THUMPIN'

I truly want to keep this a "G" rated, mostly family blog, but I reckon I will step outside the bounds just a tad and tell this 'un. (Put the ear muffs and blinders on my granchillun?)

One night, me and the bride was watching TV (somethin' totally captivating no doubt) as all TV is these days (kinda like watchin' a pot of water boil?)

All the sudden, we began to hear a distinct thumpin' on the roof. I grabbed Mr. Flashlight, went outside to confront the "enemy" in my typical cop paranoid style, and in my trusty lantern's illuminating beam saw that a boar coon was procreating with Ms. Coon (thus the "thump" sound?)

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor in matters of the heart, I retired to my invaluable TV program.

Not to be. The infatuated woodland varmits was "THUMPIN" a hole in the roof.

Finally had enough and got my trusty Daisy air rifle out and proceeded to "pop" their butts to run them off.

Worked to perfection, except they just went to the other side of the roof peak. Once inside, I commenced to hear the "THUMP, THUMP, THUMP" again like the drums of African Zulu.

Went back out with fresh resolve (praise the Lord and pass the ammunition) and shot their butts again. Yep, ran to the other side and resumed doin' what was natural in the grand scheme of the Garden of Eden.

This little artillery waltz went on a bit until they finally realized that Romeo, I was not. They departed, with a bit of chagrin on their (raccoon) faces (the black masks tend to confuse their true emotions don't you think?)

I suspicion Mother Nature just don't cotton to Nielson ratings, prime time television programming, or grouchy butt, fat, old, gray haired men who don't much cotton to roof THUMPIN' as a musical ode repast?