So there was no gunfight, no corral. But there was a showdown, believe you me… :uzi:

I get home from work. It’s pitch-black, as usual, and the temps have dropped 35 degrees from when I left. I’m cold and tired from a long day on the range. Feels like I’ve been ridden hard and put away wet. Dismounting from my ride, I shoulder my purse & tackle, & trudge through the darkness toward the back door.

Suddenly, I hear somethin’ moving in the leaves. Not unusual–I git deer, raccoons, possums all the time. But then I see it. It’s standing between me & the back door, & it ain’t pretty.

Even with that lovely little white stripe down its long black back… :shock:

I freeze. Dammit. What to do? Them beady little eyes are a-starin’ at me, daring me to make a move. My breathing goes shallow as hard, dry leaves swirl between us and I try to think. No weapons within reach. No key to the other door with me. No one at home. I’m makin’ this particular stand all by my lonesome.

I could ease back to the car & wait it out. But this cowgirl’s gotta pee, y’know what I mean? Could blow the horn, flash the lights like I do when I see ‘em in the yard. But this one’s already curling that purty little tail of his, ready to let loose on me—or the house—if I make a wrong move.

Ain’t no use in puttin’ it off. I gotta go. One small step forward. The varmint don’t even blink. One more. I’m gatherin’ my courage. I’ve got a small water bottle in hand; it’ll do fer a bullit in a pinch.

The critter seems to read my mind, & he ain’t takin’ kindly to it. Swear, looked like he just curled up that pointy lil’ snout of his, & I could imagine him a-whisperin’…
“Well…seems one of us is gonna hafta move. So you gotta ask yerself a question. Do I feel lucky? Well, do you, punk?”

Thar’s my choices: facing one of the most powerful forces of nature, or the bladder that’s about to make me dance, & I’d be a goner fer sure. The wind’s a-whistlin’ a sorta sad, melancholy melody. One of us is a-gonna hafta let loose, one way or another. :moon:
And I kin see the wee faces at the windows, my cats–er, the townfolk watchin’. Waitin’ to see who’s a-gonna win.

THAT gave me the idea. I remembered how my own kittles tend to react to a loud hissing noise, like a snake was in the vicinity. They don’t like it at all, sometimes turn tale & run. And what was this, after all, but a big ol’ polecat??!
So, I squared my shoulders, dug in my heels, made my stand, & let loose with the biggest wind between my teeth I could blow. :shock:

And didn’t that lil’ critter just turn tail & run like that was a yellow stripe down his back instead o’ white?? :grin:

I’m home now, all safe & sound. And here I sit, starin’ at this monitor, tryin’ to write another book I hope will sell.

A blank white screen. Staring right back at me. The varmint don’t even blink. It’s ready & waitin’ fer me to write just one sentence that’ll stink the place up.
hisssss!!!!! hissssssssss!!!!!!!