headhunters and other skunks

I'll do the real skunk first. (Some readers doubted the veracity of my previous post. For shame!) I finally got the nerve to check the coop. I crept down to that shed (We have two, one with a chicken coop built into it, the other with a motorcycle coop in it.). I tried to be quiet, and listened to the rustlings and bustlings that I associate with skunks of the four-legged kind. Sure enough—scurryings! I was listening so intently that I walked into the hydrant, which the farmhands among you will know has several cast iron parts extending from it. It caught me completely by surprise (in spite of the many hours of hard labor that went into installing the thing, three times, but that's another story) and I cried out. A little. Not really in pain; more of surprise, actually. I still hardly pay attention to the bruise. Anyway, the scurryings stopped, and I stopped. Mexican standoff. Except I was weaponless. Then a head popped out over the board that partially blocks the chicken door, small and furry, but grey. A squirrel. He decided (incorrectly) that I was dangerous, and he leapt way. All this in the space of about one second. I almost took a breath when head number two popped out—Mrs. Squirrel, who followed her cowardly mate into the bushes. I limped strode over to the human door, listened, and started to boldly swing it open. Then I thought better of it and carefully opened it an inch and peeked inside. The room was vacant, chicken feeder somewhat depleted. No telltale odor, either. Of skunk, anyway. You could still tell the place had been occupied by unhousebroken barnyard fowl. They aren't named fowl for nothing. The guy who thought up the word just couldn't spell.

So. Big false alarm, if you don't count the injury at the hydrant. I had another false alarm in store, though.

I was due to get word on my Tampa job interview Monday; was told to expect a call. Mid afternoon arrived with no word, so I shot off an email to the recruiter. He replied that he thought his colleague had told me the job was filled. No expression of loss, and my name was still misspelled. I checked my various phones; no messages. I understand that in contracting you don't get every contract, but I strongly don't recommend Sovereign Technologies.

In more cheerful news, Val started on another snow sculpture, this time a motorcycle. The dog peed on the front wheel. Val said it must look too much like a Harley. (Sorry, Bob. Val is more loyal to me than to you.) The current sculpture isn't ready yet, but here's a shot of her last sculpture. It's a mermaid, and if you could see the other side, you'd see her tail.