We called him "The Skunk Whisperer."

On occasion, he would trap a skunk in one of his live animal traps. He'd calmly walk up to the cage, drape a towel over it, pick up the cage, put it in the trunk of his 1991 Chevy Caprice, and drive it to the top of the nearby mountain where the rich people had built their homes so they could lord over their domain. Then he'd release the skunk after whispering a few instructions through the cage. Never once did they bespoil him or his beloved Hokie maroon police-like interceptor. His gift, I might add, was passed along to me, as I was his apprentice.

The night he died peacefully at home in his bed at age 89, a white skunk appeared on his back porch. Since then we've seen several white animals darting around the property.

His spirit doesn't reside just there, however. For the last few years of her life, my mother suffered through the horrible and maddening veil of dementia. After she had fallen, we had to move her to an assisted living/memory care facility in the area. We'd take turns in visiting her every evening for the three years it took for the disease to ravage her. Through it all, she mostly knew who I was, although sometimes I'd become her brother or her father. One day, we were sitting around doing her daily crossword puzzle. She'd been extremely agitated that day and wanted me to move her back home and out of the hotel. I looked up at a commotion outside her window and saw a pure white fox slowly walk by. I stopped and turned toward to the window, and I was able to direct my mother's gaze that way.
She asked, "What is that?"
"Mom, I think it's a white fox."
"It's Dad (she usually referred to him that way even in private). He told me that he would never leave and would always be around to watch over me."

Then she smiled as we watched the fox continue his journey across the field and past our view. Such beauty is a rare and comforting sight, indeed. For a little while, my mother touched the present and was comforted.

[Post edited by Newt at 09/03/2017 5:58PM]