Hillbilly Wars - It's a Piss Off

Part of the charm of living out here in the sticks is the show nature puts up for us on a daily basis. We are adjacent to not one, but two local nature sanctuaries so we see a lot of nature. Birds, rabbits, porcupines, beaver, a badger or two, some coyotes and a fox. They all call my property home. Not one of them pays me any rent.

Things get interesting when the larger forest critters come out to play. We have several deer who have taken to eating my trees until they are nothing but sticks. Then there are the swamp donkeys, also known as moose, who nest in my trees and poop on my lawn. Lovely. But I always have organic fertilizer.

Last summer, a big boy came out to play. Not a wimpy, grass-eating, manure-spreading herbivore. More of the hear-me-roar, blood thirsty carnivore type. A cougar. We are surrounded by bears and cougars, and for the most part, we ignore them - carefully. And they generally stay away from the residential areas. But this was an aging grampa who didn't see the carefully posted Nature Sanctuary signs and made his way over to my side of the fence.

Since my small children were inside, and my dog was away sowing his seed, there was a decided lack of food at my place. So off to the hillbilly neighbors he went. Over there in Hicksville, he found himself an assortment of penned sheep and little goats. He, literally, had the pick of the litter. So after making his choice he would then bring the carcass over to my property and have himself a merry little feast. Nothing like a picnic on a sunny afternoon.

My hillbilly neighbors soon noticed livestock was missing and set out to solve the problem. They tracked them big ole paw prints and found several half-chewed animals. After having the local authorities out to confirm the kill as a cougar's, the friendly neighborhood hillbilly made his way to my house.

Now, I know, dear internet, you are thinking, well that was mighty neighborly and all. Clearly, Hillbilly neighbor is not that bad of a guy. After all, he went out of his way to let me know a rogue cougar was out and about, and please, don't let the kiddies get eaten. Up to this point, I might even have agreed with you, dear internet. But stay with me here. I do have a long-winded point.

Seeing my neighbor's battered pickup truck weave up my driveway, I went out to greet him. I am no fool. I didn't want him in my house.

"Howdy," he said. Clearly a little inebriated, he wobbled, and then pulled an eviscerated goat out of the back of his truck. "Found this here, out on your property. Damn cougar is picking off my goats and eating 'em out in your trees."

Being the good neighbor I am, I thanked him profusely for the heads up. After all, it is a tad alarming knowing a large hungry cat is on the prowl, possibly waiting in the woods just to take a bite out of you. But the hillbilly neighbor is leering just a bit, having trouble making eye contact. Great a damn cougar and now a hillbilly pervert. A little uncomfortable, I take a few steps backwards and try to get him to take a fucking hint and leave. Clueless hillbilly. The dumbass wants to know if I have any beer? After all, it's thirsty work tracking pussy. Picture a crestfallen hillbilly when I told him I had no beer.

Saying thanks and goodnight for the umpteenth time, I backed up more. He took two steps forward, and then seemed to clue in, and muttered goodbye. Halle-fucking-llujah. But just as I think he's going to weave his way home, he unzips, whips out ole millimeter peter and starts to piss. On the ground. In front of me. His whizz splashed my slippers.

What did I do, dear internet? Stood there like a fucking statue and waited till he finished. It is not everyday a complete stranger pisses on my feet. And not a quick pee either. It was the mother load of urine, a river puddled at my feet and ran down my driveway. Finally, he gave his willy a quick shake, tucked it in and like a true gentleman, offered to shake my hand.

I wish I had a snappy comeback, but admittedly, I was in shock. My first golden shower. There were no words at the time. I scurried into my house, bathed and burned my slippers.

In the end, the evening taught me something. I learned nature knows no boundaries and most importantly, I learned that my husband is hung like a friggin' horse next to our neighbor.

**Stay tuned for next weeks edition of Hillbilly Wars when I write about the hillbilly's dog from hell. It involves dirty diapers and dead chickens. How's that for quality entertainment?**