Skunked! Read Free Page B

got there?” she said, squinting at me.
    â€œNothing,” I said, and thrust the bottle into my pinafore pocket.
    â€œHuh. Every time you got ‘nothing,’ it never turns out good.”
    â€œHa ha, very funny.” I kissed her cheek and ran out before she could swat me away.
    Back at the barn I waited for Travis and worried about the runt, staring at it closely to make sure it was still breathing. It lay on the brick where I’d placed it, its rib cage barely moving in tiny shallow puffs.
    Travis clattered in, carrying the jar with a couple of inches of milk. He looked like he’d been in a fistfight, with his hair standing on end and streaks of cow manure all over him.
    I stared at him. “What happened to you?”
    â€œIt’s Flossie,” he panted. “She’s not used to being milked at this time of day. She didn’t like it one bit.” He wiped his brow. “And all this time I thought we were friends. Did you find a bottle?”
    I showed him the doll bottle, and we both agreed it was perfect. It had to be—it’s all there was. I poured the warm milk into it while Travis took the runt and cuddled it in his arms.
    â€œI think the brick is working,” he said. “He feels nice and toasty.”
    I had my doubts. The poor thing looked pretty limp. I held the bottle to its mouth but it didn’t move.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” said Travis. “Why won’t he drink?”
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe it won’t drink cow’s milk. Maybe it will only drink skunk’s milk. Maybe we have to round up a skunk to milk.”
    But Travis was in no mood for joking. “We can’t milk a skunk,” he cried, sounding dangerously close to tears.
    â€œAll right then, we’re going to have to force it.” I squeezed the rubber tip of the bottle, and a little milk oozed out. “Wake it up.”

    â€œHow?”
    â€œPoke it, shake it, do something.”
    He poked it gently but it didn’t move.
    All right, Calpurnia, I told myself, drastic times call for drastic measures. I pinched the kit by the scruff and pulled its head all the way back so that its tiny pink mouth gaped open. I pushed the bottle deep inside. The kit gagged, and milk dribbled down its chest.
    â€œIt won’t swallow,” Travis said miserably.
    What more could we do? By now I figured it was a goner, and we were going to have to make yet another trip to the sad little cemetery out back where my brother’s failed pets were laid to rest. Travis was just going to have to get used to it. Besides, one baby skunk should be enough for any boy, right? (Although one certain boy would never see it that way.)
    And then something wonderful happened: The runt twitched its tiny nose. Then it licked its chops. Then it feebly tried to lick its fur where the milk had splattered. Signs of life!
    I gave it some more milk, and it managed to swallow a couple of drops. Just a couple. But it was a start. Travis lit up like the sun, making it all worthwhile.

7
    If Travis was an idiot to adopt two skunks, I, being one year older and so much wiser, was an even bigger idiot for going along with him, right? In my defense I have to say that I warned him and warned him, but of course he grew more and more attached to them.
    So now we were stuck with (1) Stinky the Skunk, and (2) Winky the Runt. I thanked my lucky stars there weren’t a dozen kits hidden in that tree.
    Dr. Pritzker came over a few days later to look at one of our pigs with an eye infection, and I hung around to watch.
    â€œHello, Calpurnia, how is your kitten coming along?”
    â€œMy what?”
    â€œThe kitten you told me about, the poorly one.”
    â€œOh … yes, of course … the kitten. It’s doing very well, thank you. I think your advice made all the difference.”
    â€œWould you like me to examine it after I’m done here?”
    â€œUh, well, perhaps