My Shocking Discovery at the Neighbours
Lois and Howard were an old couple who lived on our road. I will always remember Lois, who as a young girl, got her hand caught between the rollers of her mother’s wringer washing machine. After surgery, she was left with just a stub of an arm above the elbow. Occasionally, as I was on my way home after school, she would come out to the end of their short driveway to meet me with a plate of freshly baked cookies. She was a dear old soul whose one good arm was weathered and wrinkled, with a scattering of very visible sunspots.
Though her movements were slower than they once were, she had lived a lifetime of adapting to the world with one hand. She learned ways to compensate over the years, but because of her age, many things took twice as long as they used to. She handled that plate of ginger cookies with surprising ease. I would thank her, give her a wee hug, and then continue my walk towards home. Even at 8 years old, I realized that everything she did would probably take longer than two-handed people. I often wondered how she could do even the simple things that I took for granted, like getting dressed, opening a fresh box of cereal, or changing the bag in the trashcan. I could only assume that at the end of each day, she would have perhaps done less than she expected to do. Perhaps she had learned that it was not always good to do everything herself. Maybe she asked Howard, her husband, for help sometimes.
Howard’s backyard had a variety of flowers, so there was always something in bloom. On my way to and from school, I would wave to him out in his garden. In all that time, I never noticed he had a pet that dug along the flower beds as he worked with his flowers. One day on my way home, he was tending his prized flowers as usual, and he waved to me as I got closer. The old man approached me with shaky, uneven steps, but when he reached me, he handed me a bouquet of pink and white carnations and a few red tea roses to take home for my mother. I noticed his weathered hands had deep lines and calluses from constant work in the soil. There wasn’t a weed to be seen in his flower garden. While he appeared frail, his eyes were sharp and gentle when he was tending to his flowers. His flower garden was a testament to many years, perhaps even a lifetime, of diligent care, with the old man working tirelessly through seasons of planting and nurturing. I’m sure he got a great sense of fulfilment from it. I thanked him that day, letting him know Mother would be very pleased.
A couple of weeks later, as I was heading home from school, I spotted the animal I feared the most climbing the steps of their house to lie on the landing, and bask in the afternoon sun. Lois and Howard were nowhere to be seen. I thought perhaps they were inside having a late afternoon nap. Maybe they were just resting in the living room, over a cup of tea. All I could think of was, what should I do, as I didn’t want either of them to walk out, startle the skunk who would feeling threatened, might raise its tail and spray its foul-smelling liquid. I stopped behind their old maple tree so the skunk wouldn’t see me while I tried to figure out what I should do. The minutes ticked by. As far as I knew the door behind the skunk was the only door to the house, so it was pointless of thinking of knocking on their door … but maybe … if I moved slowly and calmly along the edge of the road, and past their driveway, I could knock on the window to get their attention. I decided it was now or never. I took a deep breath and slowly began walking forward. But just then the door opened and out came Howard. He stooped and said, “Oh, there you are,” as he petted the critter. I swallowed hard, as I could not believe what I was seeing.
Howard glanced up just in time to see this panic-stricken 8-year-old frozen in her tracks at the end of their driveway. He shuffled his way over to me. “Don’t be afraid of the skunk, my dear. Lois and I have had this here pet skunk for seven or eight years now. He can’t spray you, as his scent glands were removed when he was only a few weeks old. He’s very affectionate and playful. He likes to cuddle just like a pet cat or a pet dog. Sometimes he can be a tad stubborn, and he often gets into things he shouldn’t, but those times are few and far between.”
I stood there gazing up at Howard, listening to every word he was saying. I was speechless. A few minutes passed, and finally I stammered …”You have a skunk for a pet, and he stays in the house with you?”
He nodded. “I usually have him on a leash when he’s outside as he likes to dig in the flower garden for grubs and other insects, but today he snuck outside when we weren’t looking. Guess I didn’t shut the screen door properly.”
Before heading for home, I glanced over at the sleeping skunk, then looked up at Howard, ” I have never heard of anyone keeping a skunk as a pet. Betcha the sight of him would scare off any would-be burglars better than the biggest guard dog.”
With that, I gave him a wave and hurried home to tell Mom and Dad about the old folks who had a skunk for a pet. I can assure you I never wanted a skunk as a pet, but I think it’s safe to say that having a pet skunk would give one plenty of stories you could tell for the rest of your life.
