Posts Tagged ‘skunk’
Stinky Year
Look at it this way, today it is the fifteenth day of July, so we are halfway through the month that comes after the midpoint of the year 2020. All this whining about 2020 being so problematic will be over before you know it. We can stop wondering about what the next calamity could possibly be and start marveling over how we got this far without throwing in the towel.
Unless you happen to have school-age children, that is, and have no idea how to cope with more distance learning in the fall. Or if you got sick with the coronavirus. Or you are out of work due to the pandemic. Or lost your medical insurance because you no longer have a job. Or you can’t pay your bills because you didn’t qualify for financial assistance.
In the wee hours before waking yesterday, I experienced the most vivid dream where I found myself in the midst of my high school classmates in something of a reunion gathering. I am curious about what threw my mind into that reconnection with my school days. In classic dream fashion, by daylight, I lost the gist of what I was thinking and feeling about the situation while the dream was underway, but was left with the vague pleasure of having been among peers I haven’t seen lately.
Maybe it’s a mental defense mechanism for escaping the shelter-in-place mindset of the pandemic.
Cyndie has been up at the lake for the last two days and she took Delilah with her. It has been refreshingly calm at home on my own after the day-job. The cat and the chickens don’t ask for much from me, so it has felt like a little vacation.
Of course, the pesky wildlife hasn’t taken any time off. For two nights in a row, I found our kitchen compost bin had been abused and separate access panels forced open so they could ravage the rotting goods. Last night, I wrapped it with a ratcheted tie-down strap to secure the doors from opening.
Let’s see the little raccoon claws loosen a ratchet mechanism.
Yesterday morning on the drive to work, a young-looking fox trotted across the road just around the corner from our property. Luckily for us, that enemy-of-hens was headed in the direction of a neighboring property where egg-layers roam freely.
Later, as my car approached a fresh road-kill, I centered my tires to miss the mess and held my breath. Before I even started to resume breathing, I felt the acrid fumes in my nostrils. I was afraid to inhale, but I had to.
Fresh skunk. Reeeally fresh. Ow.
At least 2020 is over halfway to the history books. The whole year seems to have a general stink to it.
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Lost Limb
Well, just as I’d hoped, that unlikely balanced broken treetop has come down on its own in the wind. At least, that’s what we assume happened. I have no proof because we haven’t been able to find it again. 
While that horizontal segment was resting on the fracture point it was hard to miss. The straight flat line it created stood out like a sore thumb within the canopy of random vertical branches around it.
As soon as we discovered the horizontal segment was no longer up there, I started looking for the “topped” stub that should have remained. Can’t find it.
I’ve looked twice. It’s possible the bottom half has now toppled, as well, but there wasn’t obvious evidence of a newly fallen tree, either.
My next plan is to bring the photo with me to see if I can identify the trees around the trunk in question.
No matter how many times we walk our woods, the constant changes keep us confused about which tipped trees are new and which are ones we’ve already seen.
Jumping to another subject, one we would prefer disappeared on us… In the early morning darkness yesterday, Cyndie was in the barn getting feed for the chickens. She was going to put out a food pan under the overhang and flipped on the light before opening the door.
That must have startled the skunk that was out there, because when she opened the door to find Pepé Le Pew about a foot away, it blinked at her in confusion, giving her time to hastily retreat and close the door.
By the time she gathered her courage to open the top half of the door to see if a photo would be possible, the skunk had already disappeared.
I would like to find that mysterious missing limb, but I really don’t want to find that skunk again.
What do you think the odds are that Le Pew was making a one-time visit on the way to somewhere else?
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Little Details
In the slogging day to day of experiences that are hardly noteworthy, little details can become a surprise of noteworthiness. You can’t plan it. Things just happen. The greatest value is in simply noticing when happenings happen.
Yesterday, I was walking Delilah along one of our oft treaded trails when I suddenly felt this child-like urge to toy with her as obsessively fixated on some scent. I dropped to my knees in the snow and put my head next to her, excitedly asking her what she was smelling.
She seemed a little taken aback by my odd behavior, but carried on sniffing when she saw I was just joining her in the action. I zeroed in and put my nose right at the slightly discolored spot she had been checking.
Nothing, nothing, nothing, OH MY!
Skunk!
I smelled a faint, but very identifiable scent of a skunk.
Maybe if I would put my nose to the ground in the same manner that dogs do, I would gain a much greater understanding of why she reacts the way she does on our daily treks around our land.
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Rare Find
Very few people ever get a chance to see the rare skunk tree in its natural environment. I was taking a shortcut through our woods now that the leaves are down and snuck up behind this specimen before he was able to hide his stripe.
Actually, I think it may have been a Halloween costume. Ever wonder what the trees in the forest are up to when no one is around?
The woods did seem a little spookier than usual last night.
At least it didn’t smell like a skunk outside.
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On Hold
All activities are currently on hold or significantly curtailed —including writing blog posts— because of Delilah’s (too) close encounter with a skunk last night. Welcome to dog ownership in the country, John and Cyndie.
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Training Walk
It was just going to be a simple walk with our dog. I was barefoot, so I stepped into my clogs and off we went. Earlier in the day, Delilah had chewed two places on the web of her retractable leash, to within a few fibers of severing it entirely, so now we were using the straight leash that maintains constant contact. I think that inspired Cyndie to bring treats and a training clicker, to work on Delilah’s lessons for following commands.
Delilah is so strong, when she sets her sights on a goal, and is fixated on getting there, she can practically pull us off our feet. Most often, it is rabbits that command her strongest reaction, but she seems to also have a thing for flying creatures: moths, butterflies, and birds.
As soon as we got under way, I spotted a rabbit down the driveway, seated right on the edge of the pavement. I suggested to Cyndie that we choose the opposite direction. She reacted quickly to turn Delilah around and took the opportunity to engage her in some training exercises. When we got to the back yard, Lilah immediately spotted a bird hopping around on the ground, and Cyndie was put to work trying to hold on against the pull.
We picked a trail through the woods, and headed toward the paddocks, so I could show off the work I did earlier in the day, digging out the space where we will put one of our round pens for working with the horses. Cyndie had Lilah running some circles, as if she were a horse.
We made our way toward the end of the driveway, with Lilah chasing the occasional white moth, and decided to return on the freshly cut trail across from the hay-field. Delilah appeared to having a great time, maybe calming down a bit from all the exercise. After we turned the corner, I suggested we try getting her to respond to one of the commands. I got the clicker ready, and Cyndie was digging for a treat, when I glanced down the trail and spotted a skunk.
I hollered, “Skunk!”
Cyndie reported that Delilah was aware of it. I figured we’d have to fight her to get her to turn around with us. We turned to hustle back the way we had come. In the distance, I saw the white tail stand straight up.
All my momentum was headed south when Lilah, in her convenient effort to join us in retreat, stepped on the heel of my clog, giving me the equivalent of a “flat tire.” My body kept going, but my shoe stayed behind.
“Delilah stepped on my shoe!” I complained as I hopped around trying to reclaim it.
We burst into laughter over my predicament, Delilah’s hasty retreat, and the circus our simple walk had become.
I don’t know why, but for the remainder of the walk back to the house, Delilah wanted nothing to do with any command training.
Relative Something 