Where the Red Fern Grows

by Wilson Rawls

I didn’t have to let him go. I could have kept him in my back yard, but to pen up a dog like that is a sin.

uh and lettting it wander the streets is a better idea?

I’m sure if that coon hunter had known that he was slowly killing a ten-year-old boy, he would have put a muzzle on his hound.

the dramatics are insane

The dog-wanting disease never did leave me altogether.

honestly get over it this is starting to bug me

A year passed. I was twelve. I was over the halfway mark.

and you expect the same dogs to be on sale how would someone not have bought them

I flew to the store,

damn this guy likes saying he flew places

My bare feet were getting sore

20 miles in bare feet???

Two young ladies about my age stopped, stared at me, and then giggled. My blood boiled, but I could understand. After all, I had three sisters. They couldn’t help it because they were womenfolks. I went on.

they couldnt help it? rude much

As I said before, they couldn’t help it, they were womenfolks.

that is so rude istg. for context the 'womanfolks' called him 'wild' because he had his fingers in his ears and was making faces in a shop window

ground as I flew around

hes flying again

With eyes as big as a hoot owl’s,

a what

They stretched Old Ringy out between them and pinned him to the ground. It was savage and brutal. I could hear the dying squalls of the coon and the deep growls of Old Dan. In a short time it was all over.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t want to cut you down, but I had to. I hope you can understand.”

“I know,” he said, “but if I hadn’t called Rubin’s bet, nothing would have happened. I guess when a man gets old he doesn’t think straight. I shouldn’t have let those boys get under my skin.”