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I was at my friend Tom’s on a drizzly spring day and
conversation, as usual, took in topics from all over the world, none related.
The running of the bulls in Spain was analyzed. After reading Hemingway, I
understood the basics of why it was done, even though there was no way I would be
involved in such a stunt.
Tom, on the other hand, seemed disappointed that our area
(Maine) had nothing of similar risk to offer.
‘The logs drives are a thing of the past. So many damned jet
skis out there you can’t soak your feet.” It was clear to see Tom was beyond
consolation.
“How about sky diving? That’s dangerous,” I ventured.
“Nah, sure as shooting I’d land on some ouddastater and get
sued for it.”
Another round was broken out, and I thought that area of
conversation was worked out. I was wrong.
As we discussed the advantages of a Muddler Minnow for all
species of fish his eyes lit up.
“Skunks.”
I looked over my shoulder but didn’t see any.
“Skunk jump.”
I made to put away the bottle, but he interfered. “No,
really, how about skunk jumping? It have its danger of a sort, and we wouldn’t
even hurt the skunk.”
There he went with that ‘we’ again. I made my goodbyes and
exited early.
Must have been a month later that I was driving through East
Waldo and saw a small crowd beside the road. In a field that was just becoming
green, a skunk was digging for grubs. In a second Johnny D. was running full tilt
right at the critter.
I watched the skunk with interest. He looked up, saw Johnny,
and went back to digging. At the last possible second, as the man was maybe
three feet in the air above him, the skunk tipped up his tail and gave a small
and accurate squirt. A murmur of “Oh” came from the crowd.
Tom was the next man out, and watching the skunk, I could see
that he was enjoying this spectacle more than the jumpers. He made no move to
leave; instead he sidled up in the crowd’s direction. My friend gave a mighty
leap and returned with head hanging, like a dog that’s rolled in disgusting
debris.
“Hey, Tim, your turn. Show us how it’s done.”
I’d been waiting for this, trying to formulate a plan. I
swear that skunk looked me right in the eye. If he could have laughed he would
have.
I didn’t follow the footsteps of the other contestants.
Instead I simply walked out into that field, talking softly as I did.
“Good morning, Skunk. You’re having a good time out here,
aren’t you?” The tail twitched, but he didn’t swing it in my direction.
I had a secret weapon in my jacket pocket – my lunch. I broke
off a little piece of my tuna fish sandwich and pitched it to him. He was quick
to latch onto it. Piece by piece I edged closer, until he actually accepted a
piece from my hand. Then I simply stepped over him while he ate the last of my
repast.
The crowd was an uncouth group at best, so their shouts of
unfairness and their impossible suggestions bothered me not one whit. I had been
over the skunk, and I was unscathed. I deemed the venture a success.
Later I sat at my computer to try to give these boys another
challenge. I smiled as I wrote, “You are cordially invited to participate in
the first annual Snapping Turtle Slalom,” I made sure I would be out of town
that week, then sent out the invitations.
End
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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