Memories of a Visitor

Memories of a Visitor

Cold, gloomy, rainy days are the forecast for this week. What a bummer? No not really, just a good reason to snuggle under a good blanket and catch up on some reading and maybe a little writing. Hot coffee is always good to have at hand and so are a couple of logs for the fireplace.

This time of year often reminds me of seasons past and the time spent with loved ones and friends in holiday cheer. To some it can be depressing, for me it is the spark that turns up the edges of my mouth to grin about things remembered. Things like cutting down my first Christmas tree. 12' tall to go in my 8' tall apartment, what a site I must have been. That old pine got whittled on till it was more of a suitable size.

And of course the winter often reminds me of the first time I was out stalking “Old Ironsides”, the elusive 10-point buck that would sneak up on you and snort just loud enough to let you know he had been near before sprinting off out of rifle range. I hunted him for four years before he finally took up residence over my Mom's fireplace with his 12-point rack. Sure was sorry eating though, he was tough and had been around awhile.

Then there was my home near College Station, a log cabin with a loft. We heated the house with a wood-burning stove. And the house would get hot, sometimes to the point of having to open a few windows for relief.

It was on a night much like this one when my dogs started barking and whining at about four in the morning. Cold because the fire had died down and not wanting to extricate myself from the warmth of the covers, I finally gave in and let them out into the back yard. You see poodles rarely are willing to forego warmth for the cold and wet. I thought they needed to go outside for a need. It turned out that they had other ideas.

In just a few moments I would learn what their interest on the cold outdoors had been. As they whined and barked and scratched at the door, I made my way through the tiny house, around the dining table and gently opened the door. The ensuing rush of the four little miscreants was more than I could restrain as they burst through the doorway and made a beeline for the bed.

It was just about then that my senses began to come to life. The odor was pungent and my eyes began to water. It seems that my four little furry friends and their champion German Shepard guardian had cornered a polecat or skunk for the city folk.

Well now like I said, we lived in a little log cabin and even though I would caulk about every three months, there were always little cracks and no way to seal everything completely air tight. This night our little nocturnal rodent had seized upon a spot outside the living room to discharge his mighty weapon and what didn't hit the dogs surely got the house.

Choking, unable to open doors and windows because the air outside was more distasteful than that inside, I called to my bride for help. My darling little wife, sound asleep, slumbering in peace without a trace of worry, and being rubbed all over by four poodles and a German Shepard trying to erase the odor from their bodies. She arose, thinking that it was time to get up and paced into the kitchen wanting to know why I hadn't made coffee. Then she wearily began the task and between sneezing and coughing managed to put together a brew for the morning ritual. It was standing there gawking at her in disbelief that I finally came to the realization that her cold prevented her from smelling or sensing the obnoxious air.

Stripping the bed and heading out the back door, I threw sheets, blankets and pillows all on the back porch because they had been ravaged beyond recognition by the k9 pack in its frenzy for relief. And it was then that my wife shouted at me to stop. It was then that she realized that I had awakened her 4 hours too early. And it was then that she demanded an explanation for my behavior.

After explaining she told me that I had better never awaken her again for such a silly reason unless the house was ablaze. It might as well have been, because the smell of skunk was beginning to burn my skin as well as my eyes and nose. But not her, no she was blissfully unaware of the offensiveness of the rodent spray due to her cold.

Our little community did not have an all night grocery and the nearest was 20 miles away, so I had to wait on the general store to open at 7 before I could get the supplies I needed to clean up this mess. Finally, the doors were opened and into the store I dashed in search of tomato juice. 4 gallons of tomato juice were carried to the counter and the sales girl looked at me kind of funny.

“Got a hangover?” she chirped. “You look like you been partying all night.

“No, I have a skunk.”

“Oh I didn't know skunks liked tomato juice.”

After that mornings events it was an effort to control myself as I paid the little imp and returned home to deal with the cleanup.

By the time I had arrived back at home, my wife had wrapped herself in a blanket and was shivering on the front porch swing. She had cleared her sinuses and now was fully aware of the angst, which had led me to disturb her peaceful slumber.

Armed with tomato juice and an old number two tub, we began the task of washing four poodles and a German Shepard. And what a mess we made. Finally, dogs bathed and smelling considerably better than they had earlier, we attacked the side of the house with the tub of juice. As I pulled back the bushes to splash and scrub, our errant rodent presented herself in full finery.

There behind the oleander was a polecat that was huge, just inches from my face. I never saw her eyes; instead she chose to moon me, her little battle flag waving proudly in the air. And though she only stayed for a moment, her gift to me is one I shall never forget.

My wife laughed so hard that I began to chuckle, and when returning from the grocery with another gallon of tomato juice, she told me why she found my predicament so funny. It was because I was the “butt” of the joke.

Memories, really good ones, the things that make this time of year pleasant as I cuddle up with a hot cup of coffee, a warm blanket, and a good book. But now I check before pulling back the bushes. And there are more memories to be made.

Abram H. Hall

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	Memories of a Visitor Cold, gloomy, rainy days are the forecast for this week. What a bummer? No not really, just a good reason to snuggle under a good blanket and catch up on some reading and maybe a little writing. Hot coffee is always good to have at hand and so are a couple of logs for the fireplace. This time of year often reminds me of seasons past and the time spent with loved ones and friends in holiday cheer. To some it can be depressing, for me it is the spark that turns up the edges of my mouth to grin about things remembered. Things like cutting down my first Christmas tree. 12' tall to go in my 8' tall apartment, what a site I must have been. That old pine got whittled on till it was more of a suitable size. And of course the winter often reminds me of the first time I was out stalking “Old Ironsides”, the elusive 10-point buck that would sneak up on you and snort just loud enough to let you know he had been near before sprinting off out of rifle range. I hunted him for four years before he finally took up residence over my Mom's fireplace with his 12-point rack. Sure was sorry eating though, he was tough and had been around awhile. Then there was my home near College Station, a log cabin with a loft. We heated the house with a wood-burning stove. And the house would get hot, sometimes to the point of having to open a few windows for relief. It was on a night much like this one when my dogs started barking and whining at about four in the morning. Cold because the fire had died down and not wanting to extricate myself from the warmth of the covers, I finally gave in and let them out into the back yard. You see poodles rarely are willing to forego warmth for the cold and wet. I thought they needed to go outside for a need. It turned out that they had other ideas. In just a few moments I would learn what their interest on the cold outdoors had been. As they whined and barked and scratched at the door, I made my way through the tiny house, around the dining table and gently opened the door. The ensuing rush of the four little miscreants was more than I could restrain as they burst through the doorway and made a beeline for the bed. It was just about then that my senses began to come to life. The odor was pungent and my eyes began to water. It seems that my four little furry friends and their champion German Shepard guardian had cornered a polecat or skunk for the city folk. Well now like I said, we lived in a little log cabin and even though I would caulk about every three months, there were always little cracks and no way to seal everything completely air tight. This night our little nocturnal rodent had seized upon a spot outside the living room to discharge his mighty weapon and what didn't hit the dogs surely got the house. Choking, unable to open doors and windows because the air outside was more distasteful than that inside, I called to my bride for help. My darling little wife, sound asleep, slumbering in peace without a trace of worry, and being rubbed all over by four poodles and a German Shepard trying to erase the odor from their bodies. She arose, thinking that it was time to get up and paced into the kitchen wanting to know why I hadn't made coffee. Then she wearily began the task and between sneezing and coughing managed to put together a brew for the morning ritual. It was standing there gawking at her in disbelief that I finally came to the realization that her cold prevented her from smelling or sensing the obnoxious air. Stripping the bed and heading out the back door, I threw sheets, blankets and pillows all on the back porch because they had been ravaged beyond recognition by the k9 pack in its frenzy for relief. And it was then that my wife shouted at me to stop. It was then that she realized that I had awakened her 4 hours too early. And it was then that she demanded an explanation for my behavior. After explaining she told me that I had better never awaken her again for such a silly reason unless the house was ablaze. It might as well have been, because the smell of skunk was beginning to burn my skin as well as my eyes and nose. But not her, no she was blissfully unaware of the offensiveness of the rodent spray due to her cold. Our little community did not have an all night grocery and the nearest was 20 miles away, so I had to wait on the general store to open at 7 before I could get the supplies I needed to clean up this mess. Finally, the doors were opened and into the store I dashed in search of tomato juice. 4 gallons of tomato juice were carried to the counter and the sales girl looked at me kind of funny. “Got a hangover?” she chirped. “You look like you been partying all night. “No, I have a skunk.” “Oh I didn't know skunks liked tomato juice.” After that mornings events it was an effort to control myself as I paid the little imp and returned home to deal with the cleanup. By the time I had arrived back at home, my wife had wrapped herself in a blanket and was shivering on the front porch swing. She had cleared her sinuses and now was fully aware of the angst, which had led me to disturb her peaceful slumber. Armed with tomato juice and an old number two tub, we began the task of washing four poodles and a German Shepard. And what a mess we made. Finally, dogs bathed and smelling considerably better than they had earlier, we attacked the side of the house with the tub of juice. As I pulled back the bushes to splash and scrub, our errant rodent presented herself in full finery. There behind the oleander was a polecat that was huge, just inches from my face. I never saw her eyes; instead she chose to moon me, her little battle flag waving proudly in the air. And though she only stayed for a moment, her gift to me is one I shall never forget. My wife laughed so hard that I began to chuckle, and when returning from the grocery with another gallon of tomato juice, she told me why she found my predicament so funny. It was because I was the “butt” of the joke. Memories, really good ones, the things that make this time of year pleasant as I cuddle up with a hot cup of coffee, a warm blanket, and a good book. But now I check before pulling back the bushes. And there are more memories to be made. Abram H. Hall ã Copyright 2004 HOME