Nov. 6, 2009
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Grandpa and the Skunk
My grandpa, my Papafather's dad, was a country vet. He had a little office off the side of the house where he did small animal surgery, and exams. He made house calls all around the country, some trips taking him an hour or more to reach the animal in need of help, be it cow, horse, sheep, or pig. Very often he would have one of his children in tow. He had 10 of them so there was no shortage of helpers. It all sounds very James Harriot like, and in a way it was. James Harriot's stories are popular with that side of the family and each story reminds them of one like it that grandpa experienced.
Grandpa's office was, as I said, just off the house. Just off the kitchen to be exact. My grandma had a dutch door put in so that she could just open up the top half to talk to him and yet keep the little ones inside. Think about that. A vet's office, just off the kitchen. Do you recall how a vet's office smells? That smell still lingers in that office to this day and it's been over 10 years since my grandpa died.
Aside from the smell, I never gave grandpa's office much thought. We would traipse our way through it on the way to play outside, to gather in the clothes from off the line, to pick grapes, collect eggs, or to find grandpa. The office doubled as grandma's laundry room so I suppose that's why it didn't seem like a room that needed much attention. I never spent any time in it other than to get from point A to point B. Which is strange now that I think about it, all those fascinating instruments, chemicals, medicines, and the like just within reach. I never touched them or was ever tempted to do so.
One temptation I did give in to was a special barrel out back that held two skunks. Grandpa would warn us to leave those skunks alone. My numerous cousins and I would stand around the barrel peering in, and those skunks would peer back. The lot of us cousins would look for only a moment and then run away as fast as we could before we got sprayed. I didn't find out until I was much older that those skunks couldn't spray because my grandpa had "deskunked" them. I don't know if my cousins were aware of this at the time or not, they ran just as fast as I did. Grandpa's warning hadn't been for us, he had been worried that we would torment the skunks.
Skunks actually make a great pet and are positively darling, if you can legally keep them. My uncle kept one for awhile. She was just like a cat, had a litter box and everything. Her name was Rosie, and then some, but I won't repeat that part.
We have a family story, told every couple of years or so I guess, about grandpa and one particular skunk he was de-scenting. While in the process of removing the gland that contains the hideous skunk musk, it was ruptured. It squirted all of its contents right in my grandpa's face. He came into the kitchen to clean up and the only thing he said was, "It's such a beautiful color." Apparently skunk spray is an amber color, and my God fearing grandpa could still recognize the beauty of God's handiwork even in a skunk's musk.
Funny, while my aunts and uncles roar with laughter about this story every time they tell it, I don't remember anyone talking about the smell lingering in the kitchen or what on earth my grandma said or did. I'll have to ask them about that.
After the laughter dies down, someone will always mention how my grandpa was such a quiet, gentle, and patient man. Oh he had his moments when a cow would stomp him, but how many men do you know who would take it from a skunk and only comment on it's beauty?
Update: I asked one of my aunt's if she remembered grandma's reaction to grandpa coming in smelling of skunk that badly. She didn't really remember, she figured grandma probably dealt with it in stride. Believe it or not there are a lot worse smells a vet can have lingering about his body. My aunt remembers one smell that caused everyone near grandpa to be physically nauseous. Grandpa had to clean out a cow whose calf had died inside her at near full term. The calf had become a decaying mass of jelly, with only bones left. The smell lingered on grandpa for quite awhile--no matter how often he washed or what he tried, the smell wouldn't go away. He actually got infected pores on his arms from cleaning that cow out. |
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Kathi