WHY I LOVE A PICK-UP

Present iteration

One afternoon, many years ago,  my friend John and I put my black dog "Criquette" in the back of his "pride and joy" Ford Bronco and we piled into the front.   With our shotguns and bird hunting gear, we were bound for a cornfield where we were sure there were birds aplenty.  After more than an hour's drive through the mountains, we descended towards the intervale.    Like a couple of Army Rangers, we paused and reviewed the terrain from an overlooking hill.  The plan was that Criquette would bust up the birds and we'd get shots.  It was going to be great!

Careful not to interfere with the still-standing corn, we moved between rows and along pathways.  It wasn't too long before we realized that birds were running ahead of us and we weren't closing the distance.  In a flash of brilliance, we carefully pulled out of the corn and performed an "end-run" to head off those running birds.  It was reminiscent of Stonewall Jackson's move on the Union Army in Virginia.

We were functioning like a well-oiled machine--dog included.  It was going to be one of those special moments when everything comes together.  We moved westward along the edge of the field.  Sensing the urgency of the moment, Criquette decided to make her move. She bounded over the stone wall and into the corn.  Our olfactory senses told us that she had come face to face with a mature skunk.  Both of them were spooked, but the smell that immediately filled the air told us which animal was spooked more!  ...or at least the skunk was faster on the draw!  A quick hundred yard trip to the Connecticut River did little to remove the odor emanating from the dog. We now had a combination of "skunk" and "wet dog" smell.

We figured, "What the heck!" and tried to finish the hunt, but by then, the dog, John and I were totally distracted.  The sun was setting,  so we finally decided to call it a day. With everyone in the Bronco, we headed home.  As we rolled along, we noticed that the pungent smell seemed to be gone.  John said,  "I guess the smell wore off." 

Feeling hungry and only about a half-way home, we stopped at a local roadside diner.   We walked right in and sat ourselves in a booth where we could keep an eye on the Bronco.  The waitress came to the table, took one look at us and --with a tone that indicated she was on the verge of hostility-- said, "Do you want this 'to go'?"  Oblivious to her hint and a bit tired, we decided to just "rest a bit".  We casually said, "We'll eat in."

As we waited for our food, we noticed people starting to file out of the diner.  The exodus started with the booth next to us.  Then others paid and left.  We figured that it was just 'that time of night' when business was slowing down. Shortly, our waitress brought the food, but didn't hang around.  We thought she was rather "cold" to be a waitress...maybe they were short on help.

We finished our sandwiches and left a tip--just to show we were "gentlemen".    Eager to get back, John got behind the wheel and we finished the drive home.

He dropped me off and headed home.  My wife-- who has a sense of smell that rivals that of a German Shorthaired Pointer--shrieked at me when I came into the kitchen and drove the dog and  me back onto the porch while spraying a can of Lysol.  With temerity that rivaled my old Army Drill Sergeant, she shouted  "Strip!!!" and handed me a garbage bag with instructions to leave my clothes outside for later incineration.  I was ordered to carry the dog to the shower so Criquette wouldn't track the smell into the house.  Through the closed bathroom door, I was told not to come out until the "job was done"--meaning that there should be no smell.   After several "wash cycles" and   de-skunking attempts, the job was "done" and the dog and I wondered what happened to her sense of humor.

Dogs have their own "suite"

John suffered another fate.  Although he didn't have the dog, he had the Bronco.  The interior fabric--seats, carpet, headliner et al-- was apparently saturated with "eau de skunk"!  Typically, John is a "can do" sort of guy, and good Karma seems to follow him around.  However, it seemed that John was not going to dodge the bullet on this adventure! The next day, John took the Bronco to a car dealership and traded it. He said that he was planning to do that anyway, but I think he wanted to get rid of the smell.  He never complained to me--not even once! That's what kind of friend he is!

Although there was a faint, lingering hint of "eau de skunk", our wives forgave us for stinking up their "domain".  A few nights out at local restaurants helped. John ended up with a Nissan 280-Z, and me...  I'm older now and, ...

Well, that's why I love a pickup truck with a kennel in the back!

BOBCATS and BLACK BEAR HAVE ONE THING "IN COMMON"

An Army buddy shared several pictures of a Bobcat that visited his yard.  They are magnificent creatures!  My friend had a once in a lifetime event.

We have a couple of bobcat pictures in our entryway that were taken by Roger Irwin, a professional outdoors photographer and friend.  Some of his work can be seen at  (http://www.rogerirwinphotos.com/)

Thinking about a squirrel breakfast

Recently, the State of New Hampshire had to settle an issue concerning whether or not to have a limited (50) bobcat hunt.  The "massaging" of information and half-truths was interesting to see.  As I carefully looked at what was being said, I realized that the bobcat --and significant money--was being used to further 'other' agendas--non-hunting agendas to be specific.   I'm not sure how New Hampshire will weather this, for it was surely the first shot across the bow of the hunting community and it went mostly unanswered.  That mustn't continue.

In Maine last year, a significant struggle between scientific game management practices--which include hunting--and emotional "feel-good" politics took place using the black bear as its poster-child.  Fortunately the good folks in Maine figured it all out and wisdom prevailed.

So the next time you see a TV commercial with sad music that begs money for a poor mistreated puppy...or perhaps a furry little kitten, ask yourself: "Where does this money really go, and how will it be spent?"   In my opinion, 'national' humane organizations are little more than political action groups in a fur coat.  For that reason, my wife and I only donate to local shelters where all the money/food/bedding goes directly to the shelter. It takes slightly more work to go locally, but by doing so, I feel that the charity we 'offer up' is not being turned against us. 

 

 



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