Butterflies- The Adventures of Roland Mccray Read online

“The lessons of greatest value aren’t always learned in school.”

  Poke It with a Stick

  My sisters and I went to Vacation Bible School for two weeks of June, along with a lot of other kids from the neighborhood, so my sisters walked with the other girls. Which was fine with me because I could stay late with the other guys, at least until the snacks ran out; and we didn’t really want to walk with the girls, anyway, and they didn’t want a bunch of boys with them.

  As an excuse to stay after “class” ended, we’d ask one of the ladies who volunteered to read us another story. They knew, of course, that we only stayed for the cookies and punch but they didn’t seem to care. I think they hoped we’d learn something, or maybe even want to come back for Sunday services. I had to attend services, when my mom made me, but I knew there was no way the other guys would go to church!

  When the cookies and Kool-Aid ran out, we’d leave and take the path home from the field through the woods behind the neighborhood. The girls took the sidewalk home; they’d never cut through on the path because of the tall grass, weeds, and the bugs. Especially the bugs; my big sister always had her hair “permed” and was terrified that a bug might get caught in it. And the girls usually dressed up and didn’t want to get dirty. But I didn’t wear my “Sunday best” to Bible School: the good shoes, dark pants, white shirt, and that stupid clip-on tie that I hated, and the other guys never dressed up either, so we really didn’t care. And taking the path home through the woods was a whole lot more fun than just walking down the sidewalk, anyway.

  Then one summer, when I was ten years old, we were on our way home on the last day of Vacation Bible School, and I found out what Dad meant about that road being too dangerous to let my dog to get near it.

  I loved my dog. But when I first got her, for my sixth birthday, I didn’t even like her; in fact, I was really mad that I hadn’t gotten a real dog.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  “But you said I could have a dog for my birthday!”

  “Well what do you think that is, Roland,” Mom said. “It’s a beagle hound.” She seemed irritated, or frustrated, maybe. “That puppy’s not even six months old yet; she’ll get bigger.”

  Then, in a more encouraging tone, “And she’ll probably be your best friend if you give her a chance.”

  I looked down at the little animal in the cardboard box. The puppy was mostly white, with some brown patches scattered on her coat. It looked nothing like Lassie or Rin-Tin-Tin; when I’d asked for a puppy for my birthday I thought the dogs that people kept for pets all looked like a Collie or German shepherd. The only hounds I’d seen were hunting dogs my uncle kept at his farm and those were big, wild-acting animals that jumped up on the chain link fence of their pens and barked so loud when anyone was in sight that you couldn’t hear anything else. And those hounds didn’t look like “pet” dogs; they were skinny and long legged and smelled bad.

  “This is a beagle, Roland,” Dad told me. “A beagle hound, yes, but not like the hounds your uncle keeps. Beagles are smart and loyal, and very protective. Before long she’ll follow you wherever you go.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “She’ll be a good pet Roland, you’ll see.” Then, in a sterner tone of voice as he turned away, “You wanted a puppy, you got a puppy, and you’re not getting another one so you better take care of her!”

  I looked at the hound again. She was lying on top of an old towel, and whimpered when she saw me looking, and her tail started to wag. She put her front paws on the side of the box and tried to climb out, but I ignored her.

  “I’m going hiking.”

  “Roland, don’t be like that,” Mom said. “You promised that if we let you have a dog you’d take care of it. And you’re going to do just that.”

  “I’m coming back.” I looked down at the box. “She can wait.”

  I stomped out and made sure the screened door slammed behind me. I wanted them to know I was mad I didn’t get what I wanted for my birthday! I headed towards the big field. A hound! A Beagle hound, but still a hound, but I’d asked for a dog and they’d promised!

  I didn’t stay gone for long, though; it was near lunchtime. But I refused to name that puppy, and for some reason my little sister called her Susie, so that became her name.

  And Mom and Dad were right about Susie; after a few years, I wouldn’t give her up for anything. That’s why I never let her anywhere near the path we took home from church. It was too close to the road, and Dad had told me, over and over, that Susie might run out into the street and get hit by a car. And the way she ran wild when she was away from the house, I was afraid that might happen.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  “What’s that?” Butch asked and pointed off to the side of the path. Butch was taller than the rest of us and could see farther into the weeds that grew between the path and the road on the other side. He was the biggest kid in our group of four because he’d been held back a year in first grade. We didn’t know if Butch was even his real name, but it didn’t matter anyway, because he always took up for the rest of us.

  And Butch wasn’t afraid of anything.

  I looked where he’d pointed, but all I could see was a patch of brown and white. It looked like an old blanket or something. Butch stomped a path through the weeds and briars to get a closer look and Johnny followed him.

  “What is it, Butch?” Scotty asked. He was the youngest and smallest of us, but we let him hang around because he lived in the big brick house on the corner and his backyard was like a playground. I liked his backyard too, but I also didn’t mind him tagging along with us because he didn’t have many friends.

  “It looks like- a dog,” Butch replied. “Either it’s asleep or hurt.” He looked at me. “Susie’s at home, right Roland?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Nobody lets her out of the house when I’m up at the church. Dad says she’d probably track me up there and get hurt trying to cross the road.” I followed the path Butch had stomped through the weeds and stood behind Johnny. It was definitely a dog but all that showed through the grass was the brown and white fur of the dog’s back and the back of its head. It did kind of look like Susie; if I didn’t know that she was at home, I could have thought that it was her.

  “Poke it with a stick,” Johnny said.

  “What if it wakes up?” Scotty asked. “It might bite us.”

  “If it’s a mean dog, it would’ve bitten us already. Get a stick, Scotty. You don’t have to get near the dog if you don’t want to.”

  Scotty picked up a sturdy stick off the ground under the trees we’d almost reached before Butch saw the dog, and tossed it to Johnny.

  Butch took the stick and poked at the dog, but it didn’t move. He pushed the back of its head. I leaned in to get a closer look, and then wished I hadn’t; it was the most sickening thing I’d ever seen. Where the dog’s face should’ve been was just a pinkish-brown mass that sagged towards the ground. I stepped back from it right away. Butch dropped the stick on the ground and he and Johnny backed up, too. I picked up the stick by the end that hadn’t touched that poor dog and threw it as far as I could into the woods.

  “It must’ve been hit by a car and made up the hill before it died,” Butch said.

  “Well, I’m not coming this way anymore,” I said, and Scotty agreed.

  “What’s left of it won’t be here for very long,” Johnny said. “It will either get eaten, or rot into the ground in a couple of months.”

  “Then I’ll wait until the end of summer, at least. Bible School’s over for the year and I don’t have to use this path to the field. And I never bring Susie up here anyway.” I turned around and walked out of the weeds and away from that horrible smell. “I’ve got to get home. It’s almost time for lunch.” I wanted to forget the sight of that dog, but the horrible image was etched into my mind.

  When I got home, my dog, my little beagle hound, was waiting impatiently for me the way she did every day. She had to stay in the house whenever I was up at the churc
h, or even in that part of the field across from it; she didn’t like having to stay inside for so long and would be out the door before I could get through it. But she’d stop long enough to jump up and try to lick my face and then put her head down for me to scratch her behind the ears; her way of letting me know she was glad I was home.

  Sometimes, if it was a really nice day, I take my kite up to the field across from Crater Baptist. Taking either the longer path around the pines or the sidewalk on the main road was safer for a paper kite than taking the shortest path, right through the pine stand, and since the longer path was still a shorter walk than the sidewalk, that's the way I'd go. Of course, I had to put Susie back in the house if I was taking my kite, because she wasn’t allowed to go anywhere near the main road.

  But more often, I’d just want to catch bugs for my collection so I’d get my net and an empty mayonnaise jar and cut through the woods to where the tall weeds grew near the field (and the girls were right about the bugs; there were a lot of them up there). Or I’d go to the creek where I played, down the hill in the woods behind my house. Susie didn’t care where we went; she just wanted to run free. Sometimes she’d scare up a rabbit take off after it through the weeds, briars and tangled honeysuckle vines, barking with every leap until her prey lost her, and then she’d trot back to me, nose in the air and