Laugh Tracks in the Dust 11-30-09 |

Laugh Tracks in the Dust 11-30-09

If you’re anywhere around the kitchen stove, a skillet, or have a plate full of food, don’t read this next true story until you’re not around food – unless you have a real strong stomach.

This is a true story that happened to me last week – although I’m not too proud of what happened.

I wuz fixin’ my breakfast as I usually do and had a big sausage patty cooking in the skillet on our kitchen stove. When sufficient grease wuz rendered from the sausage, I diced up a small baked potato I’d saved from supper the previous night and added it to the grease.

All wuz going on as usual and when the potatoes were hot and browned and the sausage nearly cooked, I got ready to add three small pullet eggs to the skillet and scramble them. I wuz salivating at the tasty breakfast I wuz about to partake.

I, uneventfully, broke the first two eggs in the edge of the skillet. But the third egg proved to be more of an event than anyone would want. When I touched that egg shell on the side of the skillet, it went POOF and exploded all over the food in the skillet and the top of the stove. 

It wuz a rotten egg – complete with a totally unappetizing appearance and a nauseating hydrogen-sulfide odor. I retched when that odor hit my nostrils.

After I recuperated for a minute or two, I gathered my resolve and set about cleaning up the putrid mess. When I wuz done, I didn’t feel like eating anything for breakfast – especially out of that skillet – even though it wuz now sparkling clean.

So, I ate some cold cereal and contemplated how what happened could have happened.

I probably figgered it out. The young pullets are prone to laying their eggs wherever they are when the urge hits. They occasionally lay an egg on the hen house floor. I look for them every night when I gather eggs.

What probably happened is that some pullet laid an egg in the litter on the floor a few weeks back and then the egg got buried from all the scratching the hens do. Then, unfortunately, some more scratching uncovered the now-rotten egg and frugal ol’ me gathered it.

After this episode, I resolved to never put another “floor” egg into the basket and to feed all such eggs to my bird dogs.


While I’m on the subject of wretched smells, I might as well tell another true skunk story that wuz told to me last week by my good friend and neighbor Mocephus. It seems like recently everyone has a skunk story to tell me.

Anyway, Mo had been bothered by a skunk around his farmstead. The skunk wuz eating the dog food put out for the family pets and faintly leaving it’s tell-tale odor around the premises. Mo wuz determined to catch the offending critter in a live trap and haul it far from home and release it.

He had an old wooden box trap usually used for trapping live rabbits. So, he baited the trap for several days with no results. But then his efforts met with success.

One morning the trap wuz sprung and Mo had his skunk right were he wanted it. So, he carefully loaded the trap into his pickup bed and headed off to relocate the striped bandit.

When he arrived at his destination, he put the trap next to the ditch, cautiously opened the trap door and backed off to await the skunk’s exit. After a few minute wait, the furry critter ran from the trap and headed through the weeds.

Mo then went to retrieve his live trap. He wuz picking it up when he heard a noise from within the trap and he noticed the trap wuz still heavier than an empty trap.

So, he glanced into the trap’s door and found himself face to face with a second skunk that he’d trapped.

Mo says it didn’t take him long to drop the trap and head for safer ground. The second skunk quickly followed its mate into the ditch and Mo collected his now-really empty trap. He noted that neither of the skunks sprayed in the trap. He doesn’t know if they couldn’t spray in those cramped quarters or if they were just being polite.


I got verbally taken to the woodshed last week by a too-observant lady reader from Meeker, Colo.

She went to the effort to call me to express good-natured outrage over an error I committed in a recent column.

She chided me for stating in a story from Maine that Maine is the Granite State. Maine is the Pine Tree State. Her correction stands. She is absolutely correct. 

New Hampshire is The Granite State.

We laughed about the error when I told her when I’m not making mistakes, I’m not doing anything.


With that, the thing I’m gonna do right now is quit for this week – and that won’t be a mistake. I’ll close with these patriotic words from former Illinois U.S. Senator Everett Dirksen: “It is the expansion of Federal power, about which I wish to express my alarm. How easily we embrace such business.”

Have a good ‘un.

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