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soMe dog When I was a child growing up on the farm in Meade County, it seemed to us that city folks were all the time taking kittens and puppies they didn’t want and dropping them off at the end of farmers’ driveways. We couldn’t imagine why city folks thought we wanted their pets if they didn’t want them, but boxes and bags of kittens and puppies showed up so often we just thought: must be how city folks’ minds work. So, it’s not surprising that one day, when my daddy and my four brothers, Steve, Alan, David, and Jeff, were on their way in from the fields, there at the bottom of the driveway was a cardboard box. My brothers started begging right off, “Oh, Daddy, can we keep it? Can we keep it?” Daddy said, “Boys, let’s see what’s in the box first. Then we can decide.” On this particular day, the box held four pups. My daddy looked them over, and he could see those pups had paws that were extra large for their bodies. He knew that meant those pups were part hound dog, and that meant that at least one of them might grow up to be a halfway decent hunting dog. So he said, “All right, boys, if you can divide them up without fighting over them, they’re yours.” My four brothers were as pleased as any four boys have ever been. Each one of them had his very own pup. Then tragedy struck. First, my oldest brother Steve’s pup disappeared without a trace. Next, Alan’s. Then David’s. Gone. My youngest brother, Jeff, was panic-stricken. He went to my folks saying, “Please, please let me bring my pup inside. I’ve got to sleep with it. I’ve got to be with it every moment of every day or something’s going to happen to it. Please? Please, let me bring it inside.” Daddy said, “Jeff, you are growing up on a farm. And you know how it is here on the farm. Animals are not allowed inside this house. Well, maybe a sick calf or a little runt pig could move into the basement some Dog 77 to be bottle fed until it’s well enough to go back out, but cats and dogs are not allowed inside this house.” Jeff knew that was true, but he couldn’t give up. He started in begging and pleading, pleading and begging, begging and pleading, pleading and begging, begging and pleading, pleading and begging, begging, pleading, pleading, begging, begging, pleading, pleading, begging—are you getting tired of reading1 this? Then you know why this works on some parents. Finally, it even worked on my daddy. “Jeff, if you are willing to take one of Mama’s throw rugs, throw it down there on the basement floor, and sleep on that rug with your pup, it can come inside. But Jeff, if that pup so much as whimpers and keeps any of the rest of us awake, back out it goes.” Jeff was pleased. He got himself one of Mama’s throw rugs, threw it down on the basement floor, and slept on that floor with his pup. Those first few nights Jeff just patted his pup, and patted it, and patted it, until it drifted off to sleep without making a sound. Then Jeff remembered how he liked to read to help himself go to sleep, so he started reading to his pup. It didn’t take long for Jeff to figure out his pup’s favorite books were books about dogs. So Jeff started going to the library and checking out every dog story he could find. He read dog story after dog story to his pup, and when the dogs in the books were doing brave exciting things, that little pup’s tail would just wag, wag, wag, and he would drift off to sleep, dreaming all kinds of brave, puppy dog dreams. One night, our whole family was awakened by “Arooo, aroo, aroo, aroo!” My daddy jumped out of bed. He headed downstairs, “Jeff, I told you—” and he stopped. There on that rug was my little brother, Jeff, tears just streaming down his cheeks. Sitting right there beside him was the pup, looking equally pitiful. Daddy saw the book Jeff had been reading to his pup that night was none other than Old Yeller. He shook his head, “I tell...

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