Wild Horses On The Salt

7

7A short time later, the low desert was still chilly, the temperature in the high fifties, the sky a clear blue, dotted here and there with cottony clouds.

Noah donned his white suit and broad-brimmed hat with the mesh veil, protective gear necessary because the bees were especially agitated after their nocturnal visit from the skunk and because this particular apiary housed a hot colony, one whose queen was a bit too Africanized. The theory was that most bees in the Americas had now been touched by their African relatives, the fiercer strain that had escaped from a quarantine facility in Brazil in 1957. But some colonies seemed more affected than others. Often it was the queen herself—who could live three to four years and produce up to one thousand eggs a day—that spread the wild trait to her offspring. If the bees proved too ornery, sometimes the queen would be killed, a scenario many beekeepers abhorred.

While cleaning up the mess the skunk left behind, Noah considered his options in regard to the animal. He didn't have the heart to kill it, but not because he was what Walt would have called “a delicate city boy.” Noah just believed that when people lived near wildlife, land on which the animals had existed first, there should be some outcome in which both could reside together in some semblance of harmony. And, even in dire circumstances, he eschewed poison of any kind, fearing for unintended consequences in regard to other wildlife, as well as domestic animals.

Skunks, of course, were especially difficult. Animal-removal people were loath to capture them for the obvious reasons, and even if they did trap the creature, where would they release it? No one was standing in line saying, “Sure, leave that skunk near my property.” And while skunks were good candidates for relocation since they were not territorial, the Phoenix Metropolitan monster intruded daily with new housing developments and strip malls and schools, so capture and release could just result in the animal becoming someone else's dilemma.

Noah was not built that way. He'd always been a problem solver.

The cat purred loudly and rubbed against his leg. “Maybe we can get you skunk-attack training, Red.”

The animal meowed, plopped into the grass, and rolled on its back.

Noah proceeded slowly, picking up the larger pieces of the broken apiary and depositing them in a red wheelbarrow. He pulled out the remainder of the bottom drawer, and bits of wood mixed with messy globs of honey fell to the ground. Using a metal rake, he gently pulled the pile away from the rest of the hive. Bees buzzed and dove at him, the insects wee brains unable to determine that he wasn't the bad guy.

After Noah cleaned up the remnants of the skunk's attack, he stepped away from the hive and removed his protective hat and gloves. He considered the options he might take to thwart the animal.

“What do you think, Red?” The cat followed him to the fence line. “Maybe we could put some chain link around the hives. Dig it deep into the ground. Maybe a couple of feet, so the skunk can't burrow underneath.”

Red meowed.

“Not sure if they're good climbers or not.” Noah crouched and scratched Red between the ears. “Maybe we'll have to extend the fencing over the top, as well.”

Red meowed again.