The fields in Arkansas were still that night. There had been a heavy windstorm along with protracted thunder showers pelting the ground that had been bone dry only the week before. Now everything was quiet, a sort of eerie quiet. This happened often here. Plant life was given one more reprieve.
Sam, that was his name, was lying down on the porch to catch what little breeze might be left. He knew there was not much chance of catching even a whimper of wind, but he lay there just the same. It had been a long day. Soon he fell asleep.
The crowing of the old rooster at dawn woke him up. After a stretch or two of his weary body, Sam slowly stepped off the porch. It was a new day. Perhaps, just perhaps, it would be better than the day before. It never hurts to hope. That was his hope.
Sam’s hair was now clotted. He had been down to the river the day before and decided to take a swim. Then he just lay on the bank to let the sun between thunderstorms dry him out, at least partially so. That was probably why his hair was in big clumps. It didn’t matter as far as he was concerned. Superficial elegance was not his thing. He was smart. Certainly playing in the river while the thunderstorms were active he somehow knew to be unwise.
Swims, even the mud when drying out on the bank, were good ways for Sam to relax. Most days he scoured the neighborhood looking for something to do. Many of the folks there thought him to be high-strung, even potentially dangerous; although underneath most found him to be a gentle, if somewhat mysterious soul, but always a gentleman. He spent many hours enjoying the rich nature around him. It was a strange mix, but for Sam it worked just fine.
While he loved his country home the local financial situation was not good this year. On many days Sam had to work extra hard to obtain enough food for his still growing and muscular body. There were days when small scraps thrown out by others were all he could find. Sam was an active individual to be sure and burned up an unusual number of calories.
He enjoyed his adventures around the neighborhood, sometimes beyond. He really didn’t care all that much where he went as long as he could find something interesting to do. Mischief some called it. Not much interesting happened the day before. It was just another day of looking for those food scraps in the mix of pelting rain and sunny breaks. That routine, while necessary, got boring. He was actually glad when nightfall came. It was calm then. That was the best way to rest up for the next day.
Today Sam woke up with renewed energy although his body was stiff. He was going to venture further. It was indeed a bright and sunny morning with not a single cloud in the sky. The breeze was already picking up. The air smelled fresh. He had to be careful for the local ranchers did not like him trespassing on their property. That was okay for Sam was good at hiding. And if he got caught where others thought he should not be he knew how to run away fast, then hide. He had even been shot at a couple of times, but the shotgun pellets never found their mark. Perhaps they had spread out too far and lost velocity before they reached him. Whatever the reason, he was fine.
Being shot at in some ways added to his sense of fun. Sam was something of a daredevil. It was his nature, nurtured by his previous lifetime of diverse experiences in his beloved countryside. Doing daring, some would say wild and irresponsible things, added to his sense of adventure and thus the fun. He took pride in the fact he had never been caught and locked up.
He had a few friends around the place. Often they met in the woodlands to plot their next adventure together. The country roads allowed them to cover long distances much faster than when they ran through the fields, or especially the woods. The woods really slowed them up with all those hanging vines and hidden tree stumps. But they were good for hiding, or hunting, if the need ever came up. It often did. There are times to be careful in adventure. That to Sam and his friends was the right mix.
From the roads Sam and his friends could map out the ranches that dotted the neighborhood, to see what if anything was going on. Today was quiet. Old Mr. Brown was trying to get his cranky tractor started, but he made more noise swearing than the engine did. He finally gave out a loud curse and headed into his dusky clapboard home, probably to get either a coffee or sip of whiskey, or both. Sam and his friends did not really care. They ran up to the tractor, hung around it for a bit then decided to hit the road once more. It was clear that no one among them could get the old tractor started. Given that, it wasn’t too interesting. So they left.
Sally Smith lived just a half mile or so further down the road. She was an attractive woman, sort of middle-aged they guessed. She raised sheep. She had a well-maintained garden and spent hours there plucking out the weeds that threatened to smother her vegetables. She also had a nice dog. They called it a “sheep dog”, although none of Sam’s little group really knew if that was what the dog really was. It didn’t matter anyway. When Sally was not looking Sheep Dog would join them for a bit, always being careful to be back home at night. Nighttime was when it got fed, mostly scraps, but apparently they were pretty plentiful and tasty.
It was a sad day when Sheep Dog didn’t show up. Neither Sam nor his friends could find him anywhere. Then the word got out. It was potentially a tragic story. Old Mr. Brown got his tractor started and damned if he didn’t run right into the dog who was resting on his neighbor’s back field, uninvited no less. Mr. Brown called this trespassing. He was not fond of dogs.
Mr. Brown and Sally Smith never got along too well anyway, but this did it. Sam and his friends decided to stay far away from each of them. Who knew what would happen next. No use taking chances. The good news: Sheep Dog would be OK, just a bit bruised from his encounter with the tractor. Sally always wondered if Mr. Brown had hit her dog on purpose. It was a good way to keep the flames of mutual disrespect going. Sam thought this was sad. Individually the two could be pretty reasonable.
Given all this the gang headed to the river. It was pretty high on the banks now thanks to the heavy rainstorms the last few days, off and on for weeks actually. Around the corner there were a few nasty rapids but by the muddy beach the water ran by quietly. That is where Sam and his friends decided to romp most days, to get rid of their pent-up energy.
Pranks within the group were frequent and enjoyed by all. Pushing or pulling each other into the river was a favorite pastime. Getting muddy during these romps added to the fun. They’d wash off the mud in the river and get muddy all over again. New pranks could always be invented. Sometimes two or three in the group decided to pick on another as a way to insure the target was the next one to get wet. The groupings changed from time to time. It was all in good fun. Can’t beat that.
The river brought in all kinds of smells that were different from the fields or the woods, or from Sally’s sheep, not to mention Mr. Brown’s tractor. The air seemed fresher here, yet also kind of musky in its odor. A lot of the local birds liked this part of the river too. They bounced along the beach, some sprinting into the water and out again before they flew off. It was quite a sight. The country offers so much. You just have to keep your eyes open.
Sam was by consensus the leader of his group, something he did with charisma, knowledge and kindness. Bullying was not his thing. He had won the respect of all who were included under his leadership. Sam was unusually creative as well, the one who most frequently had a new idea for an adventure or perhaps a prank or two.
Once in a while Sam and his friends tried to chase the birds down the beach but never caught any. Their feathered friends normally let out an alarm cry when they saw the group running toward them, and the whole flock would take off, like a single winged avatar. They were a kick to watch and to listen to. Good sounds in the country if you learn how to listen. Know what places offer the biggest rewards.
Many of their kind lived in cities. Sam had no idea what cities were like, but it was doubtful he would enjoy them. Too damned crowded and no rivers to splash in. The noises, crowds and smells sounded pretty rotten. He wondered from what he had learned why anyone would live there. Apparently lots of folks do. Tall housing and workspaces stacked upon one another like logs, blocking the sky, with nowhere special to go if one wanted to get away for a breath of fresh air. Weird. Not for him.
Can you imagine life in the city as a dog? The thought made Sam shudder. He was a country dog from top to bottom and was happy to stay that way.
Whatever their adventures in their beloved countryside, Sam and his fellow dog friends were always there for each other, an unwritten code of ethics and loyalty they all adhered to. This was their pack. Some of the humans thought they were potentially dangerous in their roaming and antics, but for them it was only good fun with their friends. Dogs, after all, are dogs. Barking in celebration or even anticipation of the next adventure was a sideline.
Life has many alternative paths. As far as Sam was concerned he was on a good one. His friends, the neighborhood dogs, agreed. They were off to their next adventure. It was a good life all in all.
Photo Credits
Old Tractor – Toad Hollow Photography – All Rights Reserved
German Shepherd – Wikipedia Creative Commons
All other photos – Microsoft Office Clipart Collection
Guest Author Bio
John Fentress
I began my academic studies in psychology, with a minor in the biological sciences. From an early age I sought to explore the roots both of human existence and our relationships to nature. I had the amazing good fortune to live life with a special wolf when I pursued my PhD studies at Cambridge UK. The field is called “ethology”, the comparative and biological study of behavior. In addition to my scientific studies, which have moved into the neurosciences, I have long had deep philosophical interests concerning questions such as what we as humans are all about, and how we connect with the universe more generally.
Blog / Website: Lupey Wolf
Charalee says
Enjoyed your story.