Skunkvilla

Fourteen-year-old Danny felt that pure, golden luck had descended upon him this unforgettable morning. A friend with a pet skunk discovered it was pregnant. He had been ordered by his mother to get rid of it and had offered it and its cage to Danny. Danny reasoned that if he had possession of the skunk before he asked his mother, Vera, for permission that she would let him keep it. It wasn't to be that simple.

"I know the mama skunk is de-scented, but the babies won't be. They'll stink up the entire neighborhood. You can't keep her," Vera dictated. Danny had anticipated her argument and rehearsed his rebuttal. He had a long friendship with Dr. Parker, a veterinarian, who lived nearby. "Mom, I can call Dr. Parker. He can tell me how to descent the babies. I can sell them for pets and add the money to my college fund."

Vera had gradually agreed to let Danny keep lizards in cages in the basement; then snakes; then injured birds he found and tried to nurse back to health, so her resistance was already weakened. His mention of an addition of money to Danny's college fund weakened it further.

"Danny, every time you find a project like this, the world turns upside down.. If anything goes wrong this time, you have to give them to the humane society."

Danny took this as a "yes", leaped for joy, and agreed to any and all stipulations. He called Dr. Parker who, at first, couldn't believe what he was hearing. Danny had to turn on his full persuasive powers again and finally Dr. Parker reluctantly said, "Okay, get a paper and pencil. I'll tell you what to do."

"I have a rat-tooth forceps and a scalpel I’ll give you. Wait until the babies are two weeks old. Make a little trough that you can lay a baby skunk in on his back. Get a can of ether, some cotton and a wide-mouth jar big enough to put him in. Put the cotton in the jar. Pour some ether on it and put a skunk in the jar. Wait about ten seconds for him to go to sleep; then tape him to the trough. You’ll see two little nipples under his tail. Those are the nozzles he uses to squirt his perfume. Hold one with the forceps and cut through the skin all around the base. Be careful. If you cut too deep, you’ll have skunk juice squirting on you. Pull very slowly and a sack and a nerve will come out. Cut the nerve. Do the other nipple. Wash the incisions with alcohol and put the skunk by himself to sleep it off. Can you handle that?"

"Sure," Danny said with a relieved sigh. He had thought it was going to be something difficult.

"Will it hurt the skunk?"

"No, he’ll feel nothing and heal almost overnight. One more thing, though, have cans of tomato juice handy to pour over any skunk oil that escapes. That’ll kill the smell."

"Okay, thanks."

"And be careful. Skunk oil stings like a bee."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

He grinned at his mother and shrugged. "No problem," he said.

"You’re involved. That means there’ll be a problem," she retorted. She shook her head, sighed and went back to cleaning the house.

Eight days later, six babies were born. In two weeks Danny decided the day had arrived. In the garage, he had assembled a wobbly worktable and arranged forceps, scalpel, jar, cotton, trough, shoe boxes, a can of ether and four quarts of tomato juice in a neat line. He called his friend, George, who wanted to be ‘assistant surgeon’ and, when George arrived, they rehearsed the operation.

They brought the skunk kittens into the garage. Danny picked one up and said, "Ready, doctor." George put cotton in the jar, poured ether on it and Danny added the skunk. It sniffed, wiggled its nose in disgust, rose on its hind legs against the glass jar sides and then woozily fell backward onto the cotton. Danny counted to ten, took it out and fastened it to the trough. He locked a nipple into the forceps, pulled to expose the skin and carefully cut around the nipple. As soon as it was loose, Danny slowly pulled on it. The bladder appeared, then the nerve. Danny clipped the nerve and sat there feeling stupid holding the bladder of skunk juice. He had forgotten to plan its disposal. George, looking over his shoulder, saw the problem and said, "I’ll go get a newspaper." He scurried away, returned with a paper, wrapped the bladder and took it outside. Danny expertly removed the second nozzle. As he had said, no problem. Smiling with the sweet flush of success, he put the skunk into a shoebox and said, "Next."

George prepared the jar; Danny did the surgery and handed the bladders to George. He was ready with the newspaper. He took it outside and Danny put the sleeping kitten into a shoebox. Number two and three were routine.

The stress and 95-degree temperature were creating tension. Danny increased his speed on number four without mishap. He increased it more on number five. Success again. Sweat ran down Danny’s face as he started the sixth skunk. He looked up at George and said, "Wipe, nurse."

George said, "Yes doctor," and used his handkerchief to wipe Danny’s forehead. Danny handed George the first bladder. He packaged it and took it out. Danny started the final nipple sweat ran into Danny’s eyes. George was still outside. He lowered his head to brush away the sweat on his sleeve. This jerked his arm and he felt a spray of liquid hit his forehead. Instant, overwhelming stench! He froze like a statue, eyes closed. "George!" he yelled.

George popped into the doorway. "I went for some more papers for. . . ." He screeched to a stop and leaped backward out the door. From outside, he yelled, "What happened? I smell skunk!"

Danny yelled back, "I have the bladder halfway out and can’t open my eyes! They have skunk juice on them. Pour some tomato juice on my eyes. Wow, what a stink!"

George took a deep breath, ran in and grabbed a can of tomato juice. He looked around frantically. "Where’s an opener?" he choked out.

"Oh, no! I forgot the opener."

"Get one out of the house. Hurry. My skin’s burning."

George raced into the house. Danny heard him ask Vera, "Where’s a can opener?" He heard some more conversation. His eyelids were on fire and his cheeks and the back of his hands were burning. He heard his mother say, "I smell skunk!" Then he heard George run up behind him and the clatter of a can opener. All he could do was sit rigidly holding the forceps so he wouldn’t damage his patient.

He felt George dabbing at his eyelids with a rag. "Forget that," he shrieked. "Just pour the tomato juice over my head and wipe it off my eyelids so I can see to finish."

George frantically dumped the tomato juice over Danny’s head, swiped the handkerchief across his eyes and ran out the door for air. Vera was just arriving. George gasped several deep breaths, looked wildly at her, and ran back inside.

Danny had removed the collapsed bladder and was holding it out with his eyes closed. George folded a newspaper around it and ran out the door gagging. He almost bumped into Vera who was holding her breath and trying to look inside the garage. Danny stood, fumbled blindly for the tomato juice, poured it over his burning hands and turned toward the door.

Vera stuck her head back inside and yelled, " I want to know what is going . . . Aghhh!!" Her son, covered with blood, was rushing toward her.

Stinging eyes closed and arms flailing, he ran into the garage wall. "Lead me to the water faucet," he wheezed.

Vera grabbed his shirt front and, with her other hand pinching her nose, dragged him to the faucet while she yelled, "How did you cut yourself? Why is your head bleeding?"

Without answering, Danny twisted the faucet handle and blinked his eyes open and shut under the water until the burning eased. Vera searched through his hair for the source of blood, unaware that George was waving his hands for her attention and yelling, "He’s not bleeding. That’s tomato juice!"

Danny jerked his head away from the faucet. "George, get the skunk into a shoe box before he wakes up."

"You expect me to go into that garage again?" George asked incredulously. "Do you know how bad it stinks in there?"

Vera took a deep breath and ran into the garage. The boys could hear her rummaging for a shoebox. She staggered out in a few minutes, sat down on the back steps and fanned herself. She looked at Danny, hair hanging over his face, his clothes dripping tomato juice and plaintively asked, "Do you suppose you could just get interested in playing marbles or something?"

Next day’s newspaper: Baby Skunks For Sale. $25 each. Call Skunkvilla, 605-7023.

The author, a fiction and non-fiction editor at The Rose & Thorn, has had 60 short stories published and has self-published a book, Wild, Wicked Web, under the nom de plume, Steve Diamond, which chronicles the lives of six people after they meet on the internet. He presently lives under a cactus in Phoenix casting spells to lure an agent.