Most of my blogging has been about deer hunting, but we can also relish in the fact that we are somewhat gentleman farmers too. We were all happy and anxious to hook up and use the brand new bush-hog that My Dad purchased for the famous Christmas Place Hunting Club. It was a beauty with a 7 ft. cut and sparkling new as we went over to the barn that afternoon to hook it up to the old tractor we have had forever. I had a little fice dog named Scout then that went everywhere with me and she trotted at my heels as we went to admire our new equipment.
Things were going fine as Dad backed the tractor up and stopped, then got down to examine exactly how to hook it up. At that time, Scout gave a tremendous bark and dove through the little hole on the side of the bush hog and all hell broke loose under there. Barking, growling, hissing, bumping, yelping, and clawing noises came out from under the bush-hog. Trent and I got down to look in the hole like fools. That is when a horrible fog (I swear it was green) rolled out from underneath as I turned to yell at Dad. He was no fool, he had his 75 year old body stretched out like an Olympic sprinter in full stride running away from us as the skunk spray covered Trent and I. Oh, My, God! I felt like my tongue had been painted with it, my eyes were on fire and I was choking as I crawled backwards. Dad was 40 yards away laughing like a crazy person as Trent and I staggered up and tried to find fresh air.
Meanwhile Scout was still giving the skunk hell, but finally could not take it anymore and staggered out, fell over, grabbed a few mouthfuls of fresh air and dived back under the damn machine before we could grab her. The fight was back on. A minute later, we got ready to grab the fool dog and the damn skunk came out. We ran away! Quickly too!
The skunk grabbed some fresh air looked at us and dived back underneath. Dad was yelling instructions and sarcastic advice from 40 yards away but I think my ears were filled with skunk juice, because I could not hear him and couldn’t hardly see either. Round and round those two went, each one stopping for a breath of air every now and then while I mostly screamed obscenities at the dog and skunk through what I knew were green and blackened teeth.
Finally, thank God finally, Scout flopped out from under the bush-hog rolling and flopping on the ground and rubbing her eyes. I scooped her up, whereas she bit the hell out of me before she realized what was going on.
Dad would not let us or Scout back in the house. We stripped down in the yard while he tried to spray us down as we scrubbed ourselves and Scout with Lava soap and tomato juice. He burned our clothes right in front of us, brought out a few ragged pieces for us to put on, loaded up his stuff, got in his truck and left us there. Trent had come with him, but he sure wasn’t going back with him. We put everything away and came home. I drove home wearing a T-shirt and dirty underwear and they weren't even mine. It took two weeks at least before the smell got off of us. It took Scout three, and over a month before it was out of my truck. This was mine and Scouts’ first encounter with a skunk but not the last.