I am thinking back to a time in the woods. This was not exactly hunting, which I never experienced. My brother Leonard and I were in grade school when we were walking in our woods, not far in. We saw tracks, had no idea what had made them and decided to follow. So of course, we were tracking, but what?
The suspense did not last long. Having entered on the lake side, we came out on the left, where the field went clear up to the lake road.
Looking ahead of the tracks, we could see the mysterious animal who had made them; his name was Pal, for he was our dog, a medium-sized Shepherd mix, black with a white front. He was an all ‘round good dog, with no problems, except in a thunderstorm, when the noise scared him. Then he would break through the porch door to get inside.
As for connecting him to the curious tracks, we had to laugh.
When he was brought home as a pup, he was officially to be Leonard’s dog, although henceforth “family dog” was more like it. Years later, when he was about 14 and Leonard was at Miami University in Oxford, southwestern Ohio, Pal seemed to be literally on his last legs. Ina called Leonard to ask if Pal should go to the vet to be put down. Leonard’s answer was to let him die naturally.
The next day Pal just fell while going up our road, not far from the cottage. He surely made it to dogs’ heaven.
Now I will add a story, although belated for Thanksgiving, about another creature. This one is adapted from the Houlton High School yearbook, June 1949.
“Should I commit this ghastly crime or shouldn’t I? That was the question which brought about the conflict now taking place in my mind, and it seemed impossible to come to a satisfactory conclusion.
“It was all a vicious circle. If I should go through with it, as my wife seemed to expect of me, my conscience would never give me peace; I wouldn’t be able to eat or sleep. But, if I decided not to do it, my wife and neighbors would deem me a coward, and I will have to undergo their ridicule and downcast eyes. Oh, why, why had my wife ever brought this upon me? It wasn’t my idea in the first place. I wanted to go into town and do it the easy way, but no.
“Oh, well, my wife will be home soon, asking me if I’ve done it. I suppose, regardless of the consequences, I have to keep my wife’s respect.”
Thus, he got up, picked up the ax and ventured out to kill the turkey.
Byrna Porter Weir was born and grew up in Houlton, where her parents, Ina and Porter, were portrait photographers. She now lives in Rochester, N.Y.
Byrna Porter Weir
Rochester, New York
