Wild Dogs: Feral Ain't Friendly

By: Gertrude Butterbean © 2001-2003

Part II - Shootin' the Moon

(For Part I click here)

I explained to Winnie that there were several ways that we can control these dogs. We could shoot them, trap them, put up a dog-proof fence, or use poison.

We discussed these options and Winnie said that she couldn't afford to fence in all fifteen acres of her property to keep the dogs out. She went on to say that she didn't feel comfortable putting out poison because the pigs, pets, and grandbabies might get into it.

This left shooting or trapping the dogs as ways to get rid of these miserable marauding intruders.

Winnie was all anxious and still mad from the dogs killing her chickens, so she asked me if I'd wanted to get a little target practice on some egg-suck dogs.

I quickly checked my calendar, and saw that I didn't have to tease and set Aunt Earline's hair for a couple of days, and I said I'd be happy to help shoot some thieving dogs. Winnie had a shotgun and a plastic grocery bag full of buckshot and I had my trusty .22 caliber rifle.

That night we grilled out hamburgers, hoping that the smell would attract the dogs. We were mildly successful in the fact that the aroma did attract Winnie's cousin-in-law Frank and his brother Lou. We fed them a burger or two followed up by a heaping slice of Winnie's Red Velvet Cake and sent them on their way.

We poured ourselves some coffee, and hid out behind the chicken coop. We talked long into the night and we dozed lightly.

Fred, my hound, made a low growling sound and I woke up. I listened and heard a scratching noise; I grabbed my rifle and nudged Winnie. She bolted awake and luckily she didn't holler out or shoot me with her shotgun.

We crept to the front of the coop, Winnie took the lead and I hung back looking behind trees and abandoned refrigerators. I heard a loud BLAM! Followed by, "Hiiii-eeee thar! I gotcha you daggum egg-suck thievin' baysturd!"

Almost immediately we smelled something horrible. Fred bounded up front, let out a yowl, lifted his front paw, and went on point to a heap of bloody black fur. Looking closer, we saw that Winnie obliterated a skunk.

We decided to go inside, have a shot or two of bourbon and call it a night.

Obviously, shooting the wild dogs ain't gonna work.

To be continued ... on to the final part - Part III - Trappin' Them Thangs.

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Revised - 05/10/03
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