I Killed A Badger Once

The markets are in slow motion.  Pull up a chair because I have a troubling story to tell. Dachshunds are vicious little monsters. They were bred by Nazis for killing ground varmint. The quality of a dachshund is determined by their body-to-foot ratio, how smooth their coat, and the length of their ‘flag’.

The schnitzel-eating Germans call a dachshund tail a flag because these dogs are designed to go into a hole and latch onto varmint.  At this point you grab the dog by the tail and pull her and marmot or whatever out.  The better the flag, the easier it’s seen and able to be grabbed.

Anyhow I love these dogs, and my modern dachshund Momo is no killer:

One cold morning, just after buying my house I came outside to a raucous.  Bruno (the uglier of the two dogs above) was going insane and Momo was eye-to-eye with a badger twice her size.  Some deep canine instinct convinced my dog she could take out this massive creature.  I had to intervene, otherwise I would be left with thousands of dollars in vet bills or worse, a dead dog.

Long story short I grabbed a steel rake and bashed the badgers skull in, rake tongs first.  It was horrible.  The poor thing’s tail spun in circles like a helicopter for 10 seconds (it felt like 10 years).  It was the worst act I have ever commited.  I’m not a killer.  I hate killing and lately I’m finding it difficult to eat meat.

This is why I know I cannot hunt.  Every year my friends ask to me join them on their murderous hunting campaigns.  I would rather eat grass then hunt my own food.

I gave the badger a proper Italian burial.  I wrapped the carcass in cheese cloth soaked with extra virgin olive oil (squeezed by the nuns of Tuscany) before lowering the body into a deep hole.  His little body rests beside my grape vines now.  The dogs were fine.  Actually, I think they liked the whole event.  They are nasty little fuckers.

 

If you enjoy the content at iBankCoin, please follow us on Twitter