Skunked! Read online

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  For animal lovers everywhere

  1

  None of the terrible things that happened need have happened at all if the skunk hadn’t drawn attention to itself by ripping up our garden and stealing a bunch of vegetables. And if Father hadn’t told the hired man to set a trap and kill it. And if the skunk hadn’t turned out to be a mother with a baby hidden in a den nearby. And if my younger brother Travis hadn’t heard the hungry baby crying and stopped to investigate.

  But this unfortunate chain of events did occur, with Travis winding up in disgrace and a hero at the exact same time.

  You may wonder how one boy, age eleven and a half, could end up both heroic and disgraced on the same day. Well, I’m going to tell you about it, and it’s all true. There may be some people in our town of Fentress, Texas, who suspect me of stretching the truth from time to time, but I swear this is not one of those times.

  In 1901 we lived in a big white house near the San Marcos River: me, Mother, Father, Granddaddy, and a total of six brothers. How I got stuck in this big old mess of boys I’ll never know. Life is just not fair sometimes. Rivers tend to attract wildlife, so living near a river is an excellent thing if you happen to be interested in such. Travis and I were both interested in wildlife but for different reasons. I was interested because Granddaddy was teaching me Science. Together we studied all kinds of life, wild and tame, big and small, flora and fauna (meaning both plants and animals). Travis, on the other hand, was crazy about animals as pets. He was always bringing home some wild creature or other, determined to make it his pet. He persisted in doing this even when the creature was just as determined to not be his pet.

  One fine day in May, he went down to the river. On the way he heard a strange noise unlike anything he’d ever heard before. The noise was like a squeak and a hiss and a grumble all mixed up together.

  “Hello?” he said. “Who’s there?”

  The noise stopped. Some other boy might have been scared, but Travis knew these woods and was not afraid. He stood very still. Then he heard the noise again. It was coming from a hollow tree. He peered inside and saw a tiny animal looking up at him.

  “A kitten! How’d you get stuck in there? Don’t worry. I’ll get you out, and then I’ll help you look for your mama.”

  Travis reached in. He gently pulled the kitten out. Except that the warm furry body curled in his palm wasn’t a kitten. It was a kit. Also known as a baby skunk.

  2

  Travis nearly dropped the kit in shock. But he knew that skunks spray only when they are scared or upset, so he stood very still and made no sound. He and the kit stared at each other. The baby had shiny black eyes, two white stripes down its back, and a fluffy tail. It sniffed his hand and tried to nibble his thumb.

  “Poor little guy, I guess you’re hungry. Where’s your mama? We better find her.” He explored the surrounding woods for a while, but there was no sign of her.

  Finally he said, “I guess I have to take you home with me. Your mama’s not going to be happy, and my mama’s not going to be happy, either. She doesn’t like it when I bring wild animals home, although I don’t see anything wrong with it myself. I’ll have to hide you somewhere or she’ll pitch a fit.”

  The kit began to squirm and grumble, so Travis tucked it into the bib of his overalls, where it settled right down. (It’s a cruel world for orphaned skunks unless they have the great good fortune of meeting my brother.)

  “All right, let’s get you to your new home.”

  The kit stayed quiet while Travis fretted about hiding it from Mother.

  “I guess you’ll have to live in the chicken coop.” He thought about this for a minute. “I suspect the chickens won’t like that. They’re really fussy. You won’t believe the racket they make when someone goes in their pen, even to feed them. And I can’t put you in the root cellar. Our cook, Viola, goes in there all the time to fetch potatoes. So I guess it’s the barn for you, my friend.”

  If the kit had any thoughts about this, he kept them to himself.

  Travis sneaked into the barn. He hurried past the horses and the milk cow and the barn cats to the farthest corner, where he kept his tame rabbits. It was dark and gloomy back there, and a new addition to the family would be less likely to be noticed. He hoped.

  He spoke to his prizewinning Angora rabbit. “Bunny, I want you to meet your new friend.”

  He held the skunk up to Bunny’s cage. Bunny’s nose twitched once; the kit’s nose twitched once. And then they ignored each other. So much for new friends.

  Viola rang the dinner bell on the back porch. Travis shoved the kit into the empty cage next to Bunny’s, saying, “Mother gets upset if we’re late to the table. After we eat, I’ll bring you your dinner, once I figure out what that is, of course.”

  He hurried inside and took his place next to me at the long table crammed with hungry brothers. After the blessing, he whispered, “Say, Callie, what do skunks eat?”

  I gave him a wary look. “Why do you ask?”

  “Um, no reason. I’m just curious.” He went back to eating his ham and potatoes and pretended not to notice that I was now staring at him in alarm.

  “Travis,” I hissed, “tell me you didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “Tell me you didn’t bring a skunk home,” I said, trying to whisper, but I was so anxious it came out a sort of strangled whisper-scream.

  Mother said, “Is there something wrong? Do you two have something you wish to share with the rest of us?”

  “No, Mother,” we said, and stared at our plates.

  Later when Mother was busy talking to someone else, I whispered to him, “There’s no skunk, right?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Right?”

  He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. I could see the answer in his face.

  3

  After dinner Travis grabbed a paring knife and stole an apple from the pantry and ran to the barn. The kit stood on his hind legs when he saw Travis and tried to reach through the wire with his paws.

  “Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten about you. Look, I brought you an apple. I hope you like it.”

  He was so busy slicing it that he didn’t hear me sneak up behind him.

  “Idiot!” I cried, and he jumped about a foot in the air.

  After landing back on earth, he said, “Gosh, Callie, you scared the life out of me. And it’s not very nice of you to call me an idiot.”

  “I’m calling you an idiot for the simple reason that you are one. Nobody in their right mind brings a skunk home. Can you imagine what Mother and Father will say? You’ve got to let it go this instant before it sprays someone.”

  The baby grumbled and reached for the apple.

  “Look, Callie, he’s hungry. We have to at least feed him.”

  Travis unlatched the cage and held out a slice of apple. The starving kit took it in its tiny paws and ate the whole thing in five seconds flat.
Then, with twitching nose, it held out its paws for more.

  It really was very cute. And it didn’t seem to smell. And normally no one visited this corner of the barn except Travis. And owls and coyotes hunted nearby at night. And that’s why I agreed, against my better judgment, to keep it overnight and let it go “first thing in the morning.” (This makes me such an idiot I can barely believe it.)

  By the time morning came, Travis had named the kit Stinky, which wasn’t strictly true.

  Let me tell you something you might not know: The rule is that once you’ve made the mistake of yanking a wild animal out of its natural habitat, you have to look after it. You become responsible for its welfare. And once you’ve given it a name? It’s all over. That animal becomes part of your family. So although Travis looked like the same brother on the outside, inside he had turned into a mama skunk.

  4

  The next day was Saturday. Travis and I zipped out to the barn before dawn to check on the baby. We fed it some carrot peelings, and it gobbled them down so fast I was afraid it would choke.

  “All right,” I said, “that’s done. I’m going out now to make my Scientific Observations. You can come too but you have to be quiet. You know how you are.” Travis tended to chatter while I was working, and oftentimes I had to shush him to get my work done.

  Travis scooped up the kit and stuffed him down his overalls.

  “What are you doing?” I said.

  “I’m bringing Stinky along for the walk.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  Travis peeked down his bib. “Look, he’s asleep. He won’t be any trouble, I promise.”

  I looked, and the kit had indeed fallen fast asleep against Travis’s chest. It looked a whole lot happier than me. I sighed. What could you do with a brother like this?

  “Okay. But if I hear a single peep out of either one of you, you’re on your own. Got it?”

  “Got it.” He smiled.

  On the way to the river, he proceeded to tell me a long, complicated story about something that had happened at school between him and my best friend, Lula, and I had to shush him about twelve times. Each time he’d nod and promise to be quiet, and then a minute later he’d be gabbing again. Normally I enjoyed his company, but not when I was working. My observations were serious stuff.

  We made it to the inlet and found a good place to sit on the riverbank just as the sun was coming up through the trees. The water at the inlet was quiet and shallow. It didn’t smell so good, but it was an excellent place to find turtles and tadpoles and such. Travis lay back on the warming grass and snoozed. I printed in my Scientific Notebook: May 20. Clear and fine. Winds from the southwest. Then I sat quietly and waited for Nature to show herself to me.

  A few minutes later, a great blue heron glided silently down the river and, to my great surprise, landed in the shallows only twenty feet away. It had not noticed us. I froze in place and prayed that Travis would stay still. I’d never seen the Ardea herodias up close before. The bird was huge, with a wingspan of six feet, its beak long and sharp as a dagger, its plumage a mixture of rich blue and gray. Suddenly, faster than my eye could follow, it snaked its head into the water and came up with a small perch. Was the fish for its own breakfast or was it intended for its hatchlings? Maybe there was a nest nearby. Herons built nests that looked like huge piles of sticks all jumbled up, so messy that you wondered how they held together.

  Just then the kit stirred and woke Travis, who started to sit up. I hissed at him, “Shh, don’t move,” but it was too late. The heron launched itself into the air with a harsh cry of outrage, so at odds with its graceful appearance. It flew downriver with ponderous wingbeats, each flap so slow it made you wonder how it could possibly stay aloft.

  “Wow,” said Travis. He saw the look on my face and said, “Sorry, Callie, I didn’t mean to scare it off.”

  But I was too busy looking at what the bird had left behind to chew him out properly. In the shallows floated a large blue feather, almost a foot long. I hurried to snag it with a stick before it floated away. I ended up getting my boots wet but it was worth it. Holding it to the sun, I noticed it looked blue when I turned it one way and gray when I turned it the other. Why? I’d have to ask Granddaddy about this.

  I let Travis hold it for a minute to let him know I’d forgiven him.

  “It’s a real beauty,” he said. “Are you going to make a pen out of it?”

  I was tempted, but quill pens were hard to use without making a terrible mess everywhere. Pencils were much safer. I said, “No, I think I’ll just add it to my shelf.” I kept a collection of bones and fossils and other such treasures in my room. “And besides,” I went on, “my penmanship is nothing to write home about.”

  I watched him to see if he got the joke. It took him a moment, but then he laughed. I always enjoyed making him laugh. It was like the sun bursting out from behind the clouds on a gloomy day.

  We made our way toward the cotton gin. Halfway there, Stinky poked his head out and started making loud grumble-squeaks.

  “What’s wrong with him?” I said.

  “I don’t know. He looks okay to me. Maybe he’s hungry again.”

  We entered a clearing, and the kit got louder and louder, its calls echoing from tree to tree. I listened closely.

  “What is that?” I said. By now the skunk was squawking so loudly you could barely hear yourself think.

  Travis looked puzzled. Then he broke into a big smile and trotted over to a hollow tree. He peered inside and said, “Look, Callie! It’s the tree where I found Stinky.”

  I looked. To Travis’s joy—and to my dismay—a pair of tiny black button eyes gleamed faintly in the dark.

  Another kit.

  5

  “Oh boy, another one!” Travis cried, all excited. Stinky grew even more excited at being reunited with his brother (or sister, who could tell?). The three of them would have thrown a party if I’d let them. The only one not excited by the reunion was yours truly. No, not excited. Not at all.

  Stinky wriggled and would have fallen to the ground but for Travis catching him just in time. “Here,” he said, shoving him at me.

  “Uh, I don’t think—” But it was too late. I was left holding one kit while Travis practically dived into the hollow tree for the other. To my surprise, Stinky was soft and warm and furry, and he didn’t smell. He tickled as he sniffed my fingers. I hated to admit it, but he was really kind of … cute.

  Travis emerged with the other kit. It squirmed feebly in his hand. It was only half the size of Stinky, but it looked about two-thirds dead to me.

  “Oh, Travis,” I said, knowing the heartbreak that lay ahead, “it’s the runt of the litter. It isn’t going to make it. You should put it back.”

  He looked aghast. “We can’t just leave it here. We have to try. You have to help me.”

  I thought for a moment. Did I dare go to the vet, Dr. Pritzker? It would be asking a lot. He didn’t look after wild animals, especially wild animals like skunks that were considered the lowest of the low. They were varmints and pests, real nuisances to the local farmers, tearing up gardens and stealing eggs from the henhouse. Nobody in town would ever dream of trying to save a skunk because they were all too busy trying to kill them. Dr. Pritzker might think I was crazy or—much worse—stupid. And I didn’t want him to think I was crazy or stupid, because he sometimes let me watch him doctor the cattle and horses, useful animals that were actually worth something. All that would come to a sudden halt if he thought I was crazy or stupid. I weighed all these things up. Then my soft hearted brother began to plead with me.

  “Please, Callie, we have to try. Please.” He looked so upset that I knew I’d have to give in.

  I sighed. He cracked a huge smile, knowing he’d won me over.

  I shoved Stinky at him and said, “See if you can get some food into the little one. I’ll go to Dr. Pritzker’s and meet you at home.”

  “Thanks! You won’t regret it.” He jogged off,
clutching the kits to him.

  “Of course I will,” I shouted at him. “I always do!” Then I took off in the other direction. I made the run downtown to Dr. Pritzker’s office in record time, and I was relieved to see his mare, Penny, hitched to his buggy out front. I’d caught him before he left on his first call of the day.

  I didn’t even stop to give Penny her usual pat on the nose but burst through the door, startling the doctor who was looking over some papers on his desk.

  “What is it, Calpurnia? What’s the trouble?”

  I paused to catch my breath and think. I couldn’t tell him we had a skunk. So I said, “Dr. Pritzker, I’m worried about one of our, uh, kittens. It’s awfully small, it’s the runt of the litter, and I told my brother we should just let it go, but he wants to try and save it.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea? Nature doesn’t usually intend the runts to live.”

  “I know, but Travis has his heart set on trying. What should we do?”

  “Well, the first thing you have to do is keep it warm somehow. Once they lose body heat, they start to fail quickly. And it needs to feed frequently. Is the mother cat around to feed it?”

  “She’s … gone.”

  “Is it old enough to eat solid food? Some ground-up meat?”

  “Uh, maybe not. It looks pretty weak to me.”

  “Then you’ll have to feed it milk somehow, either with a sponge it can suck on or with a very small bottle. And you’ll need to warm the milk first.”

  “Okay, I will. Is there anything else we can do?”

  “You can hope for the best. And I do hope you and Travis won’t feel too badly if it dies. Runts often do, even when you do everything to save them.”

  “Thank you.”