Commentary by Danielle Wilson
As I approach my 10-year anniversary with Current, I’ll be sharing some of my most “famous” columns. Here’s the one that forever changed my spouse’s identity:
Pardon me, but my Kentucky is showing. Over the weekend, as I lay in bed, I heard what sounded like a small critter shuffling behind me. My first thought was “squirrel in the chimney,” but as the scratching shifted, I knew it had to be the attic. I went to fetch my man, who will heretofore be called “Doo” in reference to Loretta Lynn’s husband.
Doo confirmed that something was definitely up there, but said not to fret. I managed to fall asleep until more creepy pawing awoken me. Dang nabbit! I went outside to take a gander, but couldn’t see nothing.’ Then a demon with two pointy ears came into focus on the roofline, and I, naturally, hightailed it to safety.
At first light, Doo and his trusty broom discovered our perp, a big mother of a raccoon. He tried to scare the varmint onto the roof, but no good. The coon hunkered down between the joists. “I’ll be back,” Doo shouted, as he sped off in his truck, covered in sweat and insulation.
Now armed with a pellet gun, Doo returned to the attic, ready to go all “Deliverance” on the critter. From the front yard, I heard pop! pop! and then Doo hollerin’, “I got him!” Though we couldn’t find a body, we claimed victory. Yee-haw!
That night, however, our worst nightmare was confirmed. The dern raccoon was alive! So Doo again grabbed his gun and headed into the fray, while I sprinted outside. Pop! Pop, pop, pop! As I stood barefoot in a bathrobe, Doo bounded from the door in nothin’ but a pair of cut-offs, yellin’ he’d finally nailed the sucker.
How Butcher Holler is that? Me and Doo, half naked at midnight, trying to kill a coon with a shotgun? A big fat apology to neighbors who were lured to their windows by our back-woods shenanigans. We promise to keep our Kentucky better hidden next time. Peace out, y’all.