Opinion: Showing our Kentucky side
As I approach my seven-year anniversary with Current, I’ve been revisiting some of my most “famous” columns. Here’s the one that forever changed my husband’s identity.
Pardon me, but my Kentucky is showing. One night, you see, as I lay in bed with my sound machine at half blast, I heard what sounded like a small critter shuffling behind me. Squirrel in the chimney, I thought, and cranked the noise to “Prop Plane.” Moments later, the scratching shifted, and I determined it was coming from directly above my head, from the attic. The weird clawing continued, so I went to get my husband (who I will hereinafter call “Doo” in reference to Loretta Lynn’s husband).
Doo came upstairs and confirmed that something was definitely up there, but felt there was no need to fret. I eventually fell asleep, but at 4:30 a.m., I awoke to more creepy pawing. Dang nabbit! When I went outside to take a gander, I couldn’t see anything at first. Then a circular shape with two pointy ears came into focus, daring me to do something about his uninvited presence. Naturally, I hightailed it back to safety.
At first light, Doo climbed up to attic with a broom and came face-to-face with our perp, a big mother of a raccoon. Doo ordered me outside; he would attempt to scare the varmint out onto the roof. No good. The ‘coon hunkered down between the joists. “I’ll be back,” Doo shouted as he sped off in the truck, covered in insulation and sweat.
Minutes later Doo returned, now armed with a pellet gun. He again entered the attic, ready to go all Deliverance on the critter. Out on the front yard, I heard Pop! Pop!, and then Doo hollerin’ “I got him!” Though he couldn’t find a body, we proudly claimed success.
At 11:30 pm, however, our worst nightmare was confirmed. The Bourne Raccoon was alive! Scratch, scratch, shuffle, scratch. With the kids asleep, Doo grabbed his gun and headed into the fray once more, while I sprinted outside. Pop! Pop, pop, pop. Silence. Then Doo came bounding out the door in nothing but a pair of cut-off shorts, yellin’ that he’d nailed the sucker, while I stood barefoot in a bathrobe.
How Butcher Holler was this scene? Me and Doo, half-naked at midnight, trying to kill a ‘coon with a shotgun? All that was missing was a baby on the hip! A big fat apology to neighbors who were lured to their windows by our backwoods shenanigans. We promise to keep our Kentucky better hidden next time. Peace out, y’all.