Liberty Sanders
Master
I have two lady friends that live on a farm on the outskirts of Lebanon. I frequently farmsit for them.
They know I'm a gun guy and always bring a rifle of some sort. Although they are great animal lovers, they are also practical. Very early on they let me know that muskrats, coyotes and raccoons were bought and paid for and they encourage me to kill them on sight.
Their gravest concern is the coons. They invade the barn and poop in the hay. Eating hay tainted in this manner can cause a serious illness in horses. One of the ladies is a veterinarian and this keeps her at wit's end during the months the nags are on hay.
I have yet to lay eyes on either a muskrat or a coyote. I see coons, but always after dark and never when it is either practical or safe to take a shot.
I was sitting on the 4th of July. I sat in their front yard to watch the fireworks display from downtown Lebanon then removed to the deck at the rear of their old farmhouse to enjoy a cigar.
The irony is that the coons live under the deck. When the ladies are out there during the day taking the air the invaders are snoozing right beneath their feet.
As I puffed away, three coons came running across the yard and ducked under the deck. I was caught flat-footed. My rifle was in the house. I dashed in and retrieved it, returned to the deck, sprinkled a bit of dry cat food on the edge of the deck, then sat down and rigged for silent running.
My weapon of choice is a Winchester 9422M inherited from my late father. This is a scaled-down version of the classic 1892 lever gun. It's chambered for .22 Magnum.
The coons had seen me and I was prepared for a long stakeout. To my surprise, in just a few minutes a masked face appeared at the edge of the deck, alternately eyeing the cat food and me. It ducked back down. I brought the rifle up and waited. The head appeared again.
POP! I heard it flopping in the water at the edge of the lily pond in front of the deck. I levered in another round, sat down and returned to my cigar.
Within a very few minutes another head appeared in exactly the same spot as the first.
POP! This one leaped into the water. I could hear it floundering and drowning. I stood and gave it a finisher and it sunk out of sight.
I retrieved the first coon, brought it to my end of the deck, and laid it on a brick walk where I could take a pic of it to text to the girls. I resumed my post.
A few minutes later a coon emerged from MY end of the deck, practically under my feet. It wanted to examine its dead comrade. The rifle was across my lap in the wrong direction. I remained motionless. The coon eyeballed me and slipped back under the deck. I silently repositioned the rifle.
The coon reemerged. I didn't even need the sights. I just stuck the muzzle out and nailed it point blank.
Curiosity had killed the coons three times in succession. I sat for a good while longer with no more of the marauders showing themselves.
The next night I set up before sundown and waited until several hours after full dark. I neither saw or heard any coons, even though that first night I had clearly heard their rustlings beneath me. It was the same the next night. What was going on? They would have to emerge after dark to forage for food.
Then it occurred to me. They had abandoned the den. I had made their home too Chicago, Portland and San Francisco-like for them to safely remain. I was disappointed as hell. This must be what democratic mayors feel like as they watch residents fleeing their crime-ridden cities.
On the second day after the siege, the submerged coon bloated and floated and I was able to fish it out.
That little Winchester is mighty slick. It's my understanding that they're no longer made. That's a shame.
I hope the coons ran far enough that they'll no longer be a menace to the girls' horses, although I tend to doubt it.
If they stayed around I kinda hope they move back under the deck. Shooting coons in a barrel while smoking a good cigar is a damnably amusing lazy man's sport.
They know I'm a gun guy and always bring a rifle of some sort. Although they are great animal lovers, they are also practical. Very early on they let me know that muskrats, coyotes and raccoons were bought and paid for and they encourage me to kill them on sight.
Their gravest concern is the coons. They invade the barn and poop in the hay. Eating hay tainted in this manner can cause a serious illness in horses. One of the ladies is a veterinarian and this keeps her at wit's end during the months the nags are on hay.
I have yet to lay eyes on either a muskrat or a coyote. I see coons, but always after dark and never when it is either practical or safe to take a shot.
I was sitting on the 4th of July. I sat in their front yard to watch the fireworks display from downtown Lebanon then removed to the deck at the rear of their old farmhouse to enjoy a cigar.
The irony is that the coons live under the deck. When the ladies are out there during the day taking the air the invaders are snoozing right beneath their feet.
As I puffed away, three coons came running across the yard and ducked under the deck. I was caught flat-footed. My rifle was in the house. I dashed in and retrieved it, returned to the deck, sprinkled a bit of dry cat food on the edge of the deck, then sat down and rigged for silent running.
My weapon of choice is a Winchester 9422M inherited from my late father. This is a scaled-down version of the classic 1892 lever gun. It's chambered for .22 Magnum.
The coons had seen me and I was prepared for a long stakeout. To my surprise, in just a few minutes a masked face appeared at the edge of the deck, alternately eyeing the cat food and me. It ducked back down. I brought the rifle up and waited. The head appeared again.
POP! I heard it flopping in the water at the edge of the lily pond in front of the deck. I levered in another round, sat down and returned to my cigar.
Within a very few minutes another head appeared in exactly the same spot as the first.
POP! This one leaped into the water. I could hear it floundering and drowning. I stood and gave it a finisher and it sunk out of sight.
I retrieved the first coon, brought it to my end of the deck, and laid it on a brick walk where I could take a pic of it to text to the girls. I resumed my post.
A few minutes later a coon emerged from MY end of the deck, practically under my feet. It wanted to examine its dead comrade. The rifle was across my lap in the wrong direction. I remained motionless. The coon eyeballed me and slipped back under the deck. I silently repositioned the rifle.
The coon reemerged. I didn't even need the sights. I just stuck the muzzle out and nailed it point blank.
Curiosity had killed the coons three times in succession. I sat for a good while longer with no more of the marauders showing themselves.
The next night I set up before sundown and waited until several hours after full dark. I neither saw or heard any coons, even though that first night I had clearly heard their rustlings beneath me. It was the same the next night. What was going on? They would have to emerge after dark to forage for food.
Then it occurred to me. They had abandoned the den. I had made their home too Chicago, Portland and San Francisco-like for them to safely remain. I was disappointed as hell. This must be what democratic mayors feel like as they watch residents fleeing their crime-ridden cities.
On the second day after the siege, the submerged coon bloated and floated and I was able to fish it out.
That little Winchester is mighty slick. It's my understanding that they're no longer made. That's a shame.
I hope the coons ran far enough that they'll no longer be a menace to the girls' horses, although I tend to doubt it.
If they stayed around I kinda hope they move back under the deck. Shooting coons in a barrel while smoking a good cigar is a damnably amusing lazy man's sport.
