Skunked! by Jacqueline Kelly Page B

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.
    â€œAll 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.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I said.
    â€œI’m bringing Stinky along for the walk.”
    â€œDon’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?
    â€œOkay. But if I hear a single peep out of either one of you, you’re on your own. Got it?”
    â€œGot 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.
    â€œWow,” 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.
    â€œIt’s a real beauty,” he said. “Are you going to make