Katie here…I thought I’d lead this weeks’ segment by Ken Carpenter by introducing his late wife, Joy. I had the great pleasure of knowing her. It was just for a few years and shortly after we moved to Bonners Ferry. I don’t think I realized at the time the real gem that she was. She was funny, generous, thoughtful, witty and so much more.
We were in the first years after moving from Coeur d’Alene to Bonners Ferry after a rough few years of job and home transitions. Jesse was working graveyards, and our kids were young and in school. I had just started my job at Dr. Geyman’s office and had Wednesdays off. I had begun to fill my Wednesday’s volunteering at the Hope House and that’s where I met Joy.
She was faithful and present. We spent many hours together sorting clothes and organizing toiletries. She was there many more days a week than I was and one day, she called me and said, “Katie, I know your son (Shane) is getting married and I found the perfect dress for Piper to wear!” She brought it by, and it was perfect. She even helped us style it for the wedding.
Piper looked like a little bride and every time I see those pictures, an image of Joy pops into my head. It was a time in my life that I needed a friend, and Joy…that’s what she was! I miss her, but these stories of Kens, bring back fond memories. Ken, thanks for sharing her with the world.
Joy brought such laughter to Ken’s life, so sit back and enjoy!
“The Attack of the Sneaky Skunk” – By Ken Carpenter
The world is a smelly place, just ask any skunk. Or, if you don’t know any, ask my wife, Joy. Not that she is stinky, she just has skunk on the brain lately.
On second thought, don’t do that. She is under the constant misconception that she owes me one, so she is liable to tell a tale that will liken me to a skunk. And we haven’t even had chili lately!
Just in case she does, I am going to squeal on her again before she gets the chance.
It was just another morning, both of us interested in coffee, newspaper, the NBC weather report and our own groggy thoughts. She got up to step outside and turn on the garden sprinkler, and I soon heard cooing sounds wafting through the open front door. I have grown suspicious of that sound, for I think it was a direct correlation to the 24 animals in our family.
She stepped inside and said, “There’s a little homeless puppy running toward me along the garden fence, I need my glasses.” My stomach did a sudden flip flop.
As she stepped out the door, I released a beleaguered sigh. It was not quite sighed out when she literally jumped back in the house, yelling out “SKUNK!” as she slammed the door shut and rammed the deadbolt home.
Man, this must be Atilla the Skunk if we need a deadbolt to keep it out, I thought to myself. I wisely kept my thoughts away from my tongue.
Our second thoughts were for the chickens, still in their coop. As I went after my pistol (or sauntered slowly after it as Joy pointed out), Joy headed for the henhouse. By the time I plodded around the garden in search of Mr. Attila the Skunk, Joy was standing out in the backyard, wide-eyed, pointing at the coop.
“He as in there when I opened the door,” she said breathlessly, “And he was as scared as me because he ran away. Even the goats were scared!”
I cautiously stepped around the corner and peered into the open coop door. The hens were all silently huddled on top of their nesting boxes, still trying to be invisible, and Attila as nowhere to be seen.
His slightly musty odor was the only contact I had with him.
He had obviously retreated to headquarters, probably to recruit more troops.
When I got home from work that night, I spent two hours trying to Attila-proof the new chicken condo where he had made his entry. I didn’t see anywhere he could sneak in, but sure enough, the next morning there was a freshly dug hole leading into the old coop. The blighter had dug under a flat 2 x 6 and a 4 x 4, through about 18 inches of dirt, and once again the hens were all massed up high, still speechless with fear. None were missing, so all Attila had accomplished was tiring himself out and scaring the occupants.
It was obvious that a pagan skunk’s work is never done. Nor mine for that matter, because there was more barricading needed.
The scientific name of skunks is mephitis mephitis, which means “noxious gas, noxious gas”. A double stink threat if ever one was named.
Skunks can spray their yellow, oily foam up to 16 feet, and have pinpoint accuracy at 10 feet. They can also spray up to eight times, if by some miracle one was not convincing enough.
They do not like their own odor, and if given the choice would probably never spray at all. Usually, their garish black and white outfit is enough to make other creatures give them a wide berth. Except for dogs, who love smelly things.
For now, Attila the Skunk has either been making himself scarce or I have actually succeeded in making it too hard for him to break into the egg factory. While I have nothing personal against skunks, I have been keeping my shotgun and spotlight handy in care I hear a coop ruckus in the dark of night.
As for Joy, she makes sure out deadbolt is shut every night.
I’m sure that has nothing to do with Mr. Attila the Skunk though. Almost sure, anyway.
Comments? Contact Ken at moyieboy@yahoo.com.
Joy was my ‘Co-Mother-in-law’. We were good friends and she was a sweet, sweet lady. Thanks for the trip down Memory Lane, Ken. I can just see her doing this. I laughed out loud about the deadbolt! Lolll I quite miss her too. RIP Joy <3