“I suppose there’s a time in practically every young boy’s life when he’s affected by that wonderful disease of puppy love.” When I first encountered Where the Red Fern Grows, I didn’t know of that joy. My second grade teacher, Mrs. Beenck, read the story aloud to us, and I was captivated by it. We were living in a rented townhouse apartment that didn’t allow pets. A year or so later I got a copy of the book for myself and proceeded to read it several times. Every time I read it it made me want a dog even more. Made me wish I could live in a way that I could wander through woods, see mountains and rivers, and do it all with a trusty dog sidekick.
I never had the urge to go hunting, and to be honest didn’t have a clear idea of what a coonhound actually looked like. But the bond that Billy and his dogs shared was definitely something I wanted. This book served as a touchstone for me, about a boy with a stable life and even Billy losing the dogs made me feel kinship with him, since I had lost my friends. I wondered how I would react if caught in a storm, and decided I would do what Billy did.
Rereading, Growing With a Novel
Rereading this book was an unexpectedly emotional experience. When I first read the book for myself multiple times over third and fourth grades, it was a difficult period in my life. We had moved from Iowa back to Georgia. I didn’t fit in at my new school, was suddenly one of the smart kids instead of the socially outgoing kid I had been. The course of my life was changed, and it led me to where I am today, but it was a tough year.
One passage in particular brought all of these emotions back to me:
Wilson Rawls, Where the Red Fern Grows (chap. 5)
“Well, you’ve got time for a bottle of pop before you go, haven’t you?”
I started to say “no,” but looking at his big friendly smile, I smiled back and said, “I guess I have.”
Walking into the general store, the marshal went over to a large red box and pulled back the lid. He asked me what kind I wanted. I’d never had a bottle of pop in my life, and didn’t know what to say.
Seeing my hesitation, he said, “This strawberry looks pretty good.”
I said that would be fine.
The cool sweet pop felt wonderful to my dry hot throat. My dark little world had brightened up again. I had my pups, and had found a wonderful friend.”
It’s such a small moment in the story, and yet it is the image I have carried with me in my ether ever since. The sugar addicted kid from the suburbs of the early 1980s was struck by the moment with the soda, and with a world where strangers were honestly kind. I was raised in the “Don’t talk to strangers” and “Don’t take candy from strangers” era.
A Dog of My Own
In the spring of 1984 we got a dog, a cocker spaniel I named Brandon “Brandy”. Actually he was named Sir Brandon Tomlin. Brandon the knighted cocker’s life story could fill an eventful novel of its own, but having him join my life inspired at least one more reading of this story. I didn’t have to work hard for two years to earn the money for my dog, but I thought I appreciated him just as much as Billy did.
This is part of a series of posts where I discuss the ten novels that have had the biggest impact on my life.