Kitty in the Coop

I went through almost thirty years of my life believing that my father was naturally gifted at understanding all animals. My father, Harold, had a compassion and understanding of animals that I have seen in few other people. Animals trusted him implicitly until the day he died a few short years ago. I envision him in Heaven not only visiting with family and friends, but enjoying companionship with all of the animals he cared for over the years.

On a warm, sunshiny day in 2001, I came home from work and sat in a cozy, well padded living room chair to visit with my parents as was our daily ritual. My father was sitting in his usual spot on the new Berne couch of cream with light blue lines and pink patterns alternating every few inches. The couch is on wooden platforms that he made for each leg so he could sit and stand easier after his back surgery. We still refer to this as his couch.

I’m pretty sure it was my complaint of the insidious odor of dead skunk on the way home from work that brought up the topic of skunks. Then my father proceeded to tell a story that taught me a valuable life lesson.

When my father was a child, he had many responsibilities. Most children did then as it was the depression era and everyone had to pull their own weight to keep food on the table and a roof overhead. He doesn’t recall if he was in school yet when this event occurred, but he knows he was small and his parents were not pleased with the event. His parents were Harold Louis and Gladys Isabell Rutherford Bourner.

The first job each day for my dad was to go into the chicken coop and gather any eggs. One chilly morning, he was doing just this when he noticed something furry in the corner. He had a love of all animals, especially cats. Seeing black and white fluffy fur, he called out, “here kitty, kitty”, and reached out to touch it. Instead of turning around to greet him, it lifted its tail and filled the chicken coup with a potent and vicious odor that would not be eliminated from him or the chickens for days or weeks to come.

He remembered washing repeatedly in the yard in either spring or fall, as it was cold, but it could have been much colder. The indoor plumbing would not come for another dozen years or so, but he’s sure that even if there had been indoor plumbing at the time, his mother would not have allowed him in her home. He thinks maybe they had to throw away the eggs for a while, but he knows it took weeks to fully air out the chicken coop.

What my father mostly remembered from that day was the shock of meeting a skunk for the first time. He’s sure he knew about them before that, but he had definitely not met one previously. What I learned from this tale my father shared is that he was not born with all of his wisdom about the animal world. There was a time that he too had to learn about our furry companions the hard way.