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Happy anniversary to me
Happy anniversary to me
Happy anniversary to meeee
Happy anniversary to me!
Yep, that�s right. Two years ago today, I sat down and put my first entry in this little box. I feel like I should celebrate. Any suggestions?
So this weekend, I took another step toward being a vegetarian.
Sunday night, when I finally got home from Erica�s, the Husband said, �There were two messages from your mom on the machine. The first one, which I accidentally erased, said something about placing an order, and both things qualifying for free shipping?� I nodded. �The second, which you can still listen to, is about the skunk in her trash.�
�The what?�
�She has a skunk in her trash can.�
�Oh. That�s what I thought you said.�
Apparently, she�d gone to move the barrel away from the house and something in it had moved. A skunk had crawled into it after the leftover chicken at the bottom and gotten stuck in there. Then it rained, and the barrel became too heavy for him to tip over.
Monday morning, she called me from work. �There�s still a skunk in the barrel.�
I asked her why she hadn�t just tipped it over for him. She said, �it�s a skunk. He might spray me.�
Monday night, he was still in there. Tuesday morning, as I was driving down to the house, I worried about the skunk. It had poured here for three days. If it had been any colder, I�m sure he would have been dead already. As it was, I didn�t think he�d survive much longer. I decided that even if I got sprayed, I couldn�t leave him in there.
I pulled up and used the front door. �Is he still in there?� Mom nodded. �Do you have a broom? Or something else with a long handle? I need to get him out of there.�
With huge trepidation, she handed me a 2x4 she�d found in the basement but hadn�t had enough courage to use. I stepped onto the back porch. She closed the door behind me.
The barrel was in the middle of the walk. The skunk was standing on his hind legs, desperately trying to figure a way out. I hooked the end of the wood through the barrel�s handle and, slowly and gently, tipped it toward the ground.
He didn�t crawl out immediately, but waited a moment while, I�m sure, he pondered his sudden stroke of good luck. Finally, he stepped out into the backyard. His coat and tail were matted down from the rain. It took several shakes to reduce his waterlogged appearance. He took a few steps, stiff and disoriented, wandering in a shaky circle before he headed for the bushes. We watched as he gained a little more courage and a lot more mobility, eventually walking (still stiff-legged) toward the neighbor�s yard.
All afternoon I worried about the skunk.
The barrel, after having imprisoned the poor thing for at least two days (we aren�t sure when the skunk got stuck in there�somewhere between Friday and Sunday), reeked like nothing I�ve ever smelled before. A combination of skunk poop and skunk pee, mixed with the rain water and the rancid chicken remains, rendered a stench worse than anything I�ve smelled before. Mom and I covered our faces and ran it out to the curb, where, thankfully, we left it with the other trash waiting for pickup. She taped a big sign to it that read, �this barrel is trash. Please take it!� Thankfully, the trash men obeyed.
I�m still worried about the skunk. The poor thing.
It�s made me question how I can feel that way and still eat meat.
At what point does conscience override convenience? Is this it?
At what point do I stop enjoying that cheeseburger?
Hasn�t happened yet, but I�ll keep you posted.
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