  And so it happened that Farmer Ben Slown had a family of skunks as neighbors. Some people might have been happy about it, but not he. It was well for the family that they were hidden under the wood pile so securely that he did not even suspect they were there; for Farmer Slown had never learned to live on friendly terms with the little woodsfolk. He shot the crows and blackbirds because he thought they spent most of their time eating his crops. He set traps for the rabbits and the woodchucks because they nibbled his vegetables. The squirrels, in his opinion, lived only to carry away his corn, and the foxes, skunks, hawks and other meat eaters were supposed to be always on the lookout for his chickens. Altogether he made himself have a hard time with his wild neighbors. He had moved into the woods and started his present farm because he wished to be far away from every human being, in a place where he could do pretty much what he pleased with everything he saw. But even Farmer Slown could not regulate the actions of the wild furry folk, nor know how many pairs of bright little eyes watched the lights of his house at night from field and thicket and high tree top. No roads led into the big woods, but the farmer had a flat bottomed boat in which he could pole up and down Goose Creek. Then, too, there was the woods path along the stream, worn smooth by deer and by countless little padded feet. So Ben Slown was able to reach the village when he wanted to, which was not often. Striped Coat’s foot-prints; front and hind foot. When finally his new neighbor, the wood pussy, slipped from underneath the brush pile, she was not very happy. Out in the field, however, she could hear the hum of night flying beetles and the chirping of other insects, so in that direction she wandered. Beside clods of earth and under rubbish she poked her nose, cleverly digging out bugs wherever they had hidden themselves and finding, now and then, small grubs and worms of different kinds. No matter how small or how big, if she could get a hold of them that was the end of their happy days of feeding on the Farmer’s crops. But it was too early in the year for many insects to have collected in a freshly cleared field, so when she had searched most of the ground, the wood pussy’s hunger was nearly as great as ever. There remained indeed the yard around the house and barn, and into this apparently deserted place the little mother’s hunger now led her. She crept around the dog house and listened for a moment to the farmer’s old black and white hound wheezing in his sleep and grunting every time a flea bit him particularly hard. There were dry bones lying about the entrance but these she was too shy to take. Next came the barn, a more interesting building, from which issued the strong scent of horses, poultry and the Farmer’s milk goat. The wood pussy examined it very carefully, sniffing through the cracks, straining to reach the open windows and finally getting underneath the floor by way of a loose board at the rear. She saw at once that this was a good hiding place, except for its nearness to things she did not understand and so could not help fearing. The wood pussy examined it very carefully But food was the important thing now, so next she crept around the house and hungrily picked up scraps thrown from the kitchen door, potato peelings for the most part, with one foot of a hen and two fish skeletons as tid bits. An old ’possum was there too, munching away in sour silence and cracking bones with his strong jaws. These two were not, however, long to enjoy their humble meal. Suddenly Possum looked up and shuffled towards the wood. The skunk, knowing he had discovered something wrong, also straightened up. She then saw sneaking around the house the black and white hound who had either smelled or heard the two feasters and was coming around to investigate. Her short legs would not make much speed, but she did her best to reach the hole under the barn. This however served only to bring on the hound full tilt to head her off. Being a noisy fellow he fairly bellowed with joy when he caught up and had her almost in his jaws. But just in time she turned on him and threw up so quickly her dangerous looking, fluffy tail that he checked himself and began to dance around her in a circle, looking for a better chance to rush in without in any way getting hurt himself. The noise was quite enough to bring Farmer Slown’s tousled head out of the window. “What’s going on around here!” he thundered. In the dark he could not see what kind of creature the dog had found, but wanted it killed anyway. “Sic ’em, you!” he encouraged, “sic ’em!” But the hound was a big coward at heart and only danced about all the more. The Farmer grew angry at once. “Just you wait!” he muttered, and vanished from the window only to appear at the door, clad in his blue night shirt and armed with a gun. “Now, go for him!” he called and ran out to help the dog. That was enough encouragement for the hound. Just as his master came up, he excitedly threw himself on the wood pussy, but not before that quick little animal had twisted herself around and given him a terrible musk bath square in the eyes and mouth. She could not run fast, her claws were not made for scratching, nor her teeth for fighting, but she had instead this weapon of defense which was enough to stop any hound. With a yowl of pain the surprised dog threw himself on the ground and tried to rub the smarting stuff from his half blinded eyes. He wildly rolled and rubbed and finally in desperate fear and pain rushed to Farmer Slown and bounded against him again and again regardless of the man’s frantic efforts to keep him away. The dog, the man, the yard and indeed the whole farm were wrapped in a cloud of horrible odor. But the little wood pussy, unhurt and untouched by the musk, was nowhere to be seen. She had vanished in the confusion and soon was nursing the hungry young ones safe under the brush pile. That night, the little watchers about the clearing could have seen an angry looking figure in a blue night shirt striding down the path to the waters of Goose Creek. A big bar of soap and a towel went along too, also a strong smell, suggestive of fumes from a burning gum shoe factory. Also there was some fiery language about fool dogs, wood pussies in general and a certain one especially. Oh, it was a great night on Goose Creek! |
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