The Skunk

This is not a typical Stopping to Think post. I’m planning to re-start some of my story writing efforts this year, and I’ll post some of those in this feed, as they will - in content, if not style - fit in with a lot of what I normally touch on in this space. However, this is a little story I submitted to “The Dole Weekly”, the newsletter that my oldest daughter has occasionally put together in our home. She graciously accepted this submission, and it was originally published there in 2023. I retained the copyright, however, and now share it with you. It is, as noted above, a silly story. From: Will DoleTitle: The SkunkIt was a cold and rainy November morning in the Sandhills of western Nebraska. School started at 8am, and I had to check my trapline before school, in case there was any skinning to do. If I had enough fur in my traps, I might be able to talk dad into letting me skip school to skin racoons and muskrats all morning instead. Who needs another history lecture, anyway?This particular morning I ate my oatmeal and was out the door by 5:53, which was better than my goal of 5:55. Those extra two minutes come in handy when you have to peddle your bike through the mud while wearing hip waders.I didn’t have anything in the first two cubby sets I had made along the north bank of Spring Creek. Then I crossed to the south side of the creek and checked the three footholds I had set at places where trails entered the water. Still nothing. After I had passed 10 more unsuccessful sets, I finally came to my last set, and I was just praying I hadn’t been skunked.I came around the corner, checking a cubby set I had made right where the creek flowed into the North Platte River. Well, I guess I didn’t get skunked. Or, to be more accurate, I had been skunked - there was a great big double striped skunk, held firmly in place by the number 2 Victor which was guarding the entrance to that cubby.Needless to say, I wasn’t quite prepared for this scenario. I walked slowly up behind the trap, hoping the furry friend wouldn’t see me and spray before I thumped him in the head with the branch I had in my hand. It was all going well, I had closed the distance from 25 yards down to about 6 feet. I was just going to take one more step before I took a swing when I heard him hiss and lift his tail…I had never run so fast in my life, but it sure didn’t matter. I was so covered in skunk essence that the teacher sent me home from school, and wouldn’t let me come back for a week. I was hoping that would mean some extra fishing time, but it’s supposed to snow tomorrow.Stopping to Think is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit willdole.substack.com/subscribe