I know it seems hard to believe. Like you I think of charging wild animals of something out of Africa or perhaps the far north. The sort of on the edge of adventure that not even rural living provides. Yet last Thursday afternoon the adventure arrived.
I’m sitting at my desk typing something or other when my older English Pointer starts barking; clearly alarmed. Now let me digress a minute I am very fortunate to have three dogs in my kennel at the moment that only bark when they have a good reason. So I get up from my desk and look out of the office door to see what is going on. There by the wire of Mae’s kennel is a skunk, tail erect, clearly agitated, definitely not normal skunk behavior. Concerned I quickly close the door and get my shoes on. What you don’t do your best typing barefoot?
When I return the skunk is nowhere to be seen. Excellent news; he found a place to sleep away the day and had decided to return to being a normal skunk. Fifteen quiet minutes go by and then my Golden retriever starts barking and growling like mad. This can't be good news!
I look out and the skunk is at the wire of the kennel challenging a 100 pound retriever to a fight and the retriever has no intention of letting a five pound skunk get away with that crazy talk. I need to act quickly as the situation is heading downhill fast. So I hustle off to my gun safe and rummage around for my trusty 22 caliber rifle and a handful of shells.
On returning to the scene I now see that I have grabbed my grandfather’s rifle, one that I have not fired in maybe 35 years, in fact for a moment simply loading it has me stumped. After a quick jog down memory lane I get a few rounds into the magazine and step out of the office door toward the kennel and the loud skunk dog discussion. At this point they are apart by about a foot or so. Way too close for me to try a shot with a rifle I have not handled since the Carter Administration so I take a step closer.
At that moment the skunk sees me and in his deranged state sees a bigger fight to pick than a mere retriever. He turns and heads my way at a trot. Now I am at best fifteen or twenty feet away so he will be closing the distance way too quickly for my taste or foot speed. I pause for a second and wait for him to get far enough away from the dog, at this point he is at full gallop skunk charging speed and closing faster than you might imagine.
I point the old 22 and touch off a round, much to everyone’s amazement (remember these are bird dogs, they have seen me shoot) the skunk flops over dead! Right in his tracks, the dogs are stunned and a little relieved to say the least. On closer inspection I shot him right through the head, even I am impressed. Of course I could not do that again in a hundred years but I pulled it off one time when it mattered.
I buried the dead skunk out back very deep and washed everything down with bleach and lots of water. So we should be all set until another rogue skunk shows up. Of course at this moment the word is out in the skunk community about the hostile welcome party offered at this homestead so it may be a while.
There you are charging wild animals right here in Union, Maine. Never a dull moment.
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