a pretty good sized buzzer if it's hunting rabbits, if you know what I mean and I think that you do.

I Hear It!

During the drought of the past several years, well, it's been dry. It's been so dry that the toads haven't bothered to come out. I suppose the past few rains we've had were not enough, and not warm enough.

Monday night, things really popped out at the Poor Farm. We got a couple inches of rain, but not without the drama of withering hail and a tornado. I, on the other hand, had my butt parked in a motel north of Des Moines, so I missed it, and my poor hail pounded pickup did as well.

I got home last night with the Mighty Binder, and is my wont, stepped outside during the evening. Wow!!!

Thousands and thousands of toads, singing their song, the occasional croak rising above the chorus.

Welcome back, my singing friends. It ain't just birds that we like to hear out hyar!

Gettin' Even!

link

Except for the ears, the Big Buck Bunny could be my twin. Heh.

Be sure to watch the scene after all the credits roll - the bunny isn't the only one getting some revenge.

H/T Nunkle Kim

Brrrrr!!!

link

I heard about this video on The Bob and Tom Show this morning - apparently it's the latest viral video. So I'm probably a day late and a dollar short, as they say.

Anyways, snakes give me the heebie jeebies, and I sure wouldn't expect one to climb from under the hood while motoring down the road. I'd have probably rolled my pickup right then and there.

Seen at Primordial Slack

Mother Nature is a Stone Cold Bitch

Naturally, I had left my camera inside. As I was bringing some groceries inside today, I heard a bleating noise on my first trip. Figured it was some kind of bird. My second - I'd ditched my glasses, billfold and phone before heading out for more bags when I saw the source of the bleating.

There was a pretty fresh whitetail fawn circling around my yard and pickup. It had heard the commotion when I drove in and decided to inspect the situation in hopes Mama might be there. The little snot tripped right along, stopping to call for it's mother, then moving those impossibly long legs with surprising grace. The poor little thing headed out into the CRP across the road, but the open country with heavy cover must have seemed very intimidating, because it turned back, circled around and headed into my back yard. It hasn't learned to fear man - yet.

If it and Mama don't hook up pretty quick, the little snot is toast. Coyote chow.

I know that deer border on being major pests around here, but I hate to see a baby anything suffer. Maybe the toddler can survive hanging close to the cattle here and the shelter of the farm. There is plenty of food and water here, too, even if my neighbor really isn't putting it out for lost fawns. That forlorn hope is why I didn't rush right out with a camera, because I didn't want to run the little devil off by scaring it. I figure it's frightened enough the way it is.

Like it or not - this is the way life is. "Mother Nature" or Gaea or whatever isn't real but rather a human construct - anthropomorphizing a concept. The Great Wheel of Life doesn't give a rat's ass about this little fawn - coyotes gotta eat, too. And I guess I'm a hypocrite, because given half a chance, I'd shoot this little sucker right in the brisket if it were grown and I had the appropriate tag.

But I still hate to see something like this happen.

I'll Take Some Snow With My Turkeys, Thank You Very Much

First off - snow! This is the second actual measurable and semi-significant snowfall we've had this winter. Bonus points for falling with no wind. This happened between five a.m. and when I finally drug my butt outta bed. We have a slight chance for more today, but I ain't holdin' my breath. Plus, this is already melting.

The wheat is starting to green up - amazing considering how little moisture it's had this season. This little deluge will hold off the thirsting hordes of wheat plants for about three days if it doesn't get hot and windy. Otherwise, one day. Bet you didn't know wheat got thirsty or felt pain, eh? Farmers know. They can tell. They might not think much of Bill Clinton, but they can "feel your pain" as far as their crops go. When the wheat starts to lighten in color and get brown on the edges, the keening cuts right to their souls.

I got very excited when I saw these puppies. The last time anyone has seen wild turkeys in this 'hood was about eighteen years ago - by mine and my neighbor's reckoning. About three miles southwest of here is a huge shelterbelt on an old farm that held two to three turkeys for almost a year or so until they just disappeared. We all had our suspicions that a certain resident (not gonna say gentleman, who doesn't reside here any more) poached 'em.

The State of Kansas has divided the joint up into hunting sections, and the one The Poor Farm and a neighboring area have not allowed turkey hunting for years and years. This was because there were no turkeys living here in the first place. They seem to like areas with a little more water than we have here.

There is a sort of deer and game "trail" that runs from the southwest to the northeast from the Arkansas River on towards Jetmore. In that swath is where you'll generally find deer - a lot of that ground is in pasture, so there are remote stock tanks fed by windmills for them to get water. I expect the turkeys will be hanging close to stock tanks as well.

Some of ya might not be too excited to see a wild turkey. I certainly see a ton of 'em in my travels, so it's not like I never lay eyes on one. To see five of them right off my front porch, where I have never seen one in my life - well, that's thrilling to me.

Okay, Already - I Get The Message!

It's not quite to this level - I'm not getting "sleeping with the fish" vibes, but it's a message just the same.

Since I live on a farm out in the middle of Nowhereville in FlyOver Country, encounters with wildlife are a way of life. Usually, it's pests like rattlers, skunks, or raccoons that harsh my mellow. Coyotes, while always present and a major factor in pet safety considerations, are rarely confrontational.

While I'm no Professor of Scatology - I do recognize coyote crap when I see it. I've got a couple of little piles about two feet from my bottom step from my front porch. One pile is far fresher than the other, so the coyote in question has taken it upon itself to dump in the same spot twice. Right in my path leaving the house. I could have taken a picture and posted it, but I thought I'd spare y'all that image....

Now, not being a student of coyote psychology, I don't know if this action is equatable to counting coup or just checking to see if the resident house cat might be free for lunch. But dropping a load in the same place twice? Right in my path?

Coincidence my ass.

That'll Loosen Yer Bowels

When ya gotta go and stop at a rest area, walk to the main building and see this - well, I'm glad I had things under control, as it were. This is from last week on US287 southeast of Quanah, TX - although several us went by it today as well. They really are nice places - all new, A/C and heat, wireless internet and clean, clean, clean.

But with wildlife. Heh.

Two Shots This Time

I've been home the past two days with the creeping crud. Periods of shivering under blankets alternating with hot flushes, sore stomach muscles and throat from coughing and reduced to being a mouth breather because the ol' sinuses are plugged. Yeah, we've all been there and done that fer sure.

So, my regimen includes sleeping until the call of nature forces me from the sick bed, as it were. I stepped out earlier today and I could hear this sucker singing off in the distance. The cicadas (or chickadees as they are known as around these parts) were carrying on as well. Their tune is a brash and happy melody, broadcast from high places at high volume. Rattlers, well hidden in the tall grass, can just barely be heard, the buzzing wafting over the breezes through the trees and weeds.

I can hear fairly well when things are quiet, but if there is background noise..... Too many noisy tractors and trucks with straight pipes have damaged my hearing. If I can pick out a noise from over the ringing of tinnitus, I can usually use the triangulation our Creator gave our hearing. However, when the wind is up, not so much.

I know better than to hunt down the vipers in their home territory. So, when I hear their menacing warnings floating on the breeze - I figure it's time to leave them to it. It's just when they practically move in with me that I get upset.

The trip outside after the long distance serenade revealed it's presence next to the porch, coiled and quite unhappy with me. So, I took care of business, went inside and got the little lever action Henry. This time, I spent some time lining up the sights. This snake was further away than the last one. Of course, I missed the head shot. You can see I ventilated his body, coiled under his head at the time.

He (or she) had been pretty well focused on me already, but now the head was pointed right at me, elevated from the ground and dead on. If the malevolence and hatred in those eyes could have driven laser emitters, I'd have been toast for sure. The head was now a more difficult shot, too.

I lost patience and just snapped off the shot, popping it in the head, and killing it instantly. I've found my snap shooting is generally more accurate than the carefully aimed shots, particularly if I'm been practicing. The less thinking, the better.

This example is quite a bit darker than the last one, as well as bigger. Babs was under the porch steps at the time, and she didn't appreciate the shooting much. She won't be "talking" to me much for the rest of the day. Oh well, she won't be running into this sucker inadvertently, either.

Lucky Shot

Friday night about one am, I awoke to the urgent desire to step outside and relieve some pressure, as it were. My sewer has some issues, so I hate to stress it and I like stepping outside. It may mark me as an uncivilized lout, but oh well.

It isn't all that unusual to have some wildlife encounters during these trips to commune with nature. I've written before about finding rattlers close to the front door. So, I wasn't completely surprised to hear the buzzing sound of one of the poisonous bastards when I walked out. I couldn't see the damn thing (which makes me nervous), but I had needs that had to be met.

So, I needed a flashlight and a killing tool. What to use? My shotguns weren't just real handy, but I did have my Henry Golden Boy .22 rifle loaded and ready by the front door. I prefer shotguns, because I'm a wuss and like some distance between me and the biting serpents. But, like I said, the .22 was ready to go and fully capable if I was as well.

Shining the flashlight on the porch revealed the snake on the porch with me. This was not a pleasant thought. It was trying to force it's way into a crack in the foundation over the side - mice live under said porch, and it would be a feast for any mouse eating reptile. I just had a shot at it's belly. I figured I'd give it a major gut ache, and it would roll off into the dirt where I could eventually finish it off. But wait - it pulled it's head out of the crack and it was looking to the north of me! I had a head shot!

I've been somewhat concerned with my shooting abilities for some time, since my hands are not fully functional nerve wise. I have discovered that I can still run just any firearm I own, and all it takes is practice. We've all been shooting .22s primarily because we feel it is still affordable - the heavier stuff could break us if we shoot a lot of, say .45s or .308s. So, I have been shooting the little lever action a bit lately, even if it is just once a month or so.

It was with some trepidation that I lined up my first shot - I figured I'd miss, the snake would become more active, and I'd be scattering .22 shots all over the place. I shot and bzzzzzztt---- it was over. You can see the head shot in the top picture. There wasn't even a twitch out of that sucker three seconds later.



My buddies made me pose with my hunting trophy the next day. I'd just come home from work and they were here doin' some shootin.' The rattler wasn't very big - maybe 2.5 feet long if that. They ran over another rattler about a hundred yards down the road on their way home.

I felt pretty good about that one shot.

Seen On Site

Remind me to start carrying a real camera instead of the grainy cell phone....

Sometimes, when we go to a site to unload our tanks, we see things unusual. We went to a water reclamation site last week that also was an elk feeding operation. If my cell camera was better, you'd see the velvet on the antlers and the raggedy winter coat gradually sloughing off these bulls. There was a runway between their pen and us, and curiosity overcame them - they had to bunch up on their side of the fence to check us out. I'm sure they were hoping we'd feed them some sort of goody. Heh.

Magnificent. Simply magnificent.

This 'N That

In the spirit of breaking out old laptops, I dug out an old Compaq LTE 5280. It sports a 120mhz Pentium, 20mb of ram, an 810mb hard drive, and swappable drives. So, it only has a CD ROM or a floppy drive installed. No usb. However, back in the day, I went all out and got a docking port for it, so I could run both drives at once. However, she won't boot up anymore. The BIOS asks to insert a bootable disk. I seem to remember the hard drive was kinda sticky, and a sharp rap would make it run. Not anymore.

So, Jed, this one is probably the best bet to run Linux. It's gonna have to have drivers for the docking station to load in order for it to work, or install completely from floppies, or install from a CD ROM I imagine. According to what I've read, any 2.5" hard drive will drop in the rather heavy duty drive casing. Whether or not the BIOS will recognize the extra capacity is another matter. RAM for this puppy is expensive - like sixty or seventy bucks for 32megs. The whole thing isn't worth that much. This system was six or seven thousand dollars when new, but she's pretty much obsolete these days. I kinda doubt it has the poop necessary to run a PCMCIA wireless card in Linux as well - 120mhz ain't much. But, it has sound at least. The display isn't much, and the keyboard isn't anything to brag about. It has the "pointing device" for a mouse. It also has a cream white case that shows every scuff and nick, plus the patina of aged plastic. I bought a replacement BIOS and system batteries for it many moons ago, and they are shot as well. No surprise there.

I hated that it wouldn't boot up - I'm sure gonna have to check to see if the hard drive is really shot or just corrupted. It doesn't matter much - I'm not that anxious to recreate the Win95 environment and reinstall every stinking driver just to have Win95 when I'm done. If a larger drive works and the specific drivers were available, I'd run Win98 long before I'd futz with Win95. But, this sort of project cries out for a distro with a light touch rather than WinBloatWare. I used to really enjoy this sort of thing, but I've gotten away from it for several years and have forgotten much of what I've learned. Plus, I don't get out and shoot my guns as much as I should, much less futz with obsolete Win machines.

In other news, I had to eliminate a pest last night. I have to take furosimide - generic for Lasix - to keep fluids from building up in my legs. So, if you don't know the effects - well, lets just say there are a lot of trips to the bathroom in a short time. Of course, I'm an uncouth farm boy who enjoys "stepping out to check the weather" when I get a chance. This policy has put me at odds with several different varieties of pests over the years. My dog's food is the major attractant.

So, there has been a raccoon eating Bab's dog food off and on for some time now. There are several feral cats doing the same thing. Generally, if Babs is paying attention, she runs the critters off - unless it is a skunk. She wasn't born yesterday, and has learned a thing or two over the years. Gotta give her that!

Well, the raccoon would scamper off when I'd appear at first, but it was getting rather familiar with me. Not in the "I want to have my ears scratched" friendly sort of way, either. More along the "you are irritating me and I might try to kick your ass" kind of way. It never hissed at me, but it was damn sure reluctant to leave that dog food. Babs had been in a tussle with it a time or two in the past week or three, but that didn't deter the thief. So, with it not fearing my or my dog's presence much anymore - well, that makes for a potentially dangerous situation. Particularly if it shows up with rabies someday - how would you know? I really didn't want to have to deal with an irritated or rabid raccoon up close and personal. Also, every relative it ever had would eventually decide it was buffet time at The Poor Farm. I'm not going to feed every cat, bird, mouse, raccoon or skunk that comes along.

So, I needed to "step out." I'd seen it a couple times already that night, so I loaded up my Henry Golden Boy .22 rifle. I knew I'd be able to be close enough to get a clean kill. So, with the raccoon peering over the edge of the porch with it's cute little mask and eyes gleaming - well, I plugged it good and clean at any rate.

I really, honestly hated to do it. I think raccoons are cute. I anthropomorphise the critters just as much as any kid raised on cartoons would. But, I know better, and I know what the consequences of inaction can be. So, I shot it and I'd do it again.

Holy Crap

Letterman was a repeat tonight. I'd seen most of the show, but I must have been out of the room or staring at the inside of my eyelids when Jack Hanna brought out a Monicle- Cobra.

Hey, I'd have been trying to get away from this snake right there with Letterman. Brrrrrr.

My Hound

I've mentioned Babs the dog before, but I'm sure most of you don't know anything about her. First, she isn't named after Barbara Streisand. Let's get that out of the way right now. I used to call an ex girlfriend (from Valley Center, niece of a friend at work who set us up, and who dumped me for her ex husband and really screwed me over, but that is another story for another time) Babalicious on the phone for some reason. This dog needed a name, that is what she got.

Babs came into my life not long after Dad died in '98. I noticed Lady's food bowl was emptying out a lot faster than usual - but she wasn't gaining weight. I was working the afternoon shift at the USPS, so I was coming home in the dark. As my headlights swept the yard, I started thinking I was seeing something black and roughly dog sized run away as I drove in.

So, I got a flashlight and checked it out. I was pretty sure it wasn't a skunk, but ya never know out here. It turned out to be a very spooked black dog with some white highlights. She is shaped somewhat like a Newfoundland, but is far smaller.

Anyhow, she absolutely didn't trust me. I'd call to her, and she'd wag her tail and take a step towards me, but that was all. It took a couple weeks of bribing her with dog treats to get her to come to me. At first, I'd throw them to her - she wasn't too sure about eating them at first. Then, I started tossing them a bit closer to me until eventually I had her eating out of my hand.

To this day, if I startle her for some reason, off she goes. Obviously, she had been beaten and turned loose in the country. One fine morning, one of my friends and I were leaning on the back of his pickup talking, and she was lying on the ground a few feet away. She was the subject of the discussion. We were wondering where or who she might have come from. Just as a test, I spoke the word "Puta" in the same tone and level as our conversation. She jumped up and ran. I'm not being racist here, there is plenty of white trash around here that would treat her the same. It was just interesting.

She used to like to chase the rabbits my headlights would reveal from their shield of darkness when I'd come home. A cottontail would bolt in the beams, and off she'd go. One night, a cottontail ran under my truck, followed by a pursuing Babs. I heard the thump. Oh God, I prayed, please let her be okay. I got out and there was no sign of her. Thank You, God. It took a couple of days before she'd come to me again. It was all my fault. She wasn't hurt - I couldn't even find a knot on her head. The cottontail chasing cooled off after that. She still gets one occasionally, just not in front of a moving vehicle. Life is full of lessons, even for dogs.

I've never even tried to put a collar on her. She panics when I do something new. She has no interest in the interior of my truck. When Lady was alive, they'd both about climb in when I'd open the door at homecoming, but Babs was apparently concerned she might miss out on her fair share. Now, she spooks if the wind moves my door. Which is 99% of the time. So, the homecoming schedule is greet me at my door by looking in, getting petted a bit after I step out, and immediately head for the front door. Because it is goody time.

Yeah, I give her goodies for no good reason, usually when I get home. She follows me to the porch, and when I go in to get the said goody, off she goes to her dog house. Then, when I step out, I have to call to her to give her the treat. She acts reluctant, and I sound like I'm begging her to come to me (which basically I am, I guess). If I'm hauling groceries inside, and ruin the regularly scheduled program, she looks longingly through the front door at me to remind me I owe her a treat. It is just a bit of a game she likes to play, so I play it for her.

That is about the only game she plays, if you can call it one. She just won't play. Sometimes, she'll jump forward lifting her front paws off the ground, slightly twisting her body so one is higher than the other. Her version of the Happy Dance. She'll sort of bounce and run at the same time in an evasive pattern when I call her - the Joyous Lope. If she barks, it is generally for a good reason. She's gotten into barking contests with the neighbor's dogs late at night, and a bellow from me quiets her down. I really hate to yell at her, but she's seemed to figure out what I want from her.

She doesn't like gunfire, so range days out here on The Poor Farm find her huddled in her doghouse. Oddly enough, she went hunting for cottontails with me once. Lady was still alive, so they both went. Lady, the hunting breed, was there just in case a dog needed petting. Just in case. Babs actually figured out I was looking for cottontails in those clumps of weeds, and began to inspect them before I got there. We didn't flush anything out, but not for lack of effort. I was carrying a .22 pistol, which doesn't seem to bother her.

She used to take on skunks eating her food. Whew, did she ever. I'm sure she had a few infected bites around her neck - a couple times she swelled up like a balloon under her jaw. Taking Babs to the vet would be a major undertaking - I'd have to hold her and have someone drive us to town. She'd probably never talk to me again. Luckily, she doesn't mind being treated for ticks and fleas. She's never gone into heat, so obviously she has been fixed.

Her attitude about skunks has changed. I heard a bit of a ruckus the other night, and when I turned on the porch light, she was eating from her dish to keep a skunk from getting it all. Oh boy. I don't blame her, but I don't want to get sprayed if I step out during the night.

She's still a one man dog. My neighbors feed her when I'm gone for several days, and they report that she will allow them to pet her once in a very great while. My sister has probably had the best luck with Babs, but generally I have to be there. She will take treats from people's hands, but hang around? Not so much. Sis thinks Babs would defend me were I attacked, but I tend to think she'd be hiding in her doghouse. Who knows?

It doesn't matter to me, because I know she loves me. Her golden brown eyes shine at me when I get home. She goes into a wagging fit when I drive in the yard. If she is out exploring, she always comes running in to see me. Yeah, she likes the treats, but she really likes being petted. Sometimes she'll even groan when I rub her ears a certain way. She likes to "inspect" me with her nose - she knows if I've cheated on her and petted another dog. She doesn't seem to mind, she just wants to know. She gives me the same level of inspection if I'm all greasy from work - she just wants to know what I've been up to.

She really is a perfect dog for me - she is so low maintenance. She only eats what she needs, so I can stock up for a couple days for her when I'm gone. Babs lives outside, and likes it. She waters herself from the stock tanks for the cattle. She's not demanding at all.

Do you think I've come to love this well behaved, quiet, highly intelligent, reserved little dog? You betcher ass I do. I hope there is a special kind of hell for the people who dumped her out here to fend for herself. Honestly, this brings a tear to my eye, because I have to wonder just how much was beaten out of her. How much fun she has missed because of the lack of trust ingrained in her.

I thank God she came to me - someone who gave a crap about her. A few miles one way or another, and she'd have more than likely been shot. People out here get tired of dealing with strays, particularly if they mess with cattle or even look like they might. Babs is fine with cattle, but that isn't the point. I know I feel blessed by having her around for these past seven or eight years. I know that if something happens to me, the neighbors would take her in and she would adapt.

I also know what will happen when she gets too old. No vet for her - I cannot see doing something totally new and completely scary to her on her last day. How would that be humane? The day is coming, yet it is a ways off. The temperature extremes bother her now, where before a really hot or cold day made no difference. Sometimes she is a bit stiff climbing the porch steps. Mortality is creeping up on her.

But, that is a bridge that will be crossed later. Prepared for, but unnecessary at this time. Meanwhile, there are ears that need rubbed, smells to be investigated, and well deserved treats to be consumed. I know I'm enjoying the ride.

Even More Wildlife

You know, eet may be possible to be TOO attractive


Yes, here at The Poor Farm, we try to accommodate as much wildlife as we can stand. As I said earlier, I found a rattler when I stepped out to view nature. Tonight, as I walked out the door for the same purpose, I heard a scampering sound. My security light is getting a bit dilatory lately, so I had to wave my hand over the sensor. In the same spot I shot the rattler was a tall, bushy black tail with white trim. I was seeing it from the rear.

I quietly opened the door, stepped inside and gently shut the door.

I've fought a couple battles with these creatures, and while I won, they were Pyrrhic victories. One winter, I had several encounters with one under similar circumstances. Lady, my Golden Retriever, would get upset when the skunk would eat her food. She'd stamp her feet, and he'd just turn around and present arms. He'd continue to eat her food.

He'd do the same with me when I'd go outside and he was there. It seemed he always caught me off guard and I was never armed. I wasn't about to go back in, get a gun, come back out and get sprayed. I was going to have to catch him off guard, and be armed at the same time.

One night, it happened. I heard a bit of commotion outside my front door, so I grabbed a .22 semiauto rifle. I turned the light on and there he was, facing me. He didn't see me, so I stepped out and shot him. He didn't die. As he scrabbled off the porch, I tried for another shot. My pickup, my SUV, my propane tank and even my dog were in the line of fire as he ran to the side of the house. He then used a hole I've since covered up to crawl under the house. At around 2am, he expired. Guess how I knew.

It was below freezing, but I opened all the windows, burned all the scented candles I owned (all of two or three), and used up all the air freshener to no avail. It took about six weeks before the scent was completely gone.

I couldn't even get to where he died - believe me I checked. There is a cellar under the house, but it isn't a full cellar. The foundation has that end of the house partitioned off.

The next skunk was a female. I had determined that I wanted a one shot kill, so I had the large loop '94 carbine loaded with 30-30s ready. One night, I heard something, so I turned on the porch light. Sure enough, she was there. I got on my hands and knees. She was slightly facing away - I didn't want her to see me. I slightly opened the door and stuck the barrel out. Blam! She was dead! Success!

Until I tried to find a shovel. It took maybe three minutes, but when I got back, it looked like thin shaving cream that had sat out for too long had come out her rear end. Plus, there was the smell. After hosing off the porch, using all my dish soap and some laundry soap, the smell only lingered for a couple days.

After Babs came into my life, the skunks were history. She took them on, and wasn't afraid of the smell. Go get 'em Babs, 'cause I don't really feel like fighting them again.