One little English major critique: if you should write a book of modern fables, give the animals their own voice...
Otherwise, I woke up one night in the tent in my parents back yard, like there was a skunk in the vestibule. My eyes burned and my esophagus contracted. I climbed out to find my 6month old puppy on her overnight leash, smelling as she had been sprayed, looking like she was sad because she couldn't figure out why that strange creature didn't want to play...
Dialogue, yes. Show the reader, tell less. It is sort of like that frog and the scorpion tale that has become so ubiquitous. It is always told like a dialogue between them.
Thanks for the advice, William. I'll take it under advisement, should I ever revisit the tale.
Or perhaps you can rewrite it in your preferred style? One thing about fables, myths and fairy tales is they are constantly being retranslated and retold. That's their "secret weapon"! ;-)
See that's just it, skunks are generally nocturnal, but they don't hide much. They don't go looking for trouble, but even when confronted they saunter. I used to have two living under my front step, about 5 feet from where I parked my car, and when I came home at night and they were out, they always seemed to be making a decision as to whether they wanted to bother hiding till I went away before sauntering back under the step.
In your story, the skunk is overly coy, and comes across as not really knowing why other animals don't mess with him. If he knows, especially in the face of a boorish lion's blustering, he isn't likely to be so. He's going to take a more direct "look mate, you don't want to mess with me" attitude.
Weasels are crafty mustelids, but skunks know damned well they don't have to be. They have one trick, and advertise it pretty well. They might be subtle about the trick, but only to amuse themselves or be polite. They want you to know exactly why you don't want to mess with them, because if you only find out after taking a bite they don't exactly win.
Very good! I feel like the skunk should have some small line at the end, perhaps focused on how he doesn't get why people always run. Maybe "What a frightful fellow! I guess he had somewhere to be..."
Of course, skunks know very well why their enemies flee, and only release their stinky spray on purpose (or death). Still, the story is fun!
Reread the the story incorporating the skunk's knowledge about his own "secret weapon". What would it say about the skunk's personality, and the the strategic angles of his mind?
I imagine skunks have sort of the personality of the extremely large fellow sitting behind a desk that belies his size. Most really big guys I have known have also been very gentle and nonaggressive, because they know they are big and don't have to demonstrate it. When they encounter someone who doesn't seem to understand how powerful they are, they tend to keep the understatement and just quietly remind the other, perhaps by standing up.
Skunks also are not immune to their own spray, so presumably would be very polite and quiet about it.
Strategically, when meeting a new animal like a lion who is quite obvious about where his power lies and what his nature is, a skunk wants to avoid direct posturing that might antagonize the other. The lion will learn his lesson about skunks if he kills it, but that doesn't do that particular skunk any good. So the skunk would likely be demure, and perhaps hint that "things that threaten a skunk generally don't do it long, or more than once." Possibly with reference to the tell tale white markings.
Another angle is that a skunk might early on make a joke about how he is so powerful even "passing gas" makes animals fear him. The lion scoffs and challenges him, because what could be so scary about a fart?
"One evening as he strolled through his kingdom, a great lion came across a strange little animal he had never seen before. With its head down and bushy tail up, it scrabbled in the grass catching worms and grubs and crunching them with great relish.
"Ho there, little one! What sort of animal you? Some sort of mongoose?" asked the lion.
"Oh!" said the little animal, jumping back. "What you mean you don't know? Are you new here?"
"New here?!" the lion roared "I rule here! How dare you show such disrespect?"
"Well" said the little creature "I meant no disrespect, but you don't rule me, neither."
The lion leaned in and bared its great teeth, glaring into the tiny eyes just a few inches from its own. "Are you so sure of your strength that you would challenge me?" he said with a low, meaningful growl.
The little animal met the lion's gaze while anxiously hopping side to side. "Why, I am so mighty, even the biggest lions run wailing in fear of me lest I so much as pass gas at them!"
The lion thought this bit of ridiculousness tremendously funny, pulling his head back and letting out a mighty guffaw. "HAH! Well then little bug nibbler, let me judge your trick! I suppose you stand on your head to make it more impressive!"
"As a matter of fact, I do," replied the little fellow, smiling quietly to himself.
And so he did.
As the lion ran off wailing into the night, the little animal got down on all fours and went back to scrabbling for dinner.
"You'd have thought the black and white stripes would have tipped him off" the skunk mumbled around a mouthful of grubs.
I quite like your translation, too! I'll post a link to it at the bottom of the article.
Although I'll say this: yours is structured more like the traditional form, but I think it misses another lesson buried in my version. Which is fine, by the way. Bundling multiple meanings into a myth tends to dilute them all somewhat. Perhaps I will attempt to extract the other meaning into a separate fable some day.
That seems to be the case. They go out of their way to avoid using it (not always far out of their way) and work pretty hard to avoid getting it on their own fur. Hence some species doing hand stands (front paw stands) before they spray; doubles as last warning and getting the glands up and pointed right away from the critter.
When people trap skunks for removal, say from under your front step, they use cages as small and importantly low as possible. If the skunk can't lift its tail it won't spray. (Almost always, anyway. I am sure there is an exterminator out there with a smelly tail.)
Quick substack-related question: did you read the emailed version of this, or on the substack feed? Sadly the initial version I emailed out was riddled with errors, so I published an edit.
I think I read the email. I usually only click through to the site when I am saving it to read/respond to later, and don't read a lot on the phone. I find for myself I almost always put off publishing till the next day and try to read over and edit closely at least once before publishing for exactly that reason. I am paranoid about putting out something nonsensical and not realizing it then not being able to retract it.
I have spent enough time around animals to be quite certain they know and understand certain things. Maybe not exactly the way we do, but there is a lot of intention in the actions of a dog or cat, not to mention notorious assholes like ponies or horses. Cats especially learn quickly what they can and can't get away with doing, and with whom.
I like skunks. They're so adorable. I used to walk a lot at night and I'd often see them. I've unintentionally passed by one very close. Neither he nor I were aware of each other's presence till we were almost right next to each other, and he seemed as eager to avoid me as I was to avoid him when we saw each other. I've never felt threatened by them or scared of them. I like them more than the racoons I also see at night, maybe because the racoons seem bolder, or maybe just because they're bigger. When I see coyotes I keep my distance, but I've never felt threatened by one. The never even take notice of me, which is always surprising to me. (I always take notice of them!) They're said to hunt housecats left outside at night.
Wow! Sounds like you live in quite a an interesting ecosystem! I've lived in cities the vast majority of my life, so the wildlife I'm used to seeing are cockroaches, rats, pigeons, squirrels and the occasional mutant sewer alligator or CHUD.
That said, we recently moved to the burbs, and now I see geese, deer and racoon fairly regularly, as well as the occasional groundhog or fox. I am acclimating well to it, I think.
There are lots of deer here, as well, and also foxes, which are my favorites of the wildlife near where I live. Up in the nearby hills are rabbits, lots of lizards (very interesting geometric patterns on their backs) and even some serious cats: bobcats and mountain lions. I've seen a juvenile bobcat for about one second; it suddenly appeared then disappeared immediately when it saw me. The foxes are sweet, friendly and tame. I've never seen a mountain lion, but quite a few people in this area have. There are cows that graze in the hills. They're shy and sleepy. They're endearing. Also geese and hawks. And in the early spring time the newts steal the show. Roads are closed to protect them in their annual trek to wherever it is they travel. And owls. Did you know their call is almost identical to mourning doves' but at a lower pitch? At least that's true of the owls who live around here. Like an English horn compared to an oboe, or a basset horn compared to a clarinet.
I live in the east bay area of the San Francisco bay area, close to the hills. There's a large nature preserve beyond the crest of the hills. It's a real treasure.
This was beautiful to read, Truthbird. Poetry of the best kind. Maybe it's the lateness of the hour or the hard drink in my paw, but I swear I was transported there, seeing all those animals, doing and saying their animal-things. The shy and sleepy cows, the friendly foxes (the only two I've seen here acted more like stray, suspicious cats), the newts parading across a guarded road. I could hear the owls, the doves, the instruments all at once. I love it.
I've never been to San Fran or the bay area, but the hills always sound so nice to me (and the pictures I've seen do too). The west coast in general is mostly a mystery to me.
I forgot to mention the turtles in one of the two lakes up in the hills. They're a sight to see, too. I haven't seen one on land in a long time, maybe for eleven years or more. They look more at home to me in the water. I had the feeling that the one turtle I saw on land was pretending to not be there. He (she?) kept its head inside its shell and just stayed there, immobile, while hikers walked by and gaped at it. I stood and watched it for a while. Only once for a few short seconds did it stick its head outside. I had the feeling it didn't feel safe. I don't blame it.
I hate the idea of people keeping turtles or tortoises as pets! It seems so cruel. But then, it seems cruel to me for people to keep most any animal as a pet. Especially birds! Then there are the dog owners who have little to no regard for their dog's emotional and physical needs. That's another whole category of horror. There's a horribly painful story I could share with you which has to do with this sort of psychopathy, which is much too long and gruesome to be in anyone's substack. Theoretically I write a substack of my own, but to date I haven't posted anything. I should probably tell this story there.
I just realized there's another realm I've forgotten to bring into the picture. The trees. The shrubs. All the greenery. They're not just beautiful; they're divine. I consider them to be entheogens, literally, not figuratively. After I'm in their midst for a while they induce in me a heightened state of awareness. They help me to escape the constricted, half-dead state of consciousness most contemporary people consider "normal." I can see and feel the divine energy which flows through the trees and which they manifest physically. They appear to shimmer, as though I'm on LSD. My body provides its own psychedelics. I used to think everyone experienced these states, but I've learned that's not true. I consider these experiences to be closer to actual reality than the mundane world we’re accustomed to experiencing.
One little English major critique: if you should write a book of modern fables, give the animals their own voice...
Otherwise, I woke up one night in the tent in my parents back yard, like there was a skunk in the vestibule. My eyes burned and my esophagus contracted. I climbed out to find my 6month old puppy on her overnight leash, smelling as she had been sprayed, looking like she was sad because she couldn't figure out why that strange creature didn't want to play...
Very good! Never underestimate your dinner 😊
Strangely enough, Rosa, from reading some of the comments below, I think you're actually the first person to grasp the moral of the story.
Indeed.
One little English major critique: if you should write a book of modern fables, give the animals their own voice...
Otherwise, I woke up one night in the tent in my parents back yard, like there was a skunk in the vestibule. My eyes burned and my esophagus contracted. I climbed out to find my 6month old puppy on her overnight leash, smelling as she had been sprayed, looking like she was sad because she couldn't figure out why that strange creature didn't want to play...
Interesting. Do you mean by that to include actual dialogue?
Dialogue, yes. Show the reader, tell less. It is sort of like that frog and the scorpion tale that has become so ubiquitous. It is always told like a dialogue between them.
Thanks for the advice, William. I'll take it under advisement, should I ever revisit the tale.
Or perhaps you can rewrite it in your preferred style? One thing about fables, myths and fairy tales is they are constantly being retranslated and retold. That's their "secret weapon"! ;-)
I took care of the dialogue for you :)
In other words, read it from the perspective of a crafty night slinker. who hides from the sun.
See that's just it, skunks are generally nocturnal, but they don't hide much. They don't go looking for trouble, but even when confronted they saunter. I used to have two living under my front step, about 5 feet from where I parked my car, and when I came home at night and they were out, they always seemed to be making a decision as to whether they wanted to bother hiding till I went away before sauntering back under the step.
In your story, the skunk is overly coy, and comes across as not really knowing why other animals don't mess with him. If he knows, especially in the face of a boorish lion's blustering, he isn't likely to be so. He's going to take a more direct "look mate, you don't want to mess with me" attitude.
Weasels are crafty mustelids, but skunks know damned well they don't have to be. They have one trick, and advertise it pretty well. They might be subtle about the trick, but only to amuse themselves or be polite. They want you to know exactly why you don't want to mess with them, because if you only find out after taking a bite they don't exactly win.
I actually don't think so, Doc. Again, try rereading the story as is if the skunk isn't telling the whole truth about himself. ;-)
I can see the sad little puppy and feel sorry that she couldn't have had a friend that night to play with.
Very good! I feel like the skunk should have some small line at the end, perhaps focused on how he doesn't get why people always run. Maybe "What a frightful fellow! I guess he had somewhere to be..."
Of course, skunks know very well why their enemies flee, and only release their stinky spray on purpose (or death). Still, the story is fun!
Wanted to add something...
Reread the the story incorporating the skunk's knowledge about his own "secret weapon". What would it say about the skunk's personality, and the the strategic angles of his mind?
I imagine skunks have sort of the personality of the extremely large fellow sitting behind a desk that belies his size. Most really big guys I have known have also been very gentle and nonaggressive, because they know they are big and don't have to demonstrate it. When they encounter someone who doesn't seem to understand how powerful they are, they tend to keep the understatement and just quietly remind the other, perhaps by standing up.
Skunks also are not immune to their own spray, so presumably would be very polite and quiet about it.
Strategically, when meeting a new animal like a lion who is quite obvious about where his power lies and what his nature is, a skunk wants to avoid direct posturing that might antagonize the other. The lion will learn his lesson about skunks if he kills it, but that doesn't do that particular skunk any good. So the skunk would likely be demure, and perhaps hint that "things that threaten a skunk generally don't do it long, or more than once." Possibly with reference to the tell tale white markings.
Another angle is that a skunk might early on make a joke about how he is so powerful even "passing gas" makes animals fear him. The lion scoffs and challenges him, because what could be so scary about a fart?
"One evening as he strolled through his kingdom, a great lion came across a strange little animal he had never seen before. With its head down and bushy tail up, it scrabbled in the grass catching worms and grubs and crunching them with great relish.
"Ho there, little one! What sort of animal you? Some sort of mongoose?" asked the lion.
"Oh!" said the little animal, jumping back. "What you mean you don't know? Are you new here?"
"New here?!" the lion roared "I rule here! How dare you show such disrespect?"
"Well" said the little creature "I meant no disrespect, but you don't rule me, neither."
The lion leaned in and bared its great teeth, glaring into the tiny eyes just a few inches from its own. "Are you so sure of your strength that you would challenge me?" he said with a low, meaningful growl.
The little animal met the lion's gaze while anxiously hopping side to side. "Why, I am so mighty, even the biggest lions run wailing in fear of me lest I so much as pass gas at them!"
The lion thought this bit of ridiculousness tremendously funny, pulling his head back and letting out a mighty guffaw. "HAH! Well then little bug nibbler, let me judge your trick! I suppose you stand on your head to make it more impressive!"
"As a matter of fact, I do," replied the little fellow, smiling quietly to himself.
And so he did.
As the lion ran off wailing into the night, the little animal got down on all fours and went back to scrabbling for dinner.
"You'd have thought the black and white stripes would have tipped him off" the skunk mumbled around a mouthful of grubs.
Now you've got it, Doc. ;-)
I quite like your translation, too! I'll post a link to it at the bottom of the article.
Although I'll say this: yours is structured more like the traditional form, but I think it misses another lesson buried in my version. Which is fine, by the way. Bundling multiple meanings into a myth tends to dilute them all somewhat. Perhaps I will attempt to extract the other meaning into a separate fable some day.
Learned something new from this. So skunks are bothered by their own self-defense smell? Poor things.
That seems to be the case. They go out of their way to avoid using it (not always far out of their way) and work pretty hard to avoid getting it on their own fur. Hence some species doing hand stands (front paw stands) before they spray; doubles as last warning and getting the glands up and pointed right away from the critter.
When people trap skunks for removal, say from under your front step, they use cages as small and importantly low as possible. If the skunk can't lift its tail it won't spray. (Almost always, anyway. I am sure there is an exterminator out there with a smelly tail.)
Quick substack-related question: did you read the emailed version of this, or on the substack feed? Sadly the initial version I emailed out was riddled with errors, so I published an edit.
I think I read the email. I usually only click through to the site when I am saving it to read/respond to later, and don't read a lot on the phone. I find for myself I almost always put off publishing till the next day and try to read over and edit closely at least once before publishing for exactly that reason. I am paranoid about putting out something nonsensical and not realizing it then not being able to retract it.
Sound advice, thank you.
I read on the feed.
I prefer that, personally. I read things on the feed because I know how writing goes, when you have no net of editors to catch you.
Haha, very good, very good.
(Although I'm not sure its proper to say a skunk -- or even a lion -- actually *knows* anything. I'll consult Aristotle on the matter.)
Talking ones certainly do :)
I have spent enough time around animals to be quite certain they know and understand certain things. Maybe not exactly the way we do, but there is a lot of intention in the actions of a dog or cat, not to mention notorious assholes like ponies or horses. Cats especially learn quickly what they can and can't get away with doing, and with whom.
I agree. See my question above.
I like skunks. They're so adorable. I used to walk a lot at night and I'd often see them. I've unintentionally passed by one very close. Neither he nor I were aware of each other's presence till we were almost right next to each other, and he seemed as eager to avoid me as I was to avoid him when we saw each other. I've never felt threatened by them or scared of them. I like them more than the racoons I also see at night, maybe because the racoons seem bolder, or maybe just because they're bigger. When I see coyotes I keep my distance, but I've never felt threatened by one. The never even take notice of me, which is always surprising to me. (I always take notice of them!) They're said to hunt housecats left outside at night.
Wow! Sounds like you live in quite a an interesting ecosystem! I've lived in cities the vast majority of my life, so the wildlife I'm used to seeing are cockroaches, rats, pigeons, squirrels and the occasional mutant sewer alligator or CHUD.
That said, we recently moved to the burbs, and now I see geese, deer and racoon fairly regularly, as well as the occasional groundhog or fox. I am acclimating well to it, I think.
There are lots of deer here, as well, and also foxes, which are my favorites of the wildlife near where I live. Up in the nearby hills are rabbits, lots of lizards (very interesting geometric patterns on their backs) and even some serious cats: bobcats and mountain lions. I've seen a juvenile bobcat for about one second; it suddenly appeared then disappeared immediately when it saw me. The foxes are sweet, friendly and tame. I've never seen a mountain lion, but quite a few people in this area have. There are cows that graze in the hills. They're shy and sleepy. They're endearing. Also geese and hawks. And in the early spring time the newts steal the show. Roads are closed to protect them in their annual trek to wherever it is they travel. And owls. Did you know their call is almost identical to mourning doves' but at a lower pitch? At least that's true of the owls who live around here. Like an English horn compared to an oboe, or a basset horn compared to a clarinet.
I live in the east bay area of the San Francisco bay area, close to the hills. There's a large nature preserve beyond the crest of the hills. It's a real treasure.
This was beautiful to read, Truthbird. Poetry of the best kind. Maybe it's the lateness of the hour or the hard drink in my paw, but I swear I was transported there, seeing all those animals, doing and saying their animal-things. The shy and sleepy cows, the friendly foxes (the only two I've seen here acted more like stray, suspicious cats), the newts parading across a guarded road. I could hear the owls, the doves, the instruments all at once. I love it.
I've never been to San Fran or the bay area, but the hills always sound so nice to me (and the pictures I've seen do too). The west coast in general is mostly a mystery to me.
I forgot to mention the turtles in one of the two lakes up in the hills. They're a sight to see, too. I haven't seen one on land in a long time, maybe for eleven years or more. They look more at home to me in the water. I had the feeling that the one turtle I saw on land was pretending to not be there. He (she?) kept its head inside its shell and just stayed there, immobile, while hikers walked by and gaped at it. I stood and watched it for a while. Only once for a few short seconds did it stick its head outside. I had the feeling it didn't feel safe. I don't blame it.
I hate the idea of people keeping turtles or tortoises as pets! It seems so cruel. But then, it seems cruel to me for people to keep most any animal as a pet. Especially birds! Then there are the dog owners who have little to no regard for their dog's emotional and physical needs. That's another whole category of horror. There's a horribly painful story I could share with you which has to do with this sort of psychopathy, which is much too long and gruesome to be in anyone's substack. Theoretically I write a substack of my own, but to date I haven't posted anything. I should probably tell this story there.
I just realized there's another realm I've forgotten to bring into the picture. The trees. The shrubs. All the greenery. They're not just beautiful; they're divine. I consider them to be entheogens, literally, not figuratively. After I'm in their midst for a while they induce in me a heightened state of awareness. They help me to escape the constricted, half-dead state of consciousness most contemporary people consider "normal." I can see and feel the divine energy which flows through the trees and which they manifest physically. They appear to shimmer, as though I'm on LSD. My body provides its own psychedelics. I used to think everyone experienced these states, but I've learned that's not true. I consider these experiences to be closer to actual reality than the mundane world we’re accustomed to experiencing.
One little English major critique: if you should write a book of modern fables, give the animals their own voice...
Otherwise, I woke up one night in the tent in my parents back yard, like there was a skunk in the vestibule. My eyes burned and my esophagus contracted. I climbed out to find my 6month old puppy on her overnight leash, smelling as she had been sprayed, looking like she was sad because she couldn't figure out why that strange creature didn't want to play...
A tale for our age. The boastful lions prowling the world stage best take note….