Bring great literature to life

I read “Old Yeller” at an impressionable age. Spoiler alert — the dog dies. I wasn’t traumatized by this tragedy. I grew up in the “Every Dog Dies” era of children’s literature.“Old Yeller” featured hydrophobia and a heroic canine. Trust me, I saw it coming.

While I felt sorry for the young boy, Travis, and for Old Yeller, I shielded my adolescent soul by denying the inevitable conclusion and investing instead in the “How to Ear-Notch a Wild Range Hog” part of the storyline.

This was exciting stuff. Our teachers told us we should make pictures in our minds while we read. I could picture the ear-notching sequences perfectly.

Travis would venture into the wilderness surrounding their cabin to find the range hogs that belonged to his family. He would scale a tree and select a strong, low branch. Old Yeller would herd the vicious, tusk-bearing hogs toward Travis, who would then use a rope to reach down and catch the shoats, one at a time, so he could pull them up and work them from the safety of the tree.

I wasn’t a knife-wielding sort of kid. What intrigued me was making a loop and lifting a baby hog. Could it really be done?

I lived on a farm. We had pigs. We had rope. I had to know.

I studied our A-frame hog shed for a few days, working up the courage to put my plan into action. The baby pigs trotted in and out of the open door all day. If I got on the roof and lowered my rope, I’d be sure to nab one.

I found a stiff length of lariat in the barn. Tucking it under my arm, I carefully climbed onto the roof of the A-frame and straddled the peak. I scooted forward until I was positioned above the door. Then I waited. The pigs ignored me. I made a big loop in my rope and dropped it onto the ground. Still no reaction from the pigs. I smiled to myself. I was the Queen of Sneaky.

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