Saturday, May 16, 2009

My Olan Mills Pose.

My human got a new cowboy hat and some new jeans. He's lost a bunch of weight and has virtually no clothes. Not really a problem for me... but you know how humans are.

Anyway, his dad took this photo and I like how I'm peering off into the distance like one of those portraits you humans get for your senior pic.

Nothing else. That is all.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Today, The Flies Came.

Rest in peace, my able, four-legged, ass-spraying opponent. Seems you were unable to win a battle with the humans and their superior technology (and thumbs).

But while you're up there in skunk heaven, take heart. The stench from your rotting carcass had my human buckled to his knees. Though your body is dead, your skills remain.


Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Nothing Gets Past Me.

For a couple of weeks now, me and my human have been smelling a skunk around the house. Not sure where he's been, exactly... but tonight my olfactory senses were on high alert.

As is usually the case in the evenings, my human and his parents were sitting out front on the deck. I was roaming about when it hit me. I embedded my nose into one of the cracks on the deck and didn't move. My human, noticing my statue-like pose, got up and had a look. His eyes told him what my nose had already been saying. Clear as day, he saw black and white hair rustling about under the deck.

What followed what pretty hilarious.

First my human grabbed a pellet gun and began shooting between the cracks, trying to convince that varmint to leave... or kill him... whichever. But there was no moving him. Much like the possum story (which has now become legend), his efforts did nothing but puncture a couple of holes in the beast. He wasn't going anywhere.

But my human is persistent. So out comes the 2500psi pressure washer. He set it on its most forceful, piercing setting. Then, he began shooting it through the cracks. He'd hit the skunk and it would move left. He'd hit it over there and it'd move right. Back and forth, over and over.

Do you have any idea what a pressure washer can do at close range? Ask my human? He's still got a scar on his wrist from a pressure washer injury a year ago. So I've got to believe that skunk looks a bit like swiss cheese. But he never left.

Only difference is... well, that skunk must've been spraying ass juice everywhere... because it smells like someone had a pot party near the back door... with some primo weed.

Now my human is talking about setting a trap and using the .22 once he's captured that son of a bitch.

Damn I love living in the woods.