The Skunk
Redd Herring
My very best friend, Buck, has quite a catalog of fears, which is probably one of the reasons he has lived so long. A few of the things that he avoids at all costs are bees, heat, cold, liver, catfish, driving, snakes, spiders, online shopping, fruitcake, mountain lions, being outside after dark, aliens, and skunks. This is by no means a complete list, as that would probably fill the entirety of this paper. Suffice to say, Buck is extremely cautious and will react with lightning-quick speed to avoid most hazards.
One evening, not long after we purchased our little ranch, Buck and I were out front watering our first attempt at a garden. The grand vision was to make the place pay for itself by selling our harvest, and the first step in that plan was a small watermelon patch. These two greenhorns made sure to water that plot of ground twice a day, every day, for over an hour - because with watermelons, the more water the better, right? More on our farming misconceptions another time.
This particular night was special, and the mobile mansion was packed to the gills. My dad, Bigg Redd, was visiting. He had never been to the ranch and was anxious to stay up late to see the amazing view of the sky we had been bragging about. My two young’uns, Redd Budd and Redd Rose, were there along with my nephew, Redd Hedd. The only one missing the fun was my wife, the sweet and wonderful Redd Hott, who was back home taking care of her beloved pooch, Redd Dogg.
We set up our chairs next to the garden, and everyone settled in. Just as the sun dipped behind the trees, Bigg asked the kids, “Y’all ever talk to coyotes?” He leaned back, letting out a howl, then cocked his head to the side and listened. After a few seconds, he got a reply from off in the distance. The kids were hooked.
“Go ahead, Redd. Your turn,” Buck prodded, adjusting the sprinkler so as not to ignore the far end of the melon patch that had not gotten sufficiently soaked to his liking. He made sure to take his flashlight with him since he would be more than five feet from the nearest person and the sky had grown dark.
“Okay,” I took a deep breath and gave it my best. I got an answer almost before I had finished. Budd, Rose, and Redd Hedd all took their turn. Each of them got an even better response than I did.
“Buck,” I patted him on the shoulder as he returned to his seat, “time for you to call ‘em all in close and show these youngsters how it’s done.”
“I don’t know about calling them in,” he nervously scanned the treeline, “they already sound way too close for comfort.” After some encouragement from the kids, he gave in. “Well, all right. But y’all gotta keep an eye out in case I call them up here.” We all agreed to watch for danger in the event that Buck’s expert coyote call brought the whole pack bearing down on us.
Buck stood and prepared himself: feet wide, shoulders square, knees slightly bent. He looked like he was about to either shoot a free throw or sing a heavy metal solo. Cupping his hands, Buck belted out a tremendous howl that put the rest of us to shame. When he was done, everything went silent; no one spoke, nothing moved, and even the wind held its breath waiting anxiously. Just as we were about to give up, the long-awaited reply to Buck’s beautiful call came.
“Mooooooooo!”
That shattered the tension instantly, and we all laughed louder than any howl that man or beast had produced all night. Buck just shook his head in confusion, as if he had dialed up his “cow call” by mistake and was trying to determine where he went wrong. While we were all having our fun with Buck, I noticed Redd Hebdd scanning the darkness with his flashlight. After a few passes he pointed to something and said, “I think that’s a skunk!”
I don’t recall much in the ensuing chaos except Buck running by and giving me a forearm hard enough to lift me off my feet. Everything went black. There was a lot of yelling and screaming and the taste of dirt in my mouth. The whole scene seemed eerily similar to the last time we ever ran The Georgia Peach. When I came to, I was lying in the mud with a cold rain falling. Just inches from my face was an armadillo snacking on a smashed watermelon.
“You should shut that sprinkler off so you don’t get sick,” Buck advised me from the safety of the porch.
“You think you could help me with that, Buck? There’s no skunk.”
“Sorry,” he shook his head and pointed at the armadillo, “them things have leprosy, you know.” He turned to go back into the house, “Hey Redd, turn off that water before you come in.”
I’m sure all of you have a very best friend who would do anything in the world for you. If so, I wonder where your friend’s line is, because I just found Buck’s.
Until next time …
Redd
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