Arbo

His bones ached

 

 

Arbo lay in the Springtime sun, warming his old, aching bones. He dreamt of long days past when he ran effortlessly through woods and fields with his hound dog ears and loose, flexible skin moving in fluid waves like ripples on a pond. Jumping over large logs and rocks with ease, he treed raccoons and even a few bobcats. Often, he fought them, and now bore the scars: tattered ears, torn lips and numerous lacerations about his head and neck. Arbo was a coon dog--an old, tired, coon dog. His bones hurt, his teeth hurt, and he just wanted to lie there and enjoy what comfort he could before the final sunset.

The day I saw Arbo, we were visiting dad's sister, Hettie, and her husband, Lunsford. They were country folks who lived in an old, unpainted wooden house with a big front porch. They had a well with a bucket on a chain that would be full of cold water when you lowered it down and brought it back up. I was three years old, and I liked it when they let me get a drink from the bucket. Between the well and the big front porch lay Arbo. I had a puppy at home that liked to be petted. I liked dogs. I would pet Arbo.

The bite was entirely a shock. My hand hurt, and there were some little red spots on it. I cried. Lunsford said something like, "Sammy, you shouldn't try to pet Arbo--he's old". No one picked me up and blew on my owie. I stood there bawling, and they let me. They were country folks.

Now sixty-three years later, my bones hurt. I bear the scars of life, both inner and outer. Sometimes I bite. I don't mean to, but I do. Please remember that they didn't shoot Arbo.

 

Author's Note

My memory goes all the way back, even to when I nursed or scooted around on the floor, unable to walk. I don't know what the old hound's real name was, but I sure remember what happened that day. Age and health problems now gives me special insight into why he bit me. I'd have bit me, too.

Reviews

[SweetNutmeg]

Please don't bite me! But if you do, I promise not to take you out back and shoot you. I'll give you a cookie and hope that will settle you down.

It's amazing how far back our memories can go. I always love hearing your memories. It's kinda sad you didn't receive any comfort, but I guess that was a different place and a different time. It sounds like you were given plenty of room to fool around and find things out for yourself. The world can be a harsh teacher.

[Samuel Dickens]

Thank you. I learned not to pet old, sleeping dogs--that's for sure. Yes, the world can be a harsh teacher, but learn, we must.

[Neville]

A truly delightful little gem of a read. I'm glad that I found this when I did. Cheers, N

[Samuel Dickens]

Thanks again, Neville. My age and health the way it is, I truly do understand the old dog now.

[Neville]

My pleasure entirely, regards N

[roarke]

Excellent, man just fine excellent. Definitely write in this style more often Sam, it has all the right flavors.

[Samuel Dickens]

Thanks. I'll try. You know how these things are, though. What pops down from wherever that is and says , "Write about this," is hard to manipulate.

[roarke]

yeah, don't I know it... glad I'm not the only one. lol

[Holly Mason]

this is just great..
at the start I fell in love with Arbo- and I thought this would be a story the ended with a loving kiss for a family pet that had passed-I teared up
but no not when M.r Dickens writes-
then I am seeing a little boy with a bite and no one cares- teared up again
then the BITE your ending...
we should never forget what folks have gone through in their life...and understand when they bite
a wonderful story with a moral ....
thank you for sharing...truly

[Samuel Dickens]

Thank you, Holly, and I'm so pleased you understand.

[Mic]

Great story, Sam. The turn caught me off-guard. Understand the thought, and believe perhaps I need a warning label on my shirt as well.

Very well done!

[Samuel Dickens]

That warning label is a great idea. Thanks for reading, Mic.

[Rita L. Sev]

Samuel, this is such a vivid story; I can see the toddler Samuel, and the poor, tired old dog, and the moment of their meeting. I remember when I was a child, we had a Shepherd-Collie mix who was getting older, and my Grandmother would say, "She can't tell us where it hurts, but you know it does." As I got older I realized the wisdom in her words, and they are echoed in this wonderful story you have shared.

[Samuel Dickens]

I think your grandmother knew what she was talking about. Thank you for reading this, Rita.

[Rogue]

I too have long memories, Sam. :)
I imagine Arbo bit you because you were a young, rambunctious child and he in his age wanted no part of your shenanigans. Rather he preferred sleep, peace and rabbit chasing dreams of his youth. :)
That last line was a perfect ending and a lovely light note.

[Samuel Dickens]

I'm sure you're exactly right. He scared me more than anything, and afterwards, I let sleeping dogs lie. (Especially old ones) On the memories--In my teens, I once told mom of some of those early memories, how the house was laid out, where my crib was, etc, and she said, "Why, Sammy, you were just a baby!" Most people's memories only go back to the age of five or six, but mine goes back before the age of one.

[Rogue]

Mine do as well. I remember everything in the house, my crib, my last bottle and her admonishment "Do not unscrew this cap or it will be your last!" Laying down for my nap on the middle of their big ol bed that faced the windows, and after a few sips.. I did it anyway and dumped it all over myself and their bed. :D
I always wonder what a mess I will be if I ever eventually become senile. What age will I live in my memories then? :)

[Samuel Dickens]

I think we keep the old ones, it's the new ones that won't stay. That's funny about your bottle. I dropped mine in church once and broke it.

[Marie]

THis was funny and sad at the same time. I was sorry for Arbo till he bit you. And I still don't feel he had any justificastion.

[Samuel Dickens]

Thanks, Marie. I was mad at him when it happened, but now understand. Yesterday, while attending son Tommy's college graduation at the U of A, a little girl next to me banged her seat up and down, whistled and climbed around like a monkey. It was very irritating, and I wanted her stop, but I did nothing other than look her a couple of times. No matter upset I was, I didn't want her to think old grandpa-types were mean. If I'd been a dog, I'm sure I'd have snapped at her.

[Dean Kuch®]

Nor should they shoot you either my friend, hah-hah!

This is obviously based upon an actual account because the story is written In such a matter-of-fact style.

Poor old Arbo.

I especially enjoyed your incorporation into the story the simile between the scars that Arbo earned over his lifetime of fighting raccoons and an occasional bob-cat or two; with the scars and aching bones that you yourself have endued. A few of those scars inflicted upon you by the very subject of your story, Arbo.
A warm and sincere story. Nicely done Sam...

[Samuel Dickens]

Thanks a lot, Dean. Yes, the story is true.

[Dean Kuch®]

You are welcome. Love dogs and dog stories.

[Angi]

Oh Sam! This didn't go where I thought it would. That teaches me to think I know it all. Loved this so much.

[Samuel Dickens]

Thanks, Angi. Hopefully, you'll still be sweet when you get old--not grumpy like me and that dog.

[Angi]

Your writing is so real, Sam. You know how I am about that whole literal thing. Your stories just let me sink into them effortlessly. ...and I truly love that. I am thinking your bark is much worse than your bite, silly man!

[Samuel Dickens]

You're right. There's no real meanness in me. I went barefooted a lot when young, so maybe all that dirt between my toes affected my writing. At any rate, I'm glad it's so easy for you to "put on".