Four weeks ago today was September 11, the second anniversary of one of
the most tragic days in American history. It was also the day I found
out my dog Sandy's kidneys had stopped working. She had been in good
health up until a couple weeks before, and when we had taken her to the
vet a week earlier he said she probably had tapeworms. She was 13, but
we thought she had at least another year or two in her. We brought her
home that evening and stayed with her for the next two days. She died in
our living room on Saturday night.
I haven't felt much like
writing since then, but since the Livingston Taylor concert prompted me
to break my review silence, I figured I should get the ball rolling
again. And how better to do it than with a review of one of my all-time
favorite books, particularly appropriate to this time in my life? I read
Where the Red Fern Grows in sixth grade. I believe it was the
first, and still one of the only, books that made me cry. You know what
you're in for from the outset of the novel; the narrator tells you up
front. But that doesn't make it any easier to read when the time comes.
Where the Red Fern Grows
is a tale of the bond a boy shares with his canine companions. It's a
theme that has been revisited many times, but with the exception of Old Yeller,
I can't think of a more heart-rending take on the theme. The boy in
question is a 10-year-old lad named Billy Coleman who lives in the
Ozarks and dreams of owning a pair of hunting dogs. His family is poor
and can't afford to buy him the dogs he wants, so he spends two years
taking odd jobs to earn the money for the hounds himself. When he
finally has all the cash he needs, he walks all the way to town to pick
them up, deeply impressing the local sheriff. This is a kid who knows
what he wants and will stop at nothing to get it.
He names the
hounds Old Dan and Little Ann and spends the majority of the book
training them and gallavanting through the woods on hunting adventures
with them. With Billy's patience and Dan and Ann's skill and devotion to
him, they become the best coon-hunting dog team for miles around. Some
good, sound advice from Grandpa doesn't hurt either. Billy's dogs are
the hounds of his dreams, but the older Billy has already warned us that
this dream is not destined to last as long as it should. The intrepid
trio deal with heartache in their journeys, but nothing can compare to
their final gut-wrenching adventure. If you can avoid it, don't read
those last couple chapters in public. It's no use trying to disguise
those sniffles.
Where the Red Fern Grows is a homespun
tale of the triumphs and tragedies of growing up. The words flow with
such natural beauty, taking the readers to a simpler time and place. And
the development of Billy's relationship with his dogs is something any
dog lover can readily appreciate. I find it very hard to rank books in
terms of favorites, but this one has to fall in my top five. It's one of
those books I think everyone ought to read at some time or another.
As my luck would have it, I discovered that this book that I have so
carefully stored on my shelf for years mysteriously disappeared when I
needed it most. I still don't know where it went, but it looks like it's
time to admit defeat and buy another copy. This is one book I cannot do
without, particularly now that I finally can truly empathize with
Billy. If you've never read it, open it up one of these days. You won't
regret it.
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