tod osier wrote:
Dave Diefenderfer wrote:
Reminds me of this story.... buddy bought a camp on Lake Champlain. The raccoons moved into the attic and made a huge smelly mess. He was not willing to kill them so he borrowed a hav-a-heart trap and caught one. Called the Vermont game warden to come take it away. The warden took the trap to his truck, fastened a length of line to it. Walked to the end of the dock, and dropped it in. Back to his truck for a cigarette. Then pulled up the trap, dumped the dead racoon in the back of his truck and gave my buddy the trap back. He and is wife were mortified! I laughed my ass off! I suggested the very same and they would not hear of it. I got to dispatch and discard the remaining critters when he and the wife would leave.
Now that is the sort of stimulating discussion that I like my questions to generate! Thanks for the story. :).
When I was about 12 I had the morning paper route in my neighborhood. On of the houses on my route had me bring the paper inside their garage and leave it by an inside door. My sister was best friends with their daughter so I knew the family well. They'd been over at our house for a cook out and complaining about a stray cat that had been getting into their garage and tearing into the garbage bags.
One fine spring morning I walked up their driveway and saw the damn cat squeeze into a narrow gap under the garage door. I opened the door, dropped off the paper inside, and saw it scurry past the trash bags and under one of their cars. I figured I might get a decent tip if I chased it out before it got into the garbage--word would trickle back from my sister to their daughter to the parents. So I hopped down next to the car, started clapping my hands and stomping my feet and shouting to scare it out. It scurried out from behind on of the tires just as as I was stomping past the rear bumper, then paused at the between the car and the garage door--a splendid black cat with a lovely white stripe and fluffy tail.
It turned, pointed its hind end at me, raised it's tail, and did the full front foot stamping skunk anger display. I was in full cat-chase mode and still moving rapidly towards where it was standing, with all the grace a hormonal 12-year-old who'd grown about 6 inches in the past 6 months could muster while running down a set of stairs on size 13 feet. To this day I have no idea why the skunk never sprayed. When I finally stopped my forward momentum I was maybe 4 feet from it. I froze, the skunk relaxed and slipped back under the door, and I never had to find out what my "tip" would be if I goaded a skunk into full spray mode inside a customer's garage with both of their cars in the line of fire.
"At first blush I am tempted to conclude that a satisfactory hobby must be in large degree useless, inefficient, laborious, or irrelevant."
— Aldo Leopold