Thursday, March 27, 2008

Thank God we're bigger than them

So, I need to think back for a moment and try to figure out when celebrating the pitchforked death of a mink became routine; where shouting 'YES!' while pumping my fist in the air and then yelling, "WAIT! Let me grab the camera" (which took a shitty blurry picture) became so commonplace that I don't check my emotions first; where no part of me says (or even thinks) "Blech - Oh my God, that's a dead animal. EWWW - Get out of here with that!! That's fucking gross....UGH".

I seriously was not that grossed out looking closely at the mink. What struck me was his smell. I could smell him from about 4 or 5 feet away. A strong strong musky smell. Similar to a skunk, but not as prevalent or recognizable.

I wasn't part of the mink hunt, because, quite frankly, I am unable to smash a shovel down with all my might onto the head of a mink. I would definitely be even more unable to stab it with a rusted pitchfork. I might be more able to be the one with the pellet gun and actually get a shot or two in the right direction. But, I was just better off inside with the kids. B.Rube and his dad went on the hunt.

Now, we don't have a gun. That would have made this mink hunt easier. I actually went into a hunting store when I was in town today and had I been able to just buy a rifle off their wall, I would have. Doesn't this strike you as fucking WEIRD??? Cuz it strikes me as weird. I never thought I'd want a gun. I never thought I'd buy a gun. I seriously was going to buy one for B.Rube for his birthday this weekend. But, apparently, the government has all sorts of controls on that. controlling busybodies.

(and, apparently, B.Rube tells me now that he doesn't want a gun. Which makes this whole little scene even weirder.... that I want a gun and he doesn't? Bizarre. In fact, I bet he's only saying he doesn't want a gun because I want a gun. And maybe I don't really want a gun, except that I know that by wanting a gun, B.Rube wouldn't want one. So, subconsciously, I have created the outcome that I desire, which is that I won't live in a house with kids and a gun. whew. I'm glad I settled that.)

We could use a gun, though. For mink. For coyotes. There's a family of coyotes that lives in the field and trees behind us. I see them regularly. Just this morning, a big healthy coyote stood in our neighbour's field, not 30 feet from where I was standing, just staring at me in the kitchen window, as my dogs were going mental around me. That same coyote, I believe, killed a big ram at the little farm across the street yesterday. I believe that he was heading back there, when my dogs stopped him today. I fear for my sheep.

It's a dog-eat-dog world out here, isn't it? I do get a bit hardened to it. I admit that I prepare myself for something everytime I go out to do the chores or see the animals. (Kinda like how I prepare myself everytime I walk into T.Rube's room when she's in her crib, even though she'll be two in a few months! You don't ever get over that fear of SIDS, do you???!)

I don't flinch half as bad when I see a dead chicken pulled halfway under the henhouse, decapitated. In fact, today I took a couple of pictures of it with my new camera, just to try out a new setting. (I deleted them tonight, finding myself a bit too morose for my own liking.)

(I did take a good picture of Sid's balls for you though, although B.Rube claims that I have to get a shot where his back legs are spread a bit further apart in order to understand the gravity of this stud's problem! (and I DO mean.. 'gravity!").)

It makes me look at and appreciate nature, though. It really is just the natural order of things. Preys and predators. Thank God we're bigger than them.

(and remember: those fucking minks should never have been out here to begin with!!)


Renee said...

I'll bet mink hunting was a bonding experience for B. Rube and his dad. Lol. I can just picture them traipsing through fields, brandishing their pitchforks and looking for the smelly demon.

-The Renee

J.Rube said...

Oh, you don't know the half of it!

The mink was actually still under the hen house, picking away at the bird he'd got. They poked around under there and managed to shoot it with the pellet gun, at which point it took off. And they went a runnin'. (that's when the pitchfork image comes in...). Except they were running, because they had to chase the thing!!
The whole thing only took them about 35 minutes. Not long enough to satisfy their primal urges, though. They continued to play with their pellet guns and slingshots for another hour afterwards to get it out of their system.
As I watched from the kitchen window, I had the same thought as you did. It was nice to see them out there together doing that. It doesn't happen very often.

AppleTree 43 said...

I'm just laughing J.Rube.
I can picture B.Rube in his boots and his overalls - "Farmer Rube" chasing the mink.
I do agree with B.Rube --- no guns girlfriend. Scare the hell out of me.
Did you make a nice bed out of the mink fur for the chickens?

Magnolia said...

Funny- made me laugh outloud.
Guns....the debate..
Is is guns that are dangerous...or the people behind them.
Started out with a rule I was passionate about.."no guns in the or not". But boys will be boys and next thing I know..toast is being bitten and shaped into a hand gun..papertowel rolls and tape used to construct machine guns..and when all else fails..the thumb and pointer finger will do. A hard fought battle I have yet to win.

Anonymous said...

All right, time you all need a gun, I'll grab my passport and head across the border.

Which is worse...stabbing something repeatedly until it dies or one bullet?

I'm such a bleeding heart. :)


J.Rube said...

I just want to clarify that B.Rube and his dad didn't continue to play with the mink after it was dead. They continued to play with their pellet guns and slingshots, but the mink was not involved.

I agree that a bullet would be the most humane thing to do in this situation.

Anonymous said...

Sorry..........I guess I should have asked rather than assume, huh (or is it, eh?)

This is better. Boys do things like that.


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