New Contributor: Clea Carchia

Please welcome our latest contributor, Ms. Clea Carchia, with this wonderful, short story for children.

The Hound Dog and the Pigeon

A children’s story

By Clea Carchia

There was once a hound dog puppy named Fender. He was born into a prominent southern Appalachian family, known for their hunting skills. Every morning while he and his littermates snuggled close to their mama, he would see his pack leave the house with their human masters. A few hours later they would return with their spoils, a pheasant, a turkey or some other small feathery animal. His canine family was proud that they were known for generations as having great talent and instinct for the chase . . . but Fender was different. He felt bad for the birds. In fact, he kind of liked them. Of course he didn’t tell anyone. What kind of freak was he? A hound dog who didn’t want to hunt.

Late summer turned to autumn. The days had grown shorter and cooler and the leaves on the trees had started to turn. Fender had grown from a cute fuzzy ball of fur to a tall, beautiful, athletic young dog. He kept his big secret to himself until the day came for him to go out with the rest of the pack on his first hunt. This is an important coming of age ritual for hound dogs. The air was buzzing with anticipation and excitement. His worth was going to be judged on how well he could track and point.

The morning was crisp. Humans were cleaning their guns and packing provisions for the day. A group of men led the dogs into a big truck and headed for the woods. Fender’s healthy, sleek, black and white coat glistened in the sun as they hiked up the mountain in search of prey. The human hunters spotted a flock of grouse who had stopped to rest at a nearby pond. This was it . . . Fender’s big test. The leash came off and he ran toward the grouse. But instead of tracking quietly and reporting back to his humans, Fender ran right at the group of birds chasing them all away! “Go! Get out of here!” He screamed, “The humans are coming to kill you!” The grouse took to the air and all flew away, unharmed.

Needless to say, this did not go over well with Fender’s master. He was very disappointed with this type of behavior. It was unheard of! What kind of hound dog doesn’t want to hunt? Feeling like a reject, head lowered, Fender followed the humans back onto the truck and started for home, or so he thought. They stopped at an old broken down building. There was a lot of barking and many angry dogs jumped against a tall chain link fence. It smelled bad. Fender was scared. His master pulled him out of the truck and yanked the leash hard, pulling him toward the door. Fender struggled. They entered the building and his master left him without even looking back.

Frightened, Fender cowered in the corner of a smelly concrete pen. A large, gruff, unsmiling woman glanced at him briefly, then looked back at her computer. After some time without food or water, a tall thin man approached. He put Fender on a leash and led him out to an area with a lot of separate enclosures. There was one dog in every cell. The man put him into one of the runs and walked away. Fender looked up at cinder block walls and out through holes in the chain link in front of him. The floor was cold. Wind was blowing rain through an opening in the back of the enclosure that led to the outside. Fender missed his family. He shivered and shook until he finally fell asleep.

Fender woke up to a lot of loud barking, howling and jumping. The tall thin man opened the pen of a straggly looking old black dog with wiry fur and gray around his mouth. The old boy’s eyes were wide and frightened. He was dragged down a long hall, into a dark room. Everyone knew that once you went into that room you never came out. It was usually after you had been at the shelter for a while and no humans had come to rescue you . . . or if you were old and sick. Fender did not like this new place one bit and he was so sad his human family had chosen to abandon him. He crawled to the back corner of his cell, curled up, and put his head underneath his paw.

Days turned into weeks. Every day at least one dog would take the walk to the one-way room . . . the room with no exit. “Maybe it was better than suffering like this anyway,” he thought. No one loves me anymore. There’s no point to living.

One day three young humans came into the shelter. Everyone was curious. “Why are they here?” Fender thought. They were laughing, smiling and talking to the dogs. They seemed so nice. Suddenly, one by one, the tall thin man opened the pens and handed off the dogs to the group. It seemed like forever before they reached Fender’s run. Finally they opened it and led him out. Fender and about 20 other dogs were loaded into a big van. They drove off and away from the horrible place. They drove and drove until it was dark. When they arrived at their destination all the dogs woke up and stretched. They were led into a building and put in pens where they went to sleep for the night.

In the morning when they woke they could see this place was much better than the last place. It didn’t smell so bad and the people were nice. They were played with, given toys, and allowed to go outside together. Friendly people would come and sometimes the dogs would leave with them! Fender was so much happier now, but he was still lonely and longed to find a family who would love him.

About a week went by and a woman with red hair came in. She looked around at all the dogs. When she spotted Fender she smiled and pointed at him. One of the young volunteers opened the door and took them out back to get acquainted. They played together for a while. Fender really liked her and tried to act real cute so the woman would pick him. It worked! He walked out with the red haired woman and away from all the other dogs. He felt bad for them, but was relieved to be off of the cold concrete floor and away from the chain link fence. The nice woman took him back to a beautiful house with a big yard where she threw a ball for him to fetch. She lived with a man who was really nice too. She took him for long walks and patted him gently on his head. He was given a nice soft bed to sleep in and many toys. Fender had found his forever family.

Fender lived a very happy life for many years and never knew hardship again. One day a woman with curly hair came to the house. His mommy had to go away for a few days so the curly haired woman took him to her house for a visit. He ran up the steps, through the door and all around, excited to be in new surroundings. He spotted a cage in the corner with a large gray pigeon in it. “How cute! A sweet bird,” Fender thought. He remembered back to the days when he was expected to chase and hunt birds and recalled his whole horrible experience at the first shelter. He put his nose up to the cage and the bird walked over. Fender sniffed. The bird sniffed back. The woman opened the cage and took the pigeon out. “This is Nicky”, she said and lowered the bird down so he could take a look. Fender put his nose up to the bird’s wing and felt how soft his feathers were. He had found a new friend. He was relieved that he wasn’t expected to kill the bird. Fender realized he didn’t feel like an outcast for being different any more and was so happy he was accepted for who he was . . . a hound dog who liked birds!

The end J