Sven & Ula: Town Hall Meeting
Last week Sven let the cat out of Ula's bag when he told Erin, Ula's then-wife of 2.9 plus years, (who has since left him and went back to the Emerald Isle where there are no skunks, especially the two-legged variety of which she considered Ula to be one) that they had skunks living under their porch. Faced with the problem of skunk elimination, Ula asks Sven to meet him at the town hall for a bit of lunch.
“You know dere’s a trick to skunk trappin’ so they don’t stink da place up, Ula,” Sven said. “Me ma an’ her brudder Ray used to trap ‘em for dere fur she told me. I don’t know if dey vacked ‘em in dere head vit a bat or smoked ‘em out, den sic’d da dog after ‘em, but you tink dey’d stink all da same, eh?”
“Yah Sven, dere’s a vay to do it alright, but it yust isn’t et’ical in me mind,” Ula said over coffee at the Vannaska Town Hall. “I’m an educated man, you know. I ‘ave more’n an eight’ grade education an’ am looked up to by all me peers because of me tinkin’ an’ feelin’ capabilities.”
“Oh yeah, I remember dat now dat you mention it,” Sven said as he sipped his coffee from a saucer. “It vas da same line of BS you fed Ursula to get her to marry you last year afta Erin left you an’ vent back to Ireland. Nut many men get outa a marriage vit dere nuts intact an’ all da silverware in dere drawers as you did. Fee fonn.”
Ignoring his friend’s ribbing, Ula continued, “It is because of dose same inalienable traits you ‘ear me speak so eloquently of, hereto, vy da township board appointed me da official red squirrel trapper knowin’ ‘ow dere vily vays vud meet dere doom ven matched agin mine.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, an’ you got dem dozen of squirrel trapping badges on your uniform jacket to prove it,” Sven said, finishing the coffee in his cup and the last hardtack cracker. “You know dey only made you da township squirrel trapper because Festus vas appointed constable, an equally pointless township yob.”
“Sadly, it is yust because of dose same amazing qualities I possess dat sorely affects me sensibilities,” Ula continued unabated. “It’s vy I live-traps squirrels an’ lets ‘em go dere at da township hall. Er..., in da Hovorka Svamp, I mean, vere dey can run an’ play all day. I yust can’t bring meself to shoot ‘em, da cute little buggers. Dey’re scared enough ven I lift them in dere cages to put dem in da truck, so I vear a squirrel mask to sood deir fears.”
“You vear a squirrel mask?” Sven said snorting coffee from his nose.
“Vere’d you get a squirrel mask?”
“I made it of course,” Ula scoffed, offended-like. “You yust don’t find squirrel masks at Normie’s on Main in Reed River--or in da sporting goods section of Knute & Leland’s General Mercantile in Vannaska. It’s kind of cute actually. I made it from squirrel tails of roadkills I have found.”
“And dis... squirrel mask... soodes da savage beasts? Or do you vear it around da house? You ain’t scurryin’ around neck-ed in dere are you?” Sven said with a wide grin on his face. “Maybe you should make a skunk vun too. Dere’s plenty of dem dead on da road. Den, if you played a flute, you could yust lead dem out of da yard.”
“Laugh if you must, Sven Guyson, but animal psychology is a field of serious endeavor deserving of your respect an’ I implore your indulgence yust dis vunce to my dilemma ‘ere dat I ‘ave sought to share vit you, you my closest friend in dis whole township hall ... building ‘ere.” Ula said, completely ignoring Sven’s comments and pouring himself another cup of coffeee from Sven’s thermos. “Ursula too, insists I must rid our yard of dese skunks or she’s going back to Idaho an’ get ‘er yob back at da truckstop vere ve met. I’d ‘ave to find anudder truckstop cafe to go to, den.”
“Such a deal, Ula.” Sven said, draining the thermos into is cup. “‘ow long dis skunk trappin’ going to take? Hmmm, bachelorhood after 3.8 plus months... Tink about it, Ula. “‘We could ‘ave a mighty party, Jackie”’
“Sven, be serious now,” Ula insisted. “I can’t be living vit’out me Ursula, me lovely wife of 3.8 plus months. I can cook for meself but I need her to mow da grass an’ do stuff around da house, vash vindows, shovel snow an’ da like, you know vat I’m sayin’, eh.
“At any rate, I’ve got to catch dis skunk or skunks an’ Festus told me ‘bout a trap made from a closed-end piece of ten-inch PCV tubing dat da skunk enters to get da bait an’ den a door closes behind it an’ traps him in dere.”
“Is dis vere da skunk mask comes in?” Sven asked with a straight face, then started laughing.
“NO!” Ula suddenly yelled, then abruptly calmed himself, fingering his ‘patience stone’ he carried in his jacket pocket. “Dere isn’t no stinkin’ skunk mask! As I vas sayin’, before you upset me, da skunk is in da trap behind da door an’ he can’t see you, eh. So den you pick da trap up an’--.”
“You pick da trap up vit da live skunk inside it??? Are you fookin’ daft, man?” Sven exclaimed, disbelieving what he had just heard come out of Ula’s normally intelligent mouth. “Dat’s like pickin’ up a handgrenade after its been t’rown or steppin’ out ‘tveen two parked cars in city traffic, man! It’s goin’ to be messy lad, vat are you tinkin’?”
“Festus says if they can’t see you, dey don’t squirt you!” Ula said with unnerving calm, the kind necessary for work as a bomb defuser.
“Yah an’ Festus says dat if you sneak up on ‘em in da voods an’ t’row a tiny hobble on dere back legs to keep dere little knees togedder, dey can’t squirt you either, Ula,” Sven said lookin’ at Ula over the tops of his eyeglasses. “You can’t be believin’ everyting Festus tells ye.”
“You believed him ‘bout skunks diggin’ dem holes in me yard, you Scot-Irish/scandahoovian scallywag!” Ula chided across the top of the picnic table. “I vas content tinkin’ dem vere squirrel ‘oles, an’ ‘eaven knows. . .Vat vas ‘er name? ‘Erin?’ Yah, Erin vas happier too til you shot off your mouth. So don’t be vavin’ a finger at me ‘bout believing Festus. Afterall, he’s your blood-relation an’ ‘ere you’re doubting his reputation...”
“My point exactly. I knows him too well,” Sven said, leanin’ past center of the table top. “You’ve got to separate da chaff from da grain, if you know vat I’m sayin’, Ula. Sometimes he speaks da truth an’ sometimes ‘e doesn’t.“
“An’ you’re tellin’ me, of all people, bullshit don’t run deep in yur family?” Ula interrupted. “Ennaways, Festus says you pick da skunk up in da trap an’ takes him to da river -- and t’rows him in -- yust like dat.”
“Skunks can svim, Ula,” Sven said, sketching a skunk on a napkin. “I saw a skunk svim ‘cross Snappin’ Turtle Creek toward our shack dere years ago, an’ I shot da moist little bugger vere he came out on da creek bank. ‘e never knew vat hit ‘im.”
“No Sven, da skunk in da trap doesn’t svim -- he drowns,” Ula said quietly. “I yust know some animal rights organization ’d prefer me to put da poor maligned beast to deat’ by pettin’, chin-ticklin’, or coochie-cooin’.”
“Da skunk drowns? In da trap?” Sven asked, twirling his beard between his fingers and contemplating such a situation. “Dat reminds me of da story me cousin Bob vas tellin’ me one time ven he an’ ‘is brother Mervin vere out after skunks in da spring, driving da bug they made out of an old Model T.
“‘e said dey’d stick a ‘ose from da exhaust pipe on dere car into da skunk ‘oles an’ gas ‘em. Den dey’d dig dem out ven vey vere dead. Vun day dey ‘ad dug out four skunks an’ den later discovert dey veren’t dead--quite. Dey vere yust groggy an’ all.
As so ‘appent, da boys ‘ad brought along some drinkin’ vater vit dem in a glass jar. Tinkin’ quick, Mervin took da coil cover off below da dash, turned it upside down an’ poured some vater in it. Den dey ‘eld da skunks’ noses in it an’ drownt ‘em dat vay. Said it didn’t take too long.”
“Oof-dah Sven! Dat’s yust awful!” Ula moaned. “I can’t do such a ting, skunks or not. And dat’s me ‘ole problem. I’m yust too tender-hearted. Vat am I to do? I don’t want Ursula, me wife of 3.8 plus months to leave me! I don’t know ‘ow to start da mower or mix oil an’ gasoline or ‘ow much vinegar an’ vater to vash vindows or vere da snow shovel is or how to use it...”
“Ula, Ula--vy didn’t you yust say so?,” Sven said. “I know you better’n anybody, save for Ursula yust now, and know you can’t ‘arm a flea -- or ‘ousefly. I understand your angst in dis matter perfectly an’, naturally ‘ave da answer to all your problems vere you not only get rit of all your skunks vitout killin’ dem, but you get to keep Ursula too, your vife of 3.8 plus months--an’ ve vill ‘ave fun doing it.”
“V-vat?,” Ula said, with both his two eyes rivited on Sven’s one brown and one blue eye. “Vat’s your idea, your answer to all dis? I should’ve known I could count on you!”
“Ve’re going to build ourselves a ... Um, ‘skunk chucker,’” Sven said, a smile building across his face, the tiny wheels and gears turning under his plaid black ‘n red ear-flap wool cap. “A real-life, first of its kind, township skunk chucker. It’ll be perfect. Ve’ll ‘ave to call Knorr Helmersson to do some veldin’ for us, den make a road trip to Knute & Leland’s General Mercantile. I’ll draw up a materials list. You bring da money.”
Last week Sven let the cat out of Ula's bag when he told Erin, Ula's then-wife of 2.9 plus years, (who has since left him and went back to the Emerald Isle where there are no skunks, especially the two-legged variety of which she considered Ula to be one) that they had skunks living under their porch. Faced with the problem of skunk elimination, Ula asks Sven to meet him at the town hall for a bit of lunch.
“You know dere’s a trick to skunk trappin’ so they don’t stink da place up, Ula,” Sven said. “Me ma an’ her brudder Ray used to trap ‘em for dere fur she told me. I don’t know if dey vacked ‘em in dere head vit a bat or smoked ‘em out, den sic’d da dog after ‘em, but you tink dey’d stink all da same, eh?”
“Yah Sven, dere’s a vay to do it alright, but it yust isn’t et’ical in me mind,” Ula said over coffee at the Vannaska Town Hall. “I’m an educated man, you know. I ‘ave more’n an eight’ grade education an’ am looked up to by all me peers because of me tinkin’ an’ feelin’ capabilities.”
“Oh yeah, I remember dat now dat you mention it,” Sven said as he sipped his coffee from a saucer. “It vas da same line of BS you fed Ursula to get her to marry you last year afta Erin left you an’ vent back to Ireland. Nut many men get outa a marriage vit dere nuts intact an’ all da silverware in dere drawers as you did. Fee fonn.”
Ignoring his friend’s ribbing, Ula continued, “It is because of dose same inalienable traits you ‘ear me speak so eloquently of, hereto, vy da township board appointed me da official red squirrel trapper knowin’ ‘ow dere vily vays vud meet dere doom ven matched agin mine.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, an’ you got dem dozen of squirrel trapping badges on your uniform jacket to prove it,” Sven said, finishing the coffee in his cup and the last hardtack cracker. “You know dey only made you da township squirrel trapper because Festus vas appointed constable, an equally pointless township yob.”
“Sadly, it is yust because of dose same amazing qualities I possess dat sorely affects me sensibilities,” Ula continued unabated. “It’s vy I live-traps squirrels an’ lets ‘em go dere at da township hall. Er..., in da Hovorka Svamp, I mean, vere dey can run an’ play all day. I yust can’t bring meself to shoot ‘em, da cute little buggers. Dey’re scared enough ven I lift them in dere cages to put dem in da truck, so I vear a squirrel mask to sood deir fears.”
“You vear a squirrel mask?” Sven said snorting coffee from his nose.
“Vere’d you get a squirrel mask?”
“I made it of course,” Ula scoffed, offended-like. “You yust don’t find squirrel masks at Normie’s on Main in Reed River--or in da sporting goods section of Knute & Leland’s General Mercantile in Vannaska. It’s kind of cute actually. I made it from squirrel tails of roadkills I have found.”
“And dis... squirrel mask... soodes da savage beasts? Or do you vear it around da house? You ain’t scurryin’ around neck-ed in dere are you?” Sven said with a wide grin on his face. “Maybe you should make a skunk vun too. Dere’s plenty of dem dead on da road. Den, if you played a flute, you could yust lead dem out of da yard.”
“Laugh if you must, Sven Guyson, but animal psychology is a field of serious endeavor deserving of your respect an’ I implore your indulgence yust dis vunce to my dilemma ‘ere dat I ‘ave sought to share vit you, you my closest friend in dis whole township hall ... building ‘ere.” Ula said, completely ignoring Sven’s comments and pouring himself another cup of coffeee from Sven’s thermos. “Ursula too, insists I must rid our yard of dese skunks or she’s going back to Idaho an’ get ‘er yob back at da truckstop vere ve met. I’d ‘ave to find anudder truckstop cafe to go to, den.”
“Such a deal, Ula.” Sven said, draining the thermos into is cup. “‘ow long dis skunk trappin’ going to take? Hmmm, bachelorhood after 3.8 plus months... Tink about it, Ula. “‘We could ‘ave a mighty party, Jackie”’
“Sven, be serious now,” Ula insisted. “I can’t be living vit’out me Ursula, me lovely wife of 3.8 plus months. I can cook for meself but I need her to mow da grass an’ do stuff around da house, vash vindows, shovel snow an’ da like, you know vat I’m sayin’, eh.
“At any rate, I’ve got to catch dis skunk or skunks an’ Festus told me ‘bout a trap made from a closed-end piece of ten-inch PCV tubing dat da skunk enters to get da bait an’ den a door closes behind it an’ traps him in dere.”
“Is dis vere da skunk mask comes in?” Sven asked with a straight face, then started laughing.
“NO!” Ula suddenly yelled, then abruptly calmed himself, fingering his ‘patience stone’ he carried in his jacket pocket. “Dere isn’t no stinkin’ skunk mask! As I vas sayin’, before you upset me, da skunk is in da trap behind da door an’ he can’t see you, eh. So den you pick da trap up an’--.”
“You pick da trap up vit da live skunk inside it??? Are you fookin’ daft, man?” Sven exclaimed, disbelieving what he had just heard come out of Ula’s normally intelligent mouth. “Dat’s like pickin’ up a handgrenade after its been t’rown or steppin’ out ‘tveen two parked cars in city traffic, man! It’s goin’ to be messy lad, vat are you tinkin’?”
“Festus says if they can’t see you, dey don’t squirt you!” Ula said with unnerving calm, the kind necessary for work as a bomb defuser.
“Yah an’ Festus says dat if you sneak up on ‘em in da voods an’ t’row a tiny hobble on dere back legs to keep dere little knees togedder, dey can’t squirt you either, Ula,” Sven said lookin’ at Ula over the tops of his eyeglasses. “You can’t be believin’ everyting Festus tells ye.”
“You believed him ‘bout skunks diggin’ dem holes in me yard, you Scot-Irish/scandahoovian scallywag!” Ula chided across the top of the picnic table. “I vas content tinkin’ dem vere squirrel ‘oles, an’ ‘eaven knows. . .Vat vas ‘er name? ‘Erin?’ Yah, Erin vas happier too til you shot off your mouth. So don’t be vavin’ a finger at me ‘bout believing Festus. Afterall, he’s your blood-relation an’ ‘ere you’re doubting his reputation...”
“My point exactly. I knows him too well,” Sven said, leanin’ past center of the table top. “You’ve got to separate da chaff from da grain, if you know vat I’m sayin’, Ula. Sometimes he speaks da truth an’ sometimes ‘e doesn’t.“
“An’ you’re tellin’ me, of all people, bullshit don’t run deep in yur family?” Ula interrupted. “Ennaways, Festus says you pick da skunk up in da trap an’ takes him to da river -- and t’rows him in -- yust like dat.”
“Skunks can svim, Ula,” Sven said, sketching a skunk on a napkin. “I saw a skunk svim ‘cross Snappin’ Turtle Creek toward our shack dere years ago, an’ I shot da moist little bugger vere he came out on da creek bank. ‘e never knew vat hit ‘im.”
“No Sven, da skunk in da trap doesn’t svim -- he drowns,” Ula said quietly. “I yust know some animal rights organization ’d prefer me to put da poor maligned beast to deat’ by pettin’, chin-ticklin’, or coochie-cooin’.”
“Da skunk drowns? In da trap?” Sven asked, twirling his beard between his fingers and contemplating such a situation. “Dat reminds me of da story me cousin Bob vas tellin’ me one time ven he an’ ‘is brother Mervin vere out after skunks in da spring, driving da bug they made out of an old Model T.
“‘e said dey’d stick a ‘ose from da exhaust pipe on dere car into da skunk ‘oles an’ gas ‘em. Den dey’d dig dem out ven vey vere dead. Vun day dey ‘ad dug out four skunks an’ den later discovert dey veren’t dead--quite. Dey vere yust groggy an’ all.
As so ‘appent, da boys ‘ad brought along some drinkin’ vater vit dem in a glass jar. Tinkin’ quick, Mervin took da coil cover off below da dash, turned it upside down an’ poured some vater in it. Den dey ‘eld da skunks’ noses in it an’ drownt ‘em dat vay. Said it didn’t take too long.”
“Oof-dah Sven! Dat’s yust awful!” Ula moaned. “I can’t do such a ting, skunks or not. And dat’s me ‘ole problem. I’m yust too tender-hearted. Vat am I to do? I don’t want Ursula, me wife of 3.8 plus months to leave me! I don’t know ‘ow to start da mower or mix oil an’ gasoline or ‘ow much vinegar an’ vater to vash vindows or vere da snow shovel is or how to use it...”
“Ula, Ula--vy didn’t you yust say so?,” Sven said. “I know you better’n anybody, save for Ursula yust now, and know you can’t ‘arm a flea -- or ‘ousefly. I understand your angst in dis matter perfectly an’, naturally ‘ave da answer to all your problems vere you not only get rit of all your skunks vitout killin’ dem, but you get to keep Ursula too, your vife of 3.8 plus months--an’ ve vill ‘ave fun doing it.”
“V-vat?,” Ula said, with both his two eyes rivited on Sven’s one brown and one blue eye. “Vat’s your idea, your answer to all dis? I should’ve known I could count on you!”
“Ve’re going to build ourselves a ... Um, ‘skunk chucker,’” Sven said, a smile building across his face, the tiny wheels and gears turning under his plaid black ‘n red ear-flap wool cap. “A real-life, first of its kind, township skunk chucker. It’ll be perfect. Ve’ll ‘ave to call Knorr Helmersson to do some veldin’ for us, den make a road trip to Knute & Leland’s General Mercantile. I’ll draw up a materials list. You bring da money.”
"Da plot sickens." Poor Ula. He needs a good stay-at-home order.
ReplyDeleteDere's historical precedent fer Sven's idea. See: https://wannaskanalmanac.blogspot.com/2018/03/the-wannaskan-almanac-for-thors-day.html
ReplyDeleteDat was a stroke of genius for that Wannaska bodyshop, eh. Dey recognized an opportunity and utilized vat dey 'ad on 'and to dere advantage. Pure genius, not dat dese Palmvilleians take a backseat to dem at all; for dis 'ere idea has been ruminating in Sven's mind fer sumtime. With Knorr's invaluable assistance the project may just get done . . .
Delete
ReplyDeleteWoe’s knowledge of all things almanacical is truly encyclopedical.