FOUR BOYHOOD STORIES

 FOUR  BOYHOOD STORIES 

by Walter E. Paul

The Hungry Wolf  

When our family came west from New York State, we brought with us a 44 Caliber Winchester repeater with which we shot deer, snow shoe rabbits or if there was a pig or beef to be butchered it would first be shot in the forehead with the 44. I have even known my brother Andrew when he wanted to put a new helve into an axe, he would first saw off the broken end of the old helve, then he would stick the axe upright in a stump, take the 44 and step off about 6 or 8 paces, take aim at the piece of wood remaining in the axe and pull the trigger. The remaining piece of  the old helve remaining in the axe would be neatly shot out and the axe would be ready to receive the new helve.

      

One winter one of our calves died of an ailment. To get rid of the carcass father hitched Jerry to it and dragged it to the top of a knoll about a quarter of a mile from our cabin thinking to bury it when the ground thawed out in the spring. One day a week or two later I was coming in the back door and glanced toward the knoll and there was a wolf gnawing at the frozen carcass. Quickly I stepped inside, took down the 44 and went out the front door and crouched behind the fence. I never shot at a target so far away so I had no idea how high to raise the Lyman sight right behind the hammer. Sighting on the wolf for a few minutes I raised and lowered the sight undecided how high I should have it, finally I twisted it up as high as it would go, slipped in a cartridge and cocked the rifle, aimed at the center of the wolf’s belly. It seemed as tho the bullet was a little slow in getting there but it did get there and kicked up snow from directly under the wolf’s belly. He jumped this way, turned and jumped that., made another turn and jumped the other way off  towards the swamp on the other side of the knoll. I threw another cartridge into the chamber and hurried over to the knoll to see if there was any signs of blood which could indicate a hit. When I got there I followed his track for some distance down into the swamp but there was no trace of blood, so I knew it was a clean miss. 

Demise of the Baby Crow

      

It had been raining most of the night and Andrew and I were out right after breakfast pattering around in the rain puddles still remaining. Squatted under the shelter of the harness shed we found a crow. At first glance he looked to be of adult size, but when we carefully lifted him found he was fully feathered out but not yet full grown. Judging by the loud cawing he set up he was ravenously hungry. Setting him back on the ground we went to the nearby creek flat and caught a few small green frogs. These we took to our little friend and holding them one by one by a leg dangled them over the gaping mouth and dropped them in. When the last green frog disappeared we went back to the creek flat and caught a few more. These followed the others down the little beggar’s throat and still he cawed for more. Andrew said, “Walter this time let’s give him enough to silence him,” so back we went once more to the creek flat. When we returned the third time with our catch of little green frogs there lay our little crow, on his back, feet in the air, eyes closed, and no more sign of life.

The Coming of Carlo

Father had an errand at Pineo’s a mile away. It was a rainy day and the path was sloppy. He wore an ankle length rubber raincoat and rubber boots, At Pineo’s his attention was called to a black and white curly haired bitch and her family of six week old pups. “Wanna buy a dog?” Mr. Pineo asked. Father was looking over the squirming pile of pups tumbling over their mother. He selected a black and white one with curly fur, a tail that turned up a bit and had a white tip on it. “I think the boy will like this one,” Dad said. After playing with it for a few minutes he buttoned up his long rain coat and stuffed the pup inside. On his way home he stopped at our sweet-corn patch and picked a mess of corn, buttoned it into his raincoat and put the pup in on top of the corn, then holding the coat shut he went on home and into the kitchen.

“Ma,” he said, “bring the big dish pan for this sweet corn.” She brought it and put it on the floor. “Now,” Pa said, “catch this corn as I loosen my coat and rattle it into the pan.” Down the corn clattered into the dish pan and rolling out on top of the corn here came the pup whining anxiously over the strange world he found himself in.

      

We had to take turns with our petting. There seemed to be an unexpressed understanding that Walter owned a little more of the pup than any one else. Several names were suggested but finally it seemed that the name went naturally with a shiny black and white coat with pretty curls and a white tip on the tail - was Carlo, so Carlo it was and soon he learned it himself.

      

Owing to his short legs he had difficulty clambering over the earth banking in front of our outside doors, but as he grew soon the legs had lengthened out so there was no more difficulty there. It took him a little while to learn that nice dogs always went outside to answer the calls of nature.

      

As cold weather came on Carlo had to have a house of his own to sleep in. I made him one. It was about four feet long, three feet wide, three feet high but without a floor. I put it out near one corner of our cabin and placed a generous amount of straw  in the bottom for bedding which kept him quite comfortable.

Carlo and the Skunks

As Carlo grew in age, he also gained experience and found in life many things that made him happy and some things that did not make him happy. One of the latter was a skunk. It took him some time to learn that in spite of their attractive coloring, and slow pace making them attractive inviting objects to pursue and if caught to grab them firmly by the neck and literally wipe the ground with them. However things just didn’t work out that way. He found that just before he was to close his jaws on the victim he would be strangled with the most horrendous stink seemingly out of the depths of hell, causing poor Carlo to stop his pursuit and to start plowing his nose around in the soft earth or mud near him whining pitifully as he tried to rid himself of that terrible stink that clung to his nice coat for hours. Sometimes Andrew or I would be present with the old Harpers Ferry muzzle loading shot gun. Gradually Carlo developed the idea that if he could just hold the skunk at bay until he heard the shot gun go off, then he could usually rush in and grab a dead skunk. If the shot missed, it was just too bad for poor Carlo.

      

Carlo developed different kinds of barks according to the game he was dealing with. If he treed some partridges he would sit under the tree looking up at them and barking a certain type of bark. If it was a snow shoe rabbit he was chasing thru the underbrush it would be another kind of bark. But skunks had an importance of their own so he reserved a special kind of bark for them and for nothing else.

      

Just back of our cabin was an area where we dragged in logs suitable for fire-wood sawed them into stove lengths with a cross cut saw then split them so they would go in the stove. One autumn night after supper Carlo set up a furious barking which indicated he had a skunk on his mind. Andrew grabbed the shot gun, I took the lantern and lit it and out the back door we rushed. It was a dark night with no moon. I could see Carlo and beyond him the skunk which was standing at bay refusing to run. Slowly we moved out onto the chip pile looking for a good place to stand to shoot the skunk. Andrew was taking aim but from where I stood it did not seem that he had the gun pointing at the skunk at all. “Andrew,” I asked. “Do you see the skunk?” “Oh yes,” he replied, “Hold that lantern just a little higher.” I did so and “BANG.” The gun belched smoke and fire, Carlo rushed in and grabbed the skunk then immediately let go and started plowing his nose around in the dirt and chips. Poor Carlo, he spent the rest of the evening whining, blowing his nose and pushing it in the loose soil and chips.

      

Next morning before breakfast Andrew and I went out the back door to the wood yard and tried to reenact events of the evening before. Andrew said, “Here’s where I stood and right over there was the skunk.” We went to the spot he pointed to and there we found a stick of firewood peppered full of bird shot. Poor Carlo, he gradually recovered and lost his evil smell and I suppose he must have marked the experience down for one more thing he had learned.