There Ought to be a Phrase...

You know in the marriage vows, the sets of things through which a spouse must remain faithful? Sickness, health; richer, poorer...I think they should add something about when one's spouse morphs into Danial Boone.

Joe wrote the other day about the uninvited guest in our detached garage. Well, Clara mentioned how pretty this little visitor was. And Sophie asked whether we could keep the skin.

"Oh, oh," I thought. But it was too late. Their father had overheard the conversation and I could already see the cogs turning.

The update, about which Joe has not yet written, is how he finally trapped the black and white interloper. Joe and Clara kept checking the live trap. Joe kept resetting and baiting it after Mr. Sneaky repetitively managed to spring it and then eat the food. Clara kept frequent watch through the window. Yet the visitor was not forthcoming. Finally Clara suspected that he may have trapped himself under the container that had formerly held cat food. So Joe and Clara entered with due caution to investigate the situation. As they were looking around, they happened to notice a rattling in the bag of the mower that had played such a pivotal roll in Joe's initial discovery of our little friend. Sure enough, there was something within. Apparently Joe was kind of tired of "skunkeying" around with the situation. So he disposed of the trespasser with his .22 right then and there. Right through the lawn mower bag.

Ah, yes. Then he and Clara opened up the garage doors and window and left the area. When he left today for visits, he asked Matt to wheel the mower out into the CRP land which surrounds us on two sides. Matt was fairly occupied with other things today, and I'm not sure he got to it. But this evening, shortly after I got back from the library and piano lesson outing with some of the kids, they all went out to attempt some sort of hazardous contamination clean up. The odor was horrendous. I asked at one point if they had taken it out to the CRP or if they were right outside the door. The answer, "Yes, it's in the CRP. Yes, it is downwind of us." Wow!

Shortly thereafter, the kids began coming in asking for things. Hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, these I expected. But kosher salt, shampoo, more salt. Aha. I figured out eventually what they were doing. Joe had skinned the skunk and was starting the tanning process. I didn't ask whether he was using the brain tanning method. I don't want to know.

But I do know that every time one of them was in and out, the smell became stronger inside. I am sure the entire house just reeks of skunk, but blessedly, God gave our noses the ability to become innured to such auditory offense.

Joe went to bed early with a migraine.

Hmm.