“Temper, temper, Mr. Muley; no offense, it’s just that you smell sort of like one of my buddies after he adopted a litter of orphaned skunks. You could smell old Buck before you could see him….”

                                                       Endless Times Volume Two: Murphys Diggins, page 21

              I can still see that little shack Buck lived in by the tracks. Eight or ten of us would pile in there, drinking, or whatever, until our eyes fell out. Well, it felt like it anyway. Buck was all the time doing weird things besides hanging with us, like when we went fishing and he caught a giant carp. He threw it in the trunk and took it home to his girlfriend. Don’t ask me why, that was just Buck. I’m pretty sure it went bad lying in the trunk on a summer day before we got back, anyway. I would have liked seeing the look on Kimmie’s face, though, when he brought her a big dead fish. Ah, true love, it’s the thought that counts, right?



              Buck also adopted a whole litter of baby skunks, and I mean eight or ten of them. Skunks are pretty calm as long as they aren’t alarmed. Big ones rear up on their front legs and cut loose on you, otherwise, you’re safe. Little ones are busy trying to learn that art. There we sat, high as kites, watching eight or ten little stripers learning how to spray. It was an education. One or another of us would forget to be quiet and cut loose with a belly laugh. Three of four would come up on their front legs and we’d scatter. Down they’d come and back we’d come. Crazy times, and with the exception of a lingering odor on Buck, I can’t recall anybody getting skunked. I think Buck’s house got sort of neglected by the partiers, though, until he found homes for his little orphans. Afterward, all was well. We had short memories; ok, we had no memories.