Only Fools Rush In

As previously mentioned, perhaps more times than necessary, we have a problem every spring with a mass invasion of skunks. Admittedly they are cute and if they would keep their distance I'd be ok with them. Unfortunately they do not keep their distance. Instead they flock to our chicken and small stock pens like a mob of hungry teenagers at a McDonald's fast food restaurant. In a single night they can kill a multitude of birds. When that happens something has to be done, so I set traps.

Ok, I know that will upset some of you. Seriously though, it has to be done. Unless you are a rancher you most likely have no clue how destructive a predator raid on a chicken coops can be. Not only do they kill in mass, they also create the potential for introducing disease and pests.

Hopefully you understand, so I will continue with the story.

One morning, not too long ago I went out to feed the chickens and found a skunk had dug under one of the pens and killed 4 nice laying hens. That evening, in frustration, I set a couple of traps and baited them with the skunks all time favorite food...Sardines.

A little after 5 am the following morning I woke to the unmistakable pungent smell of skunk. I immediately knew I had caught one in a trap. Now my husband, Bruce, is a sound sleeper. The skunk could have been standing on his chest spraying and he would never have awakened. With that in mind, I knew I was on my own, so I got up, slipped on my Jeans and Sweat-Shirt, grabbed a flash light and the .22 rifle and trotted out to look at the trap.

Ahh, well no need for the .22 because the door of the trap had fallen and caught the sunk around the neck. It was dead. With a sense of relief I went back into the house and since it was almost time to get up anyway I started a pot of coffee.

Now tell me why the smell of coffee will wake my husband but the putrid smell of skunk wont. It's one of the great mysteries of my life. At any rate, Bruce stumbled into the kitchen and asked what was going on. I told him about the skunk being killed by the falling trap door. He said he didn't see how something like that could have killed it, but he'd have a look.

I shrugged and sipped my coffee while he slipped into his jacked and headed out the back door. A few minutes later he came in and said "Well, strange as it seems I think you are right...it's dead."

When the sun came up we decided we'd best bury our dearly departed. Walking out back toward the pens, Bruce said "Ok you take it out of the trap while I get the shovel, then we'll bury it in the woods."

As I approached the trap I noticed that the skunk, who had previously been laying on its left side was now laying on its right side. I assumed Bruce had turned it over to check it, but I was curious why he hadn't removed it from the trap in the process. Even though my keen sense of perception told me there was something wrong, I bent down and began to lift the door on the trap.

Just then I though I saw a faint movement in the skunks chest area..did he just take a breath or was it the gentle breeze ruffling though its fur? I took a closer look. HOLY CRUD! It was breathing! It was taking very shallow breaths as if it were in a deep sleep. But.. OH NO..Not DEAD!

In a panic I turned and started to run while calling out a warning to Bruce....Unfortunately I had forgotten there was a small Pine tree directly in my path. That momentary lapse in memory caused me to smack face first into the tree. The force knocked me backward which caused one of my feet to land on one of the skunks hind feet and who, because he was not dead ...sprayed!

As Bruce came around the corner of the barn it didn't take him long to figure out what was going on. At that point he began lavishing me with sympathy. At least that is his version when he tells this story. It sounded like hysterical laughing to me. In all honesty I can't be certain because I was coughing, gagging and staggering around half-blinded with watering eyes and running nose.

I somehow managed to make my way to the laundry room with, I might add, no help from my sympathetic husband who trailed behind at a great distance. Once I had showered, sprayed myself down with Anti-Icky-Poo and put on fresh clothes, Bruce said he though I should be the one to go out and put the skunk out of it's misery. He reasoned that the skunk was mostly likely not only traumatized from my stepping on it, but in all probability had a concussion from the trap door hitting it on its head. I rejected his suggestion, but I did follow him back out toward the trap...at a distance.

Hiding behind the tree that had so viciously attacked me, Bruce aimed the .22 and called "Hey I can't remember..is a head shot or a lung shot the best way to keep them from spraying?"

I yelled back "Not the head!" Unfortunately, being a man, (they all have an incredibly short retention span) all he heard was "Head."

A split second later there was "POP" from the .22 and Bruce came staggering out from behind the tree amidst skunk oil perfumed air. Tears were streaming from his eyes and his nose was running. Even though he was coughing and gagging he managed to wheeze out an angry "Why did you tell me HEAD? Are you insane?"

Trying really hard not to laugh as I backed away from him I shouted " I told you NOT the head!" Ahh well.. I thought, moot point the skunk had the final blow...they always do.

As Bruce staggered back to the laundry room I lavished him with sympathy...or at least that's how it goes when I tell my version of this story. He still swears I was laughing hysterically.

A Primer on Toilet Training Tots

Gather round young parents and let me tell a tale that will make your hearts grow weak and your flesh grow pale.

This is a brief primer on toilet training young tots...or maybe how not to toilet train young tots. Either way you look at it, it's advice that should be given due consideration.

I'm reaching back many years here, but as with all my tales, this one is completely true. It has taken me this long to share it publicly because only now do I feel I've begun to recover.

This particular story takes place when one of our daughters was still a toddler. I'll insert a fictitious name here to spare her undue embarrassment, even though embarrassing her a little would be fair and reasonable payback for the many embarrassing moments and headaches she's bestowed on me throughout the years. Ahh there you have it! I'll use the name Heda Ache, that's appropriate. Come to think of it, Mya Grain is even better!

Alright, now that I've laid that bit of ground work, let me tell you what happened. My husband and I had recently purchased a small 2 bedroom 1 bath home. It was a nice home but it bordered on being a "Fixer-Upper." The bathroom needed the most attention. The fixtures were not only outdated, they were a gaudy pink. Someone had painted the walls a shocking green that was more of a chartreuse, and the floor covering was yellow and blue floral patterned linoleum The whole affect was dizzying.

We ripped out the linoleum, and painted the walls, but the pink fixtures still left a lot to be desired. The only one who really like them was our daughter Mya Grain. She had learned to talk and walk prematurely but for some reason she could not grasp the idea of "potty training" and yet the bathroom was her favorite room in the house.

We decided to blame her slow comprehension of the process on the pink bathroom fixtures because every time she went in there she would look around nod her head happily and say "Pink. Pink. Pink. " but that was as far as it went. She loved to bathe in her pink tub, and she loved to wash her little hands in the pink wash basin, but the toilet.. well, other than the neat sound it made when it flushed, seemed to be a complete mystery to her.

So we saved our money and one day we went shopping for new fixtures. We'd hit several stores and after a bit I asked Mya Grain if she needed to "go potty." She looked around and said "Pink. Pink. Pink." Several stops at public restrooms only ended in frustration as she repeated her mantra of: "Pink. Pink. Pink."

All in all our trip was informative and it had not been wasted. Our heads were spinning with wonderful remodeling ideas but unfortunately they all outweighed our budget. We decided to make a final stop at a Sears Super Appliance Store that also sold kitchen and bath fixtures.

....and here is why I can't go into a sears appliance store today without flushing with embarrassment.

As parents often do we shared keeping an eye on Mya Grain. One minute she was holding tightly onto my hand and the next she was holding tightly on to her fathers hand. Suddenly I look at my husbands empty hands and said "WHERE is Mya Grain?" He spun around and looked my my empty hands and said "I thought you were holding on to her." I twirled in circles as my heart beat violently in my ears and tears welled up. I didn't see her anywhere.

Our attention was suddenly drawn to a rather large group of people all gathered around one section of fixtures and appliances. They were laughing uproariously. We assumed there was some sort of demonstration going on...and there was!

A few people shifted to one side a bit and as they parted I saw Mya Grain gleefully perched on a display toilet. Her panties were down around her ankles and her feet swung back and forth as she sang through a giggle.... "Pink. Pink. Potty Pink. Potty Pink."

I can not find words to tell you how embarrassed I was. I also can not tell you how embarrassed her father was because he fled out a side door shouting "Get YOUR daughter!"

Well, what to do? Scream? Cry? Flee? Faint? Encourage? Even though it was so very much the wrong place and the wrong time our dear Mya Grain had successfully achieved "potty training."

I did a slow dazed zombie walk toward her. I really did not want to admit she was my daughter but what else could I do. I briefly considered just leaving her there, but I quickly dismissed my need for self-preservation. Still, I envied my cowardice husband and wished I could have followed him out the door. Perspiration dripped from every pore in my body and my face flushed so badly I thought I was going to faint. Never in my life had I been so embarrassed. Seriously never. When she saw me she held her tiny arms open wide and squealed with sheer delight "Momma! Potty! Big Girl!" and clapped her chubby little toddler hands together and giggled! OH how proud she was!

Now, Lean in even closer young parents while I tell you the moral of this tale...Never ever assume the other parent is watching your toddler when you are out in public. This is especially true if you are in a fixture or appliance store. A single split second of distraction can change your life forever..and ever...and ever. Note how red my face is with embarrassment even now.