Hello everyone. Justina (Mom) here. The boys have graciously allowed me to hijack their blog on the occasions that it makes more sense for me to tell the story. 

Skunk season got its official start here at Morning Bray Farm Wednesday morning. Whisky was the lucky recipient of his first skunking. The fact that Kassie wasn’t involved is a mystery and a miracle.

What happened just before that is worth telling too. Kike woke me up twice – the first time around 3 a.m. and the second about half an hour later – and was trying to tell me something. I just know it. She was whining and chuffing the way she used to before we had a doggie door to tell me that she needed to go out. The doggie door was open, so I knew that wasn’t it. Was someone hurt? Did Timmy fall into the well? Both times, I got up, walked around the house and checked to make sure that everyone was fine. I never thought that the problem might be outside. Was she really trying to tell me that there was a skunk outside? Good girl!

Fast forward about 45 minutes or so. I’m falling back to sleep and I hear Whisky barking outside. That’s not a good thing at 4:20 a.m. At that time of night, there’s nothing to bark at except for nocturnal animals. Like skunks. Knowing what happened the last time I heard one of the dogs barking in the middle of the night, I immediately jumped out of bed to find Whisky running down the hall past me and into our bedroom. If you haven’t had the pleasure, the toxic smell hits you like a freight train. Why is it that the dogs insist on retreating to the safety of the place that we like to sleep?

And poor Whisky. Naturally we were a little excited and eager to get him OUT of our bedroom and into the garage. Perhaps our voices were a little louder than usual. Thing is, if you talk to Whisky AND you happen to raise your voice at the same time, he freezes. He won’t move. One inch. So we realized we had to dial it back a notch. And with gentle coaxing (while we’re silently screaming inside our heads), we get Whisky into the garage for his skunk treatment.

The first step to addressing a problem is admitting you have one, right? World, we have a skunk problem. Don (Dad) has officially declared war. We set a live trap last night. Have you ever wondered what the experts suggest for skunk bait? From the Havahart website:

Chicken entrails – eww, no.

Cracknels – we’d have to look this up to even know what it is.

Fish, canned (sardines) – don’t generally keep those on hand.

Fresh-insect larvae such as may beetles – fresh out.

Crisp bacon – I’m not cooking for a skunk.

Cat food – No kitties here.

Bread crust coated with peanut butter – Bingo!

Stay tuned…

We’re constantly giving assurance to one another. 

It’s just harder for some of us than others.

 

 

 

Suni is affectionately called our meermutt.

Mom and Dad say that Suni reminds them of a meerkat,

 but she’s actually named after one of the smallest antelope found in East Africa; the suni.

Suni is Kike‘s sister. They are inseparable.

This is Kike. You pronounce her name Kee-Kay. Mom adopted Kike and her sister Suni from the Kenya SPCA in Nairobi, Kenya.

Mom named Kike after a cheetah who starred in the BBC’s Big Cat Diary. Kike is the Swahili word for feminine.

Dad is worried that when he visits the Kenya SPCA with Mom in November, she might want to bring home more dogs or possibly even a donkey or two.

Dad had the door to the tack room open on Saturday. Ellsworth was intrigued.

 

Attempted communications failed and Ellsworth became frustrated.

This doorknob has the personality of a stapler.

Bernard, stop laughing at me.

Oh the drama…  this scene plays out every evening as Mom and Dad are preparing our little treat of sweet feed.

Ellsworth’s mane is growing out. It looks like he’s sportin’ a mohawk.

 

Bernard on a rainy day.

 

Whisky is a Chesapeake Bay Retriever; the state dog of Maryland. Mom and Dad are from Maryland, so Whisky is sort of the canine tie to the place they grew up.

Whether he’s a water breed is never in question.

We looked and weren’t able to find that there’s a state dog of New Mexico. Does where you come from or call home have an official dog?

 

Mom loves cooking with crushed red pepper these days. The more the better. Since she’s been going through those dinky McCormick jars like nobody’s business, Dad brought her a surprise.

Behold three and three-quarters pounds of red pepper. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?

Bernard is usually the mischievous one on the way to or from the pasture, not angelic Ellsworth. Ellsworth knew a good thing when he saw it at lunchtime yesterday.

Was he thumbing hoofing his nose at six more weeks of winter?