Delicate Dance

Finished writing just after midnight last night and on my way to the house I noticed the granary door was open. We have a batch of chicks in there, and although they’re under a screen weighted down with rocks, we secure the doors at night to keep out roaming chicken-nibblers. While shutting the door, I thought, smells like skunk in here. Then I heard a noise, and there he was looking right back at me. I backed away from the door and he moved, but rather than go out the door, he crossed over to the old horse stall where the chicks are. It’s a dead end, basically. So I tiptoe over and peer in, and there he is curled up at the far end of the stall.

I gotta get some work done, so this is the shorthand version, but it took me a while to get that skunk out of there. Somehow he managed to spray everything but me, and we are both out and about our business today. So far no one has told me I smell like a skunk. I cannot speak to whether or not the skunk’s friends and family are accusing him of smelling like a human.

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