  Farmer Slown owned six chickens. One of them was a white pullet which, having not yet made a nest, spent much time in going about hunting a good place and in telling the others about her difficulties. The morning after the skunk family took up residence under the barn she was still wandering around cackling and complaining. “Cawk cawk cawk caw-w-w-w-k,” she muttered as she strolled around the corner of the barn. Striped Coat, lying as usual on his back, turned over quickly and looked about. “Cawk cawk cawk caw-w-w-w-k,” again muttered the pullet. The little skunk slipped away from the others and peeped out of the hole at the strange white bird strolling about so close to him. He was fascinated. Often he had seen and eaten crows, but here was a white one which his little nose told him would be especially good eating. Whenever the pullet passed the hole, he moved to the side where he could get the best view, but peeped so timidly that she did not see him. Suddenly she got the idea that in some litter under the edge of the barn, would be a good place for her nest. She looked about, scratched around a little and then settled down to form the nest around her in a comfortable fit. Striped Coat never took his eyes off this white “crow,” and when with a joyful cackle the pullet sprang up and raced to the other fowls to announce that she had laid an egg, Striped Coat’s excitement knew no bounds. Forgetting all natural caution he galloped out to have a look at the nest. Sure enough, the white crow had forgotten something when she left so hurriedly. He pounced on the egg, tried to kill it and finding it a very strange hard object, sat down in the nest to study out how it could be eaten. But the egg was too large for his small mouth and he was still rolling it about when the mother came out to see what he was up to. With one bite she took the shell off one end, then sucked the contents. Striped Coat, the discoverer, hustled around her eagerly, but got only the drippings and what was left on the edges of the shell. Nevertheless the mother’s respect for him increased. He was, in her mind, already a successful hunter. So when that night she came out for her own regular hunt she let Striped Coat come too. It was dark and damp, just the weather beloved by the night prowlers. The smell of the flowering shrubs and of countless things in the woods, lay heavy in the air. The little skunk, trailing after his mother’s guiding white stripes, picked his way as fast as he could behind her, but without missing a look at anything especially interesting along the way. When she stopped to sniff at a mouse burrow or to dig under a stump for a sleeping lizard, or to examine an ant nest for young ones and eggs, he was always where he would miss nothing of the fun. He tried this once too often however, for the mother finally discovered the underground nest of a swarm of yellow jackets and began to dig it up in spite of the great consternation of the inhabitants. They tumbled out in masses and stung everything in sight including Striped Coat whose hair was not yet long enough to protect him all over his body. He rushed about and rolled but was so fat that the stinging could not hurt him badly. Although the yellow jackets had not yet made a very big nest, what paper combs there were seemed almost choked with the amount of young brood they carried—tasty morsels for an insect loving animal like a wood pussy, and well worth a little digging and an occasional sting where the full grown little fighters were able to get under the fur. After that feast the mother seemed content to let Striped Coat do a little hunting for himself while she moved about slowly, occasionally finding a berry, or an unwary beetle on the surface of the ground. And Striped Coat made good use of his opportunity, in tasting many kinds of plants and roots and in learning where the night crawling earth worms could be found and caught before they pulled their long bodies back into their burrows. All too soon, the mother grew uneasy about the coming of day and started back. Striped Coat followed but this time found difficulty in keeping up; there were no stops now, the mother thought only of getting back to the barn. So the little skunk, work his short legs as he would, kept dropping behind. Added to this strain was the presence of a big bird, Great Horned Owl, who flew silently from tree to tree, at a little distance from them but always nearly abreast of their course. There was something so stealthy about his watchful waiting that Striped Coat grew afraid. On and on went the mother with the galloping motion used so much by the skunks, and Striped Coat still toddled along and kept her in sight while also watching the big owl. Then some bushes loomed ahead and the little skunk found himself suddenly alone. A shadow seemed to pass over him; he dodged into the bushes like a flash and escaped the talons of Great Horned Owl by a mere inch. Indeed, where he had been a moment before, now stood the big bird, its eyes glaring, wings ready for another dash and strike. Striped Coat cowered back against what seemed a solid wall of stems, and the owl noting his fear, started into the bushes after him; but suddenly things changed; with a stamp of his foot the little fellow sidled forward, every hair on end, his tail straight over his back. The owl hesitated; he was facing more of a proposition than he had bargained for. The little skunk looked young and defenseless, but it acted very grown up. The owl knew what an old wood pussy could do. Where he had been a moment before, now stood the big bird, its eyes glaring, wings ready for another dash and strike Snapping his hooked beak, the big bird backed away and with a final glare, took wing as silently as he had come. A minute later his “Hu hu, huua hu,” sounded nearby as he called to locate his mate, then further, and finally so far away it was like a faint echo in the distance. Then Striped Coat came out and continued his journey, and it might have been noticed that now he walked along with a kind of self confident dignity, every hair still on end. More than ever he looked like a little fur ball, but not the kind with which it is safe to play. Sniffing along his mother’s trail, he very quickly came in sight of the hole under the barn, but before going in he took a look at the nest of his friend the white crow, then, all puffed up, with furry tail still proudly held up like a flag, he marched in to join the others. |
|
