Treading Water (7 page)

M
om and Jayvee are in the critter barn when we pull up. They already have the heat lamp on and a bowl of feed set up in the stock tank. Sage and I set the ducklings onto the wood shavings, and Mom slips the waterer in. They drink right away. Dip, lift, swallow.

“I love ducks!” Jayvee says. “I love their cute mouths.”

“Bills, sweetie,” Mom says. “They have bills.”

Jayvee is right—those bills are adorable. I get my camera out of Sage's car. I might as well get some shots of them on their first day with us. As I walk back into the critter barn, everyone else is coming out.

“Can you take over the evening feed and clean, Brenna?” Mom asks. “I have to get your brother to his school's open house. Dad is meeting us there. And Sage has plans. You okay with all this?” Mom spreads her arms toward the open barn door.

“Got it. No problem,” I say. Mom pats my shoulder.

“You're a sweetie,” she says. Then she leans in close and whispers, “We'll probably take Jayvee out for ice cream after. So we might be a little late.”

Poe jumps on my shoulder as soon as I walk back in.

“How you doing, boy?” He nibbles at my ear, and I know he is just fine. But then again, I've been ignoring him a bit lately. Poor fella. I really should spend more time with him. Soon.

Poe stays on my shoulder as I get down to business, refilling bunny hayracks and checking water bottles. I clean droppings out and cuddle each bunny. They eye Poe, but none of them tries to jump out of my arms.

I feed three orphaned turkey chicks. I move around the barn and check on the snapping turtle, very carefully. I add some greens to his box and move on.

The ducklings are lying down cuddled up beside one another. They are inches away from their waterer. I bet ducks always like to be near water. They aren't peeping at all. Are they okay? I don't think I've ever heard them completely quiet. I bend down a little to see them better— Poe adjusts his balance on my shoulder. The heat lamp's glow shows me that they are all fine, closed eyes, all asleep. I keep the flash off to let them doze and snap a picture of them. This was probably a tough day for them, too. Changes are always hard for animals. And for people.

Maybe that's what Maggie and Zoe are worried about. Changes. But we're not changing schools, yet. We all still do Vet Volunteers together. I just think we can do some new things with some new, older people, too.

I place Poe back on his perch. I make one last check of the cages and containers. This barn is getting overcrowded. It's too bad that most people have no idea how many innocent animals are abandoned. I wish I could think of something to make my parents' job easier. I wish I could think of more than just posters and presentations to help.

I leave Poe in the barn and go outside to check the fox enclosure. This is usually a busy playtime for them. From my regular spot, I can't see any of them. They must all be inside the den. I turn toward the house when I catch a flash of copper out of the corner of my eye. I creep toward the fox enclosure.

Oh no! A fox kit is squirming his way out through the fencing. I run toward it, wishing I had my gloves and some help. But if I don't get to him quickly, he'll be out of there and who knows where.

How is he doing this? And then I see it. Oh no. He has opened up one of my fence patches. I must not have done a good job of repairing it. How will I push him back through and into the enclosure? As I get closer he sees me. He wriggles backward, falls on his behind, and runs to the coop. Whew. That was lucky for me. It would have been terrible if he had gotten out. I run back to the critter barn for gloves, flashlight, and needle-nose pliers. This time, I'll patch it right.

As I kneel in front of the fence, it occurs to me that this kit might not be the only one escaping. Even though we try not to let them ever see us, I have to break that rule. I need to check and count the kits. I move to the front of the coop, crouch down low, and shine my flashlight into the open-front coop. Three sets of fox eyes glow in the dark of the small coop. Three. That means one is missing.

My heart beats fast. How will I find a fox kit now? It's getting dark. I scan the yard. Where could he have gone?

It's hard to think clearly when I'm imagining how much trouble I'm going to get into for not patching the fence right. And what danger this baby could be in. I take a moment to think. A fox is going to be most comfortable on the edges of forest. Well, that is when they're not staying close to their mothers. So I should probably look over there first. The woods are only ten feet away from this spot. But how will I catch an escaped kit?

Strawberries. Mom said they have loved the strawberry treats she has placed in the enclosure. Okay, I'll get strawberries. But how will I actually catch him? I wish my parents were here. Or some of my Vet Volunteer friends. Or Dr. Mac or Dr. Gabe. I don't think I have time to call and wait for anyone to get here. And I'm not sure how much my Vet Volunteer friends want to help me right now.

Think, Brenna, think. The raccoon trap! We have a humane trap that my parents have used to catch injured raccoons and skunks safely. I know that foxes are harder to trap, but maybe a kit will be fooled into going into it.

We keep the traps inside my dad's workshop. I've watched my parents set them dozens of times. I take two traps and a handful of strawberries to the edge of the woods. It seems like a long time ago that I photographed Jayvee's origami dinosaurs here.

The traps are the size of a small cat carrier. I set them up about five feet apart on the wood's edge. I place the strawberries on the inside plate. Once the kit gets far enough in, he'll trip the wire that closes the door behind him.

My camera is still around my neck. It would be great to get an action shot of the kit going into the trap. But I don't dare, in case it scares the fox away. And that's if everything works out perfectly. I'm starting to doubt the chances of that. But what else can I do?

I move away from the traps, about twenty feet. I crouch in the shadows of my dad's workshop and stay still. I stay there a long time. My calves are tingling and my thighs and ankles hurt. It's getting so dark that I can't quite see the traps.

I'm not sure what time it is. But I must have been here about an hour, and I'm thinking that I may need a Plan B. I'm afraid that Plan B probably means phoning my parents. We're supposed to be caring for these animals, and I've put one in danger. All sorts of terrible things can happen to this baby overnight. My parents will be furious with me. They'll be disappointed. They might not think I'm mature enough to stay by myself or care for animals unsupervised.

Then I hear a snap! I spring up and rush toward the trap. I won't have to tell my parents after all. And then I hear another snap! Have I miscounted? Did two fox kits escape? I slow down and approach quietly. I let my flashlight beam sweep over the first trap. It's the fox kit! I am so relieved.

But then, what's in the other trap? I take a couple steps toward it and sweep the beam across the second trap. Uh-oh. It's a skunk. I've caught a skunk. What are the chances that I would catch one animal, let alone two, only moments apart? Now what? Things just keep getting worse.

The kit is between the skunk and me. If the skunk sees me and sprays, he'll get the kit, too. I think about approaching from another angle. Maybe I should go into the woods and come out right behind the fox trap. Still, the skunk might see me and get scared. A scared skunk sprays. But if I get down on my hands and knees and crawl up to the trap, I might be able to grab the trap without the skunk seeing me. This would mean crawling through the woods. Crawling over roots and rocks and logs quietly. That's going to hurt.

But I have to do it. I sweep out past my dad's workshop, hoping that the skunk hasn't noticed me. Then I creep through the woods until I think I'm directly behind the fox trap and still far enough away from the skunk. I drop down onto my hands and knees and crawl as quietly as I can. I stop every once in a while and listen. The roots and rocks jab my knees. It's a good thing I have gloves on because all of these twigs would hurt more than they already do. My face breaks an invisible spiderweb as I crawl on through. I hope the spider isn't in my hair. I brush the webs away from my mouth and keep crawling.

I am just about to the trap when I see something white to my left. I stay still and look. Oh no, it's another skunk. No, it's three or four skunks. Babies. I cannot believe this. I must have trapped their mother. I have separated a mother from her babies. That's not good. Now what?

My heart is beating fast. I worry that my breathing is too loud and too fast. Can baby skunks spray? I have no idea. Okay, one thing at a time. I have to chance it. Crawling a little farther, I grab the handle on top of the trap and pull it toward me. The skunk babies stay still. The fox kit looks at me with big, shining eyes. I'm sure I am scaring it, but I have no choice. I crawl backward with the cage—a hard thing to do—until I think I'm safe to stand. Then I hold the cage away from me because I don't know if the fox will scratch or bite me through the cage. Even though I would totally deserve it.

I make a wide circle past the workshop, coming out on the far side of it. I can approach the fox enclosure without the mama skunk seeing me, I think. Quickly, I open the door of the enclosure fence and set the trap down just inside. I hope the fox mother isn't healed enough to charge at me to get to her baby. I fumble with the clasp, trying to release the kit. The mother stays back in the coop, but she barks at me. The kit is silent. Finally, the clasp comes loose and the kit races out the trapdoor toward his mother. I pull the trap back and slam the enclosure door shut.

Okay, one problem solved. The kit is back. I repair the fence. Now I just have to somehow let the skunk out so her babies don't get lost or starve overnight, and I'll be all set. How do I do that without getting sprayed? If I can figure this out, my parents don't need to know how I messed up.

But just as I'm turning around, the headlights from my parents' car sweep over me. Darn. Now I have no choice but to tell. I slowly walk over to meet my family.

Mom sends Jayvee inside, and I try to explain to my parents what is going on. I show them the hole that I cut and patched.

“So the kit is back with its mother?” Dad asks.

“And you've trapped a mother skunk,” Mom says in a stern voice.

“That's about right,” I say.

I follow Mom into the house while Dad masks and suits up to release the skunk. He has plenty of experience, but it's not a sure thing that he can release the skunk without getting sprayed.

“Have a seat,” Mom says when we get to the kitchen. I sit.

“Mom—” I begin, but my mom holds her hand up for me to stop talking.

“So you cut a hole without asking first,” Mom says. She leans against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed in front of her. “And you did this in order to take pictures. And then you patched the fence.” She pushes away from the counter and takes a step toward me. She keeps her arms crossed.

She continues, “And it didn't occur to you that you might need permission from us?”

“I thought if I patched it right, it wouldn't be a problem,” I say, looking down at my hands. I shift in my chair and try to sit straighter.

“And . . .” Mom prompts.

“And . . . and, I guess I figured if I asked, you would say no,” I whisper. I hadn't thought out my reasons until I said that. Bad excuse.

“Brenna,” Mom drops her arms and then raises them up to her head. “I might have expected this when you were younger, but not now.”

“I'm really sorry about the fencing,” I say.

“I thought you were more mature than this,” Mom says, sitting down beside me.

More mature? I thought I was, too. My stomach does a little flip.

“I'm sorry,” I say again. What else can I say? I really messed up.

“Your father and I will talk about an appropriate punishment. Head up and get ready for bed,” Mom says. She taps the table and sighs.

“My science class presentation is tomorrow. I still have some work to do on it.”

Mom shakes her head slowly and says, “Fine. Don't stay up too late.”

I listen for Dad to come in. I can tell he didn't get sprayed because we would already smell it if he did. Whew. That's one more relief tonight. I turn on the computer.

Mom pokes her head in a little later.

“Your father says he's going to show you how to properly make holes and patch that fence. He seems to understand your need to take pictures clear of the fencing. You better pay sharp attention so that this never happens again.”

“I will, I promise.” I give my mother a big hug.

“This doesn't mean there won't be punishment for your poor judgment, because there will be.” But she hugs me tight and pats my back and says, “Next time, do better.”

I don't know yet what the punishment will be. But it's good to know I'm already forgiven. I go back to my project.

Maggie and I never did talk about doing it together. I can't imagine she wants to work with me now. And it's too late to call her anyway. I have to research and make a poster. Now I wish I hadn't told David that we each had to make our own. I would have liked to borrow his and save myself a little work tonight.

I research and work on my presentation for hours.

I don't mean to. But when I get involved in animal research, it's hard to know when to stop.

Besides people buying and then abandoning chicks, ducklings, and bunnies, I find out how they dye them. It's crazy! Some people inject the chick eggs with dye a couple days before they hatch. And other people mist on a spray paint when they're just hours old. The people who do it say it's non-toxic and doesn't hurt the animal. But that's ridiculous. It just adds to the idea that the animals are for decoration. If people want bright and pastel colors at Easter, they should dye Easter eggs, buy jelly beans, eat marshmallow chicks. Not turn living creatures into toys.