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!!)