I’m driving back from town with take-away dinners. I slam on the brakes on our gravel road when I see a dead ferret in the road.

Why? Because they pose a serious threat to our wildlife!

And every year, Hunting and Fishing NZ stores host a contest that gives away $45,000 in goodies to customers who've handed in ferret and stoat tails.

Since I am not a ferret expert, as I approach the road kill ferret, I say to myself: “What if this critter is wounded? Or playing possum? And it lunges right for my eyes when I pick it up?”

So I kick it several times to ensure its rigor has mortised. All good. It is stiff as a plank.

I put my boot onto the carcass and try to cut off the wee tail. But this is a wild animal, and it’s skin is tough!

My bodacious farm knife is built for heavy-duty tasks, but it’s blade is not razor sharp. So I decide to saw off the tail using the serrated part of the blade. But that doesn’t work either.

And I am getting hotter and more frustrated by the moment, as I stand on the side of the gravel road, sweating profusely and probably looking like a nut.

Right-o.

I decide to stomp downward on the ferret’s croaked body as I use upward brute force and a dull knife blade to remove the tail. What could possibly go wrong?

And I immediately learn something. Ferrets are related to skunks.

They have scent glands near their anus that they use to mark territory and to recognize each other.

More importantly, they can also release these secretions when scared. Or when they are dead and some moron stomps on them while tug-sawing on their tail.

Ohhhhhhh momma!

It’s like getting blasted in the face by a squirt gun filled with thick, musky, gacky skunk water. No, it’s worse than that. Like having a bucket of Ferret Pew Juice poured right over your head.

Thank the Good Lord, my glasses have protected my eyeballs. But even so, I am in a bad way. And the most horrible “smell-taste” ever fills my nose and mouth, and the awfulness keeps expanding exponentially, even though no liquid got into my facial orifices.

Lawsy lawsy lawsy.

I whip off my glasses and wipe my face with my shirt tail. This in no way improves anything. I stumble wildly to the driver’s side door and grab a half-filled water bottle left in the cup holder by angels.

I splash and splash and splash my face until the water runs out. It reduces the odor markedly! But I can still smell it and taste it, and my anxiety is through the roof.

Will I get rabies? Will I go feral and blind?

I leap into the car and race the final half mile home, with the windows down.

Then I spend five minutes in the shower, soaping and rinsing, and soaping and rinsing and looking right into the water jets to ensure my eyeballs are 100% water blasted.

Same treatment for my tongue. As I dry off, I am pleased to discoverer that the odor has gone away. Mainly.

But when I put my specs back on, I am punched right in the face with a fresh blast ferrel feral pungence thanks to the anal juice still coating my lenses.

I wash and soap and wash and soap my specs in the sink with hot water, which releases even more toxic feral, ferret stinkoleum molecules, which FILL the bathroom.

But I keep washing and washing and washing, as the smell floods my mouth, as if I’d licked the dead ferret’s b*tthole.

Ohhhh momma!

After many minutes of effort and agony, I finally get my glasses clean. I spray cologne on myself and all over the bathroom, as I hear the Missus calling me to dinner.

Miraculously, there is not a single mention of Ferrell B*tthole Aroma, because the Missus is replaying Christmas memories in her head.

After dinner, I quietly go on line to see a) if I am likely to die or become a werewolf (no), and b) Can I still submit the tail for the Hunting and Fishing NZ contest? (No, because the MOFO stupid deadline has passed!!!)

But I can keep the tail in a plastic bag in the freezer until November 1 and submit it for the 2025 contest. And you can bet your booties I shall do just that.

Why not? We all know the Missus won’t notice a pungent ferret tail bagged up in her freezer, right? Amiright?

Lord have mercy.

(Editor's note: I held onto this story for 10 days to make sure I hadn't karked it, mutated into a werewolf or gone blind. I did not. But while proofreading the story, the taste filled my mouth like on the day of the spray...)

(Editor's note: Not from an of my Okie Boomer books. Just something from the farm for fun...)