Two tales of life and death ~ May 10, 2001

by David Heiller

The call of the bittern almost shook the windows in the house last Friday morning. I stepped onto the deck and looked toward the pond. I couldn’t see anything, so I went back inside and grabbed the binoculars.

When the call came again, I was able to zero in on a bird standing on the south side of the pond. He blended in perfectly with the dried grass all around him, two feet tall and very stout.

American bittern.

I’m saying it was a “he” because I think he was calling for a mate. It was one of the most fascinating things I’ve ever seen. The call started in his midsection, as if he was gasping for air. Then he puffed out his feathers and stretched out his neck like he was about to throw up. His chest bulged up like a hot air balloon. Then out came this big, wet, hollow call. Glug-Ga-GLUG, Glug-Ga-GLUG, Glug-Ga-GLUG, Glug-Ga-GLUG. It sounded like Paul Bunyan using a plunger in an echo chamber. The nickname of the bird, “slough pumper,” comes from that unique sound.

The funniest part was that after every call, the bird would look up and slowly rotate his head across the sky like a radar. He must have thought his call was so powerful that a lady slough pumper would come flying right to him.

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On Saturday morning, our dog, MacKenzie, started digging frantically underneath the out-house. Cindy and I were working in the garden. We didn’t pay much attention to her until we caught the smell of a skunk and realized what she was after. MacKenzie quickly slunk away. The memory of past skunks must be engraved in her mind.

There are several animals I cannot tolerate near our home and the skunk is at the top of the list. I went in the house and got my son, Noah, who is a sharp-shooter. He loaded up the .22 rifle and came out with me. First I pulled the back of the outhouse and peered underneath. No skunk. Then I opened the door and peered into the two holes. If you have never peered into an. outhouse hole with the thought that a skunk might be looking back at you, then you are lucky. No skunk.

Then I sprayed water underneath it and in the holes. No skunk.

“I’m going to tip it over,” I told Noah. “Get ready to shoot.”

The outhouse is old, and was threatening to tip over on its own, so it didn’t take much of a push to do the job. Out came the skunk! It had been hiding under the floor, in a nice little nest of dried grass. It crawled out looking rather confused, and sat inside the building.

Noah had a perfect shot. He plugged it three times, and it was dead, but not before it gave one last hallelujah of a spray. The stench sent Cindy gagging into the house. She stayed out of the garden for the rest of the day. I carried the skunk into the woods with a shovel.

Spring is always an adventure in the country, with good endings and bad. Mankind plays God in between. I hope the slough pumper finds a mate, and I’m glad the skunk did not.

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This note arrived at the newspaper the next week:

If I were you I wouldn’t be bragging how you had a poor little skunk killed. You should be ashamed of yourself. There are many ways to get rid of skunks without killing them. Shame on you.

And she signed her name.