Ahh . . . those special summer aromas

Seems like it’s been a pretty productive summer in the Rainy River area despite a tad too much moisture.
The gardens are coming into full production—even if the tomatoes are a little blighty and the squash and pumpkin crop a tad weird.
Even the Runt’s cucumbers are putting out a prolific crop and we are busy swapping for potatoes.
The corn is about ready and I’ve got Scrounger’s electric fencer set on “fry-medium rare” in my annual battle trying to keep the raccoons at bay.
Even the skunks have taken the “go forth and multiply” dictum to heart and the progeny are busy seeking out new home sites as the usual culverts are a tad dangerous what with these monsoon cloudburst flushing them out an a weekly basis.
Some folks are getting up close and personal with these odiferous kitties.
Cousin It, who had been putting off cutting the grass due to repeated malfunctions with his rotten old lawn mower, solved the problem by purchasing a “like new, fully reconditioned” unit from Pickle.
“Guaranteed to take on the toughest cutting quickly and efficiently,” stressed Pickle.
Money changed hands, the trailer was loaded, and off went another satisfied customer.
Cousin It unloaded it in the shed, where it slumbered awaiting its first torture test Saturday morning.
Sweetie was up early prepared to take on the lawn. After all, Cousin It no longer had his season-long excuse about the lack of mower mechanical fitness.
“I’m going to start on that hay crop,” stated Sweetie as she headed out the door.
Cousin It, who was ensconced in the reading room taking care of the morning chores, mumbled something about being right out, then settled back for a leisurely contemplation.
He heard the beast fire up, but it was followed very quickly by Sweetie’s terrified screams.
Rising to peer out the window, he saw the mower careening down the lane—with Sweetie about five paces in front of it and pulling away.
“What on earth…?” exclaimed a befuddled Cousin It, then he saw the skunk charging after the mower.
It was quite a parade coming down the drive.
The skunk then stopped, raised its tail, and let fly. The mower, Sweetie, the house, and Cousin It all were downwind.
Cousin It quickly closed the window and sat back down to contemplate the matter. The mower stalled before taking out the garage.
The skunk, meanwhile, turned and shuffled back into the mower shed where it had been so rudely awakened from its nap under the mower deck.
Sweetie was last seen shedding clothes and jumping buck naked into the river.
But all’s well that ends well. The smell abated, the grass got cut, and the pictures of Sweetie in the altogether marching back from her morning dip in the river were way too blurry to be of any blackmail value.
No word on Pickle’s first on-site service call.
The skunk, on the other hand, I’m sad to report, has suffered a severe case of 12-gauge justice.
He’s asleep now, but not under a lawn mower.

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