A reflection on who and what we care about
Two days ago I saw a live skunk in the middle of the road outside our home.
I wanted it dead.
Before it started “stinkin to high heaven.”
By the way, it took Loudon Wainwright III 15 minutes in 1972 to write Dead Skunk after he ran over one on a highway. He finished the song before it stopped stinkin.
*
When I saw the live skunk, I wanted to rush outside and take a picture. But I didn’t. You wouldn’t have either, for an obvious reason.
Later in the day I talked with my neighbor Craig. He had spotted our Mephitidae invader while up peeing the night before.
Everybody needs a neighbor like Craig.
He called the police who arrived 5 minutes later, a quiet night, human-crime-wise. The cop patrolled the neighborhood inside the safety of her squad car, to no avail.
I asked Craig what the police do when they locate a skunk. You know the answer. The execution is done humanely.
OK, that’s what I wanted. The skunk dead.
But then I thought, should we be putting skunks to death?
Momentarily, and snowflake that I am, my dander was up and my halo straightened.
And then I recalled the slaughter on Water Street that had taken place earlier that day.
*
These are Japanese Beetles on the leaf of one of our Birch trees. When I discovered their invasion of our nine little trees, and with the help of a garden shop expert, I devised a two-pronged strategy to beat back the enemy.
I mixed a solution in a gallon of water and poured it on each of the tree bases. Over time it will be absorbed by the trees’ roots to dissuade future invaders. Think moat around a castle.
I then sprayed a pesticide on the leaves of each tree. Think machine gun.
I slaughtered hundreds of beetles on Water Street.
And not only that. Two weeks ago I vacuumed an equal number of Carpenter ant carcasses after strafing their redoubts.
*
As I was writing this essay, a thought, unbidden and unwanted, was delivered into my consciousness. I will share it with you.
The only good skunk is a bad skunk.
Yes, it made me uncomfortable too. Where did that phrasing come from?
A 10 second Google search uncovered Teddy Roosevelt’s words, uttered in 1886.
I don’t go so far as to think that the only good Indians are the dead Indians, but I believe nine out of every ten are.
Ugh. Even writing these words spoken by someone else 136 years ago, to illustrate a point, creeps me out. If I was still in a college classroom, I might not put Roosevelt’s quote on a slide or the whiteboard.
Why not? Because the idea behind the words contradicts the way we are suppose to feel, do genuinely feel, about American Indians or any other group of humans in our society, in 2022.
And then I had another thought I will leave with you. I will ponder it as well.
Will most people in 2162 condemn my wish for a dead skunk or my slaughter of beetles and ants just as today I condemn Theodore Roosevelt’s attitude toward American Indians?
