Im looking for the place i first saw him. Does he live here? Or the house on up the road? Each place we pass I figure hell stop—somebody come out and whistle, maybe. But nobody comes out and the dog dont stop. Keeps coming even after we get to the old Shiloh schoolhouse. Even starts across the bridge, tail going like a propeller.
Book, review : Shadow of, shiloh, historyNet
The beagle comes barreling toward me, legs going lickety-split, long ears flopping, tail sticking up like resume a flagpole. This time, when I put out my hand, he licks all my fingers and jumps up against my leg, making little yelps in his throat. He cant get enough of me, like id been saying no all along and now Id said yes, he could come. Its a he-dog, like id thought. Youre really somethin now, aint you? Im laughing as the beagle makes circles around. I squat down and the dog licks my face, my neck. Whered he learn to come if you whistled, to hang back if you didnt? Im so busy watching the dog I dont even notice its started to rain. Dont bother the dog, neither.
So does the beagle. Dont know where youd end up if you followed the river all the way. Heard somebody say it curves about, comes back on itself, but if it didnt and I summary got home after dark, id get a good whopping. So i always go as far as the ford, where the river spills across the path, and then I head back. When I turn around and the dog sees me coming, he goes off into the woods. I figure thats the last Ill see of the beagle, and I get halfway down the road again before i look back. And then, hardly thinking on it, i whistle. Its like pressing a magic button.
Finally i sit on a log, put my gun at my feet, and wait. Back down the road, the dog sits, too. Sits right in the middle of it, head on his paws. I say again, and pat my knee. He wiggles just a little, but he dont come. Maybe its a she-dog. Dog still dont come. I decide to wait the dog out, but after three or four minutes on the log, it gets boring and I start off again.
Shiloh (Naylor novel) - wikipedia
I can see his ribs—not real bad—but he isnt plumped out or anything. Theres a broken branch hanging from a limb out over the water, and Im wondering if I can bring it down with one shot. I raise my gun, and then I think how the sound might scare the dog off. I decide i dont want to shoot my gun much that day. Its a slow river.
You walk beside it, river you figure its not even moving. If you stop, though, you can see leaves and things going along. Now and then a fish jumps—big fish. Dogs still trailing me, tail tucked. Funny how he dont make a sound.
Here, boy, i say, slapping my thigh. Dog goes down on his stomach, groveling about in the grass. I laugh and start over toward him. Hes got an old worn-out collar on, probably older than. Bet it belonged to another dog before him. Cmon, boy, i say, putting out my hand.
The dog gets up and backs off. He dont even whimper, like hes lost his bark. Something really hurts inside you when you see a dog cringe like that. You know somebodys been kicking at him. Beating on him, maybe. Its okay, boy, i say, coming a little closer, but still he backs off. So i just take my gun and follow the river. Every so often I look over my shoulder and there he is, the beagle. I stop; he stops.
Cwt, book, review : a blaze of Glory historyNet
Bet his daddy was a gray fox and his ma was a red one. My favorite place to walk father's is just across this resumes rattly bridge where the road curves by the old Shiloh schoolhouse and follows the river. River to one side, trees the other—sometimes a house or two. And this particular afternoon, Im about halfway up the road along the river when I see something out of the corner of my eye. I look, and about fifteen yards off, theres this shorthaired dog—white with brown and black spots—not making any kind of noise, just slinking along with his head down, watching me, tail between his legs like hes hardly got the right to breathe. A beagle, maybe a year or two old. I stop and the dog stops. Looks like hes been caught doing something awful, when I can tell all he really wants is to follow along beside.
We live high up in the hills above friendly, essay but hardly anybody knows where that. Friendlys near Sistersville, which is halfway between Wheeling and Parkersburg. Used to be, my daddy told me, sistersville was one of the best places you could live in the whole state. You ask me the best place to live, id say right where we are, a little four-room house with hills on three sides. Afternoon is my second-best time to go up in the hills, though; mornings the best, especially in summer. On one morning I saw three kinds of animals, not counting cats, dogs, frogs, cows, and horses. Saw a groundhog, saw a doe with two fawns, and saw a gray fox with a reddish head.
you start out after dinner, youve got to come back when its dark. I take the.22 rifle dad had given me in March on my eleventh birthday and set out up the road to see what I can shoot. Like to find me an apple hanging way out on a branch, see if I can bring it down. Line up a few cans on a rail fence and shoot em off. Never shoot at anything moving, though. Never had the slightest wish.
I looked that rabbit over good, marty, and you wont writing find any buckshot in that thigh, dad says, buttering his bread. I shot him in the neck. Somehow I wish he hadnt said that. I push the meat from one side of my plate to the other, through the sweet potatoes and back again. Did it die right off? I ask, knowing I cant eat at all unless it had. You shoot its head clean off? Dad chews real slow before he answers. Not quite, he says, and goes on eating.
Review : Stolen, shiloh
15, chapter 1, the write day shiloh come, were having us a big Sunday dinner. Dara lynns dipping bread in her glass of cold tea, the way she likes, and Becky pushes her beans up over the edge of her plate in her rush to get em down. Ma gives us her scolding look. Just once in my life, she says, Id like to see a bite of food go direct from the dish into somebodys mouth without a detour of any kind. Shes looking at me when she says it, though. It isnt that I dont like fried rabbit. I just dont want to bite down on buckshot, is all, and Im checking each piece.