Thor's Day May 14th, 2020

Happily, for those of you who have dutifully attempted to read this dialogue-based Sven & Ula series, this is the end of their story.                               
                                  Sven & Ula: Smokeless Power

    “You know, I’d be content yust to shoot skunks ‘cross da road,” Ula Josephson said, mopping the last of his lutefisk butter sauce from his breakfast plate with a piece of Asa Melvinsdottir’s homemade bread.

    “It’d be cool to target Vannasaka’s River Bank & Bridge Store for sure. Maybe lob a few clean to Dean Brateng’s or Duane Osell’s if ve could shoot dat far,” Sven Guyson said.
   
     “I t’ink da Bravanovisch’s are targets for da very first ‘aerial relocation,’” Ula added. “Plus, ve’d get dem out of our yard at least.”

    “Vell, ve could try yust 25 to 35 psi., for starters,” fourth generation blacksmith Knorr Helmersson said, as he carried dishes from the table to the kitchen. “You’ll learn 'ow to adyust da air pressure for da weigh’ of each skunk, b’cause dey’ll vary. You can guess vat it is by da weight of da trap or set up a scale by da chucker if you vant to be precise, but you’ve got many cubic decimeters to spare.”

    “Call Ursula, Ula, an’ ask ‘er if she’ll check da trap for you, eh. Dere should be a little red flag stickin’ up on top if you’ve caught something,” Sven said, carrying the last of the dishes to the sink.

    “Dere’s no vay, I’ll be calling me wife at dis time of da mornin’, especially on a Sunday. You t’ink me a fool?” Ula asked, as he pulled on his coat and bent down to tie his boots. “T’anks for breakfast, Asa!”

    “Suit yourself, Ula. Give us a call later,” said Sven, pulling on his coat. Pausing before he bent to tie his boots, he said “Knorr, you takin’ a nap or ‘eadin’ to church too?”

    “I best be prayin’ dis contraption doesn’t blow up after I velded it toget'er. It’s been quite da night, so yah, a nap vould suit me yust fine if Asa doesn’t pester me for love,” Knorr chuckled. “You?”

    “I need some shut-eye for sure. I’m glad Ula is as devout as ‘e is, othervise I’d be sleepin’ standin’-up in yust a few minutes. T’anks for breakfast Asa! Lutefisk vas great as alvays!” Sven hollered up the stairway, and out the door the two old friends went.

    Somewhere around 2 pm Sven opened his eyes. He could hear Ula talking to Monique in the dining room and laughing, so he got up out of bed to join them.

    “Yah, so I vas t’inkin’ ve could create a whole township division ‘round our skunk chucker an' call it, da TDNR, da Township Department of Natural Resources. Dis’d be our version of ‘Catch an' Release.’ Ve could ‘catch’ our varmints an’  ‘release’ dem over Grimstad, Golden Valley, Poplar Grove -- an’ even Marshall County! It’s too perfect!”

    “Ah Ula, you’re back to being two strokes below par again!” Sven said, trying on a sports analogy foreign to his common speech. “Vat’s in da coffee? Monique, vat’d you slip ‘im?”

    “Do not look at me, bon ami,” Monique said, shrugging her shoulders. “He is wound up like I have not seen him. He told me he did catch a skunk though.”

    “Perfect!” Sven said excitedly, looking at Ula. “Let’s call Knorr an’ see if ‘e’s ready to go.” Monique handed Sven the phone.

    “Nice pajamas, Sven,” Ula managed. “Are dose space ships on dem?”
    “No,” Sven replied.”Dey’re Flying Pigs.”

    The three walked into Knorr’s welding shop and opened the overhead door. “I modified da receiver a little vile you guys vere nappin’,” Knorr said. “In order for da ‘bullet’(da skunk) to exit da ‘cartridge’ (da trap) I realizt ve ‘ad to top load it so I removt a section of da blower tube ‘bout ‘’ere vit a two-step lockin’ mechanism dat vill vitstand da expulsion of pressure out da ‘muzzle.’ ‘ope you two don’t mind.”

    “Vell, let’s go den, eh,” Knorr said. “Back your truck up, Ula.”

    Sven could see Ursula as a silhouette watching from the porch as the two trucks drove in and parked east of the new cow shed. Knorr motioned for Ula to back the TSC into the clearing there, then unhooked the chucker from the hitch as Ula went to get the skunk
trap.

    Setting the trap down where Knorr could grab it later, Sven lifted the portable air tank from the back of Ula’s truck, and as Ula watched the pressure gauge, began pressurizing the reservoir on the skunk chucker to about 35 lbs.

    “Dat’s t’irty five!’ Ula hollered. 

    Knorr removed the muzzle cap, gripped the two step latch mechanism and flipped it open. Setting the skunk and the skunk trap in the receiver, he opened the trap’s door, flipped the latch closed and locked it down again. Patting it, he looked first at Sven, then to Ula.

    “Da first volley is yours, Ula. But ve oughta decide vere you’re goin’ to aim it, eh?”

    “Let’s shoot for da roof of da Bravanovisch 'ouse,” said Ula, surprised by Ursula who had slipped her arm around his quite unexpectedly.

    “Sven, block dat veel, vill you?” Knorr said, pushing the other backwards, thus swinging the TSC barrel, north northwest, pivoting from the blocked wheel.

    “Ula, turn da elevation veel counterclock-vise to raise da barrel. Come ‘round ‘ere now, Ula. ‘ere is your ‘trigger.’ You yust squeeze da 'andle of dat air nozzle an’ off da booger’ll go. Ready? Sven, you clear?”

    “Clear!” answered Sven, to the left of the TSC, looking north in anticipation.

    “FIRE!!” Knorr yelled.

    Ursula covered her ears.

    “PLIFF!” answered the township skunk chucker and the skunk shot out of the barrel like a black wig on a cannonball. It was gone from their sight in an instant.

    “HOOYAH!” hollered Sven, his right hand thrust high in the air.

    Ula hugged Ursula--then Knorr, and leaped about hootin’ and hollerin’ himself.

    “Great fun!’ Ursula said. “Dere’s no noise to it! Let’s shoot somet’ing else! Ula, you vant any frozen chickens?”

    The next day Sven was filling his car at the Riverbank & Bridge Convenience Store in Vannaska and went inside to pay for it when he overheard a Bravanovisch talking at the far end of the bar there, sipping a sudsy root beer.

    “Me and da little voman vere takin’ a nap on Sunday ven we ‘eard dis ‘ard ‘t’ud’ ‘ginst da roof of da house an’ later two more t’uds farder avay.”

    This caught Sven’s attention and though he was running late for work at the toy factory himself, leaned into the conversation and asked the question that was on everyone else’s lips, 
“Vat ‘appened?”

    “Oh dat rotten branch on da oak finally broke an’ fell ‘ginst da ‘ouse,” Bravanovisch said, writing a check for cash and his root beer. “Ve t’ought, an’ so vent back to sleep until da little voman snifft da air coming t’rough da crackt open vindow dere an’ said, “Feefon Marco! Vake yer arse up! An’ she gave me a such push!”

    “Like a Holstein agin a stanchion!” yelled the obnoxious patron, his face hidden by the Chip ‘n Dip display.

    “Vell, den I could smell it too, you know? A foul stench, it vas, an’ I said to da little voman dere, “‘Oofdah, voman, my eyes are aburnin’ too! Dis is either Josephson’s drain field agin or somevun ‘it a skunk on da road! Close da vindow voman!

    “Vell, dat din’t ‘elp, so I got dresst in me chore close an’ vent outside to look at da roof, an’ dere alimpin’ on da roof of me ‘ouse vas a big ol’ skunk, its fur all close to its body an’ its eyes like slits so dat it lookt like a damn cat!”

    “Vat? It lookt like a stinkin’ cat?” the patron hollered from behind the Bread ‘n Buns shelving. “Mebbe you trippt down da stairs an’ ‘it your ‘ead?”

    “No, I didn’t tript down me stairs an’ hit me ‘ead!” Bravanovisch said, trying to see who the patron was wandering about the store.    “It vas a skunk vit its fur all close to its body, an’ its eyes cloest like slits, standin’ on me roof, an' needer of us knowin’ ‘ow ‘e got dere. An’ den, back be’ind me barn, ‘vay back by me out’ouse, an’ it sittin’ off-kelter for some reason, vas a couple of frozen chickens!”

    “It vas probably da TDNR dat did it!” the patron mused loudly from behind the Bean ‘n Beet section. “Talk is dat da Minnesota Endangered Species Management Plan of 2020 identified a minimum statewide population goal of 1600 skunks for each of da 2775 townships in Minnesota--and Grimstad Township falls far short of that, I hear tell.
   
    “Seein’ as you live in Grimstad dere, Bravanovisch, likely you vere targeted for an ‘aerial relocation’ an’ a skunk vas ‘delivered’ to your property, via airmail, da evening before last, eh. I’d be expectin’ alot more in da comin’ year. Da chickens vere yust for show!.”

    “‘ho are you?” Bravanovisch hollered towards the back of the store seeing only the back of a man in uniform exit the rear door.

    Sven smiled, looked at the clock, and fled the building too -- late for work, again.