The Possum Hunt

In the fall of 1940 Will Lockhart, Pete Malone, and I (Roy Watson) went possum (o’possum) hunting on the Old Watson (Eli Watson Jr.) Farm south of Kilmichael, Mississippi. We took our black mongrel our dog that we called Sport. We had never taken Sport without catching a possum. Usually we came home with a sack full. On this hunt we had been up until nearly midnight and hadn’t heard anything from the dog in over an hour. Sport was having trouble rousing up a possum that night because of the bright moonlight and the dryness of the dead leaves on the ground. We were sad and ready to go home.

Just before midnight we heard Sport over a hill in the northeast direction about a mile away. We struck out through the woods toward the bark. Before we got to the dog, Will said, “He’s got him bayed.” Will was hard to fool about hunting, so Pete and I did not argue. Surely enough when we reached the dog he was digging in the ground and barking. The air was full of the subtle scent of a skunk. Sport had chased the skunk into a sink hole. I told Will that we should go home and leave the skunk alone. Will said, “Baby we are gonna kill that skunk.” He walked over a few feet, took his axe and cut a long slim green pole about the size of a man’s forearm.

Will then laid out the battle plan. He assigned Peter to hold the dog back. He told me that the hole led back out of the ground about ten feet away, and that I was to punch the skunk with the pole and make him come out at the other end. Will promised that when the skunk came out that he would shoot him. We knew that Will was a very good shot. Just the same we told him that he had better not miss him. Pete and I knew from stories we had heard that skunks had a very effective offense. Pete continued to hold the dog and I punched down in the hole as instructed. But we were very nervous about the whole thing. You see Will had his favorite hunting piece along, his single shot 22 caliber rifle. If he missed the skunk had the clear advantage.

After a few minutes of dog holding, skunk punching, and Will waiting at the sink hole exit; Will fired. I ran immediately down to Will’s end of the hole to see what had happened to the skunk. Pete asked, “Did he get him?” I rebounded, “Yes, right between the eyes. He’s dead as a doornail.” Pete turned the dog loose. Now Sport was known for his ferocity and this skunk needed a good shaking. The instant Pete turned him loose he went running to the dead skunk, got the skunk by the nape of the neck and slung his tail-end in wide vigorous arcs. The skunk had pumped his juice sack packing full during all that aggravation of the dog and the punching. He couldn’t have done a better job of delivering the potent stuff had he lived. The spray covered all three of us. We turned sick immediately and had a vomiting party. After about a half-hour the others and I had upchucked everything inside us. Going home without a possum was the least of our worries. The only thing good that happened was that after about an hour we ceased to be sick and in fact could no longer smell the skunk.

When I arrived home my mother had smelled me as I came down the road. She was standing on the front porch with a change of clothes for me. It was about 2:00 AM. She told me to go to the well-house, draw water, and scrub with yellow soap. She ordered me to get a shovel, dig a hole in the ground down in the garden, and bury my skunk-soaked clothes before I came in the house. It was cold, but I followed instruction.

For the next few days when William, L. E., or other family members came near me they would say “Phewey” and get away from me as soon as possible. I was not allowed to eat with the family. Mama made me eat on the back porch with Will for about two weeks after that night.

This was written by Roy C. Watson at Jackson, Mississippi on September 12, 1988.