The Memoirs of a Trappers Wife

The Memoirs of a Trapper’s Wife by Juanita Amero
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The howls of the outlaw wolf have been few and off in the far distance these last couple of months in the Outlaw corner of Water and Woods. Not to be discouraged, for we will follow their trails again soon. But for the snowy blustery month of February I have a story to tell.

You see, I encountered one of those special perks of being a trapper’s wife this morning.

You see there has been this precariously placed old glass bottle of real coyote pee lure sitting on the shelf behind the TV. Now this bottle of pee is OLD, I remember Trapper aquiring it when he bought out an old guys trappling supplies years ago. Why was it sitting on the living room shelf? Your guess is as good as mine.

Ya know where this is going dont ya?

Well, we have no sattelite or cable TV and the littlest squirt was hollering for cartoons. The only channel airing these delightful colorful programs is the one where you have to hold the “rabbit ear” antenna in your teeth, holding one leg out straight pointing north, with one eye half shut. Well not that bad, but it is a tedious process. Thought I’d try a new approach and place it on the shelf. That would be the shelf with the canine urine. The canine urnine in the glass bottle. The bottle that has been sealed for many moons, fermented like a fine wine and grown in stench over time.

Once my eyes stop watering, I shoo Emma, our 4 year old, outta the vicinity of the broken glass as she is waggin’ her little finger at the poor old cat for peeing on the floor again. But it wasn’t the cat this time. That bottle smashed to smith-er-eeens! Coyote pee splatter all over the wall that would make any CSI agent proud. Sprinting off to the sink, I am frantically searching for any cleaner, paint thinner, furniture stripper, something to give some relief! I decide on dish soap, because I had read the soap breaks down the oils in skunk and mink odors. Filling up the stew pot, half Sunlight Watermelon Soft On Hands and half hot steaming water, I come back to the scene and dump the whole soapy concoction over the mess. Not one of my brightest moments considering all the wires behind the TV…..still plugged in. Diving to dis-engage the plug sockets I cut my finger on a piece of glass. Blood splatter mixed with the pee splatter. Long story short, I got it cleaned and sucked the rest up the shop vac. Note to self: Dump the shop vac.

Emma is still hollering about Dora the Explorer and scolding the poor old cat.

As I am stretching out on the couch reviving myself from the odors from hell, I hear footsteps on the front step. The tell tale sound of a gun unloading and in saunters the lovely Trapper himself. I secretly place the cat, who has been previously known to make a small piddlin mistake, out the back window for his own safety.

“So…” says I “…smell anything?????”

Raising his nose to the test the air like a mean ol grizzly bear, he growls.

“That ^%&^#%^in’ CAT! ”

Disclaimer: The above article is based on actual events. Some names have been changed or omitted to protect the innocent, namely, this time, the poor old cat!

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