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Drover's Secret Life. John R. Erickson
Читать онлайн.Название Drover's Secret Life
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781591887539
Автор произведения John R. Erickson
Жанр Учебная литература
Серия Hank the Cowdog
Издательство Ingram
Hank was right. My life has been so boring, even I can’t stand to hear about it. I’m a failure as a writer. I knew I would be. I’m so embarrassed! Good-bye.
The Next Day
Well, I’m back. I’m not going to quit. Just be-cause you have nothing to say doesn’t mean you shouldn’t write about it. And besides, I have something to say. I thought of it last night in my sleep.
Here we go again.
Like I said, I was born and that’s how it all began. Mom said I was there but I don’t remember. All I know is what she told me. One day she was sitting in the yard when all at once she got an urge to go camping. She thought that was odd because she’d never cared for camping. She scouted around the yard until she found an empty box and some rags for bedding.
She said camping was fun but it gave her indigestion. She thought it was indigestion, but when my brother Willie was born, she knew something was up.
I was number nine, the last pup to hit the ground. Mom said that when she saw me, she screamed, “This isn’t funny! All I did was go camping and now I’m sharing a box with nine wet rats!”
It took her a while to figure out that those “wet rats” were her own children and she’d just taken a full-time job as a mother. She thought we were the ugliest things she’d ever seen, but after she cried for a while, she licked us dry and served lunch.
Like I said, there were nine of us and she only had eight plates at her table. Willie and I had to share a plate. He always went first and ate like a pig. I got what was left.
Well, those are my earliest memories . . . or they would be if I could remember that far back but I can’t.
Chapter Two: A Sad and Lonely Childhood
Here’s a secret, if you promise not to tell: My childhood wasn’t so bad. In fact I had a good life. But who wants to read about some dog who’s had a happy childhood? Nobody.
That’s why I called this chapter “A Sad and Lonely Childhood.” When you write about being happy, everybody falls asleep.
But back to my brother, Willie. There were nine of us pups but only eight plates at Mom’s table, so Willie and I had to share, and he ate like a pig. He grew up to be big and strong, and I grew up to be a runt with a stub tail.
We lived in a fenced yard in the town of Twitchell, Texas. That’s kind of a funny name, Twitchell. I was always the smallest dog in a crowd and scared of everything. You name it, I was scared of it: storms, loud noises, water, the dark. My brothers barked at cars. Not me. I hid in the bushes. Some of the dogs in the neighborhood chewed up newspapers, but I didn’t. I was always scared I’d choke on the rubber band.
Some of my friends barked at the mailman when he walked his route every day, and they said it was gobs of fun. I never tried it. He carried a big leather bag on his shoulder, and I was scared that if I barked at him, he’d stuff me in that bag and carry me off to someplace awful.
I didn’t know where he came from or where he went after he left the mail, and I didn’t want to find out. I always thought there was something a little fishy about those postal employees, so I stayed away from them.
I wasn’t proud of being a little chicken. Dogs should be brave and do courageous things. That’s what everybody says. I dreamed of being brave and fighting monsters, but the older I grew, the chickener I got.
You know, maybe my childhood wasn’t as happy as I thought, ’cause I spent a lot of time being scared and worrying about my tail. One day Mom and I had a talk.
She said, “Well, son, your brothers and sisters have all grown up and moved away.”
“Yeah, it gets lonesome sometimes.”
“Not lonesome. Peaceful.”
“I kind of miss ’em, but there’s more to eat now that they’re gone.”
“Which brings up a touchy subject.”
“I don’t miss Willie, the greedy pig.”
“Hello?” She waved a paw in front of my eyes. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
“Oh, hi Mom. Did you say something?”
“Yes. I had just brought up a touchy subject. You.”
“Gosh, I didn’t know I was a touchy subject.”
“Drover, there comes a time in a dog’s life when he needs to move along.”
“Yeah, but that’s after he grows up.”
“That’s the point. In people-years, you’re twenty-five years old. And you’re still hanging around the yard. It’s starting to embarrass me. Does it embarrass you?”
“Let me think. Nope.”
“Well, it should. I see dogs in the neighborhood whispering.”
“Yeah, I’ve wondered why they whisper all the time.”
“They’re gossiping about YOU. They’re wondering if you’re ever going to grow up. And you know what?” She looked into my eyes. “So am I.”
“Well, I’ve tried, Mom, and it just hasn’t worked. So I guess I’ll stick around for a while, if that’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. Your brothers and sisters have their own homes now, and jobs. And you . . . what are you going to do, be a bum?”
“Would you mind?”
“You’d be a bum? You’d actually do that to your poor mother?”
“Well, I’ve thought about it.”
“You will not be a bum!” All at once a look of deep concern came into her face. She leaned toward me and whispered, “Drover, what’s wrong with you? You can tell me, I’m your mother.”
All my life I’d tried to hide the shame, but now she was asking for the truth. “It’s my tail, Mom.”
“What’s wrong with your tail? I like your tail.”
“I hate my tail. It’s just a stub.”
“Don’t call it a stub. You make it sound like a handicap.”
“It is a handicap.”
“Drover, it’s called a ‘docked tail’ and it’s like a haircut for dogs. It improves your appearance and gives you a tidy look.”
“It used to be twice as long and now it’s twice as short.”
“It looks twice as good.”
“I hate it twice as much.”
She rolled her eyes. “Never mind your tail. What else is wrong with you?”
“I’m a runt.”
“You’re not a runt. You’re small.”
“A dog knows, Mom. I’m a runt.”
“Okay, you’re a runt, so what?”
“I’m a runt with a sawed-off tail.”
“Honey, the world needs runts. For every runt, there’s a job looking for a runt.”
“Like what?
“You know the list: bird dog, guard