Uncle Charley was very proud of his chickens. He had hatched and raised a fine chicken house full of them. But alas, sometimes late at night a skunk would peek under the crawl space and elicit raucous cackling and carrying on.

Uncle Charley owned one of those big bore, double-barreled shotguns, the kind with dog-ear external hammers. It rested with pride above the fireplace, a glorious decoration in the center of the room.

"Back 'em hammers, " Charley always said. "Be ready to shoot."

He meant you should only take the shotgun down from over the mantlepiece when you really meant to fling stinging objects at an intruder. The hammers should be pulled fully back and ready.

"Cackle! Cackle! Squawk!"

Uncle Charley slipped from 'neath the covers and placed his bare feet softly on the wooden bedroom floor. Down came the big bore shotgun with external hammers. Out the door crept Uncle Charley, barefoot in his long john underwear.

"Cackle! Cackle! Squawk!"

"Click! Click!" Back came the external hammers on that big bore shotgun.

Old Limp-And-Howl was sleeping under the front porch. Chickens could not wake him, but Uncle Charley did that night, barefooted and armed with his big bore shotgun.

Limp-And-Howl had started life as a Coon Hound, but was demoted when Uncle renamed him. That night he thought his master needed company. Boy, oh boy, this was the way to hunt, barefoot and armed with a big bore shotgun.

"Cackle! Cackle! Squawk!"

Closer to the chicken house crept Uncle Charley, Limp-And-Howl one dog step behind. This was a very friendly dog with poorly developed social graces. He was apt to mistake the sort of greeting one should give his master. Cold noses must only be used on a dog's own species. Nonetheless, it was Limp-and-Howl's favorite way of saying "Hello."

"Cackle! Cackle! Squawk!"

Uncle Charley got down on his knees, unmindful of the filth that would soil his long john underwear. Through the crawl space he poked that big bore shotgun.

"Cackle! Cackle! Squawk!"

Peering all around and sniffing, Uncle Charley could not discern any likely target, but he knew there was a skunk in there somewhere.

That sniffing did it. Limp-And-Howl knew sniffing.

Now remember that there is a human crevice requiring a modesty flap on the rear of long john underwear.

Limp-And-Howl greeted Uncle Charley with deadly accuracy, right in the middle of the crack covered by the modesty flap. For emphasis he added a long, satisfied doggy "Snuff!"

When the cold nose suddenly found the sensitive part on Uncle Charley's rear, his fingers

tightened on both triggers.

"BOOM!"

Charley spent the rest of that night cleaning chickens. He canned

the meat and ate tender chicken for many months.

The skunk was never heard from again, probably because there was nothing in that chicken house left for it to steal.

Limp-And-Howl lived happily ever after.

RETURN TO MAIN PAGE