Skunked! (2 page)

“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.