“Yeeeeowwwweeee! Yeeeowwwweee!”
The sound woke me from a deep sleep. My head lay against my flour-sack bag, and my cheek lay on the back of my hand, which was now full of drool. I sat up, wiped the drool on my overalls, and rubbed my eyes.
Uncle Owen’s swamp call meant we were close to Honey Island. He had hollered to let Grandma and Grandpa know that we were almost home. I sat up in the boat. It was dark, but there was a full moon, and its light sneaked through the trees making the water look almost bright. Even so, I had no idea how Uncle Owen could find his way through the swamp at night. With as many summers as I’d spent in the Okefenokee, I had a hard time finding my way even in the daylight. In the dark, I knew I was sure to get lost.
Before we even reached the island, I could hear Uncle Owen’s other dogs barking. Bear barked back to them, and when we got close enough, I could see Grandma Sarah and Grandpa Zeke standing on the landing waiting for us. The closer we got, the more Bear barked and barked as if he wanted to tell Grandma and Grandpa and the other dogs all about our trip.
Finally, Uncle Owen slid the boat up onto the soggy swamp’s edge, and as soon as I felt the ground underneath us, I stood up.
“Why, Elsie Mae!” Grandma Sarah exclaimed. “Ya must’ve growed an inch or more since our visit up to yer place a coupla months ago.”
“She looks more like her Grandma Sarah every time I see her,” Grandpa Zeke said proudly.
Grandma and Grandpa loved fussing over me. They were proud of me just for growing. No wonder I love my swamp summers so much.
I carefully made my way along the bottom of the boat.
“Hi, Grandma and Grandpa,” I said, getting out and hugging them.
They both felt smaller, but as I looked around in the bright moonlight, I saw that the landing at Honey Island hadn’t changed a bit since last summer. And even though from down here at the swamp’s edge I couldn’t yet see the cabin, I could smell the two chinaberry trees that grew on either side of the gate in the front yard. I took a deep breath, letting it all sink in.
Gatordog, Hounder, Boondock, and Otter ran around me, sniffing and barking and making sure I said hello to them too. And even though I didn’t see Uncle Lone anywhere, his dog named Dog was there. I reached down and petted each one on the head, and Bear ran back and forth along the shore so glad for the chance to be back with his dog brothers.
As Uncle Owen got out of the boat and pulled it all the way out of the water, the dogs barked and pranced in a frenzy of friendliness to see him. He grabbed each one of their heads and gave an affectionate rub, which only made them bark louder.
They loved Uncle Owen as much as I did. Most swampers treated their dogs well, especially if they were good hunters, but Uncle Owen treated his dogs better than anybody in the whole Okefenokee. Uncle Lone was just the opposite. He was cranky and cross with Dog, and I kind of wondered if the reason Dog wasn’t a very good hunter was because of Uncle Lone’s orneriness. I also wondered if Dog might even be a little bit jealous of Uncle Owen’s dogs.
“Ya made good time,” Grandpa said over the baying dogs.
“Yeah,” Uncle Owen said, reaching down to grab my bag, “Not bad.”
“Y’all must be starved,” Grandma said. “C’mon up to the house, and we’ll git ya somethin’ to eat.”
At the mention of food, my stomach growled like a hunting dog. That afternoon, Uncle Owen and I had eaten the mess of peanuts and peaches Mama had sent with us, but even so, I was starved.
Uncle Owen gave a quick whistle, piercing the night air, and the dogs calmed down as if he’d put a spell on them. They stood at Uncle Owen’s side in silence looking up at him. And when he snapped his fingers and pointed toward his boat, they all trotted over, climbed in one after the other, and each found a place to settle down and sleep.
“I’ll come back fer ’em after we eat,” he said.
So the four of us left the dogs and walked up the trail toward the yard, and just before we got there Grandpa said, “I know y’all are hungry, but Elsie Mae might want to git to her surprise ’fore she eats.”
Grandma had her arm around me, and she squeezed my shoulder.
“Oh yeah!” I exclaimed, feeling curiosity fill my growling stomach with excitement. “Uncle Owen tol’ me there was some kinda surprise waitin’ on me, but he wouldn’t even give me a clue.”
I looked over my shoulder at Uncle Owen with pretend scorn as we continued to walk.
“How’s this fer a clue?” he asked, pointing straight ahead.
I looked up past the front gate to see Uncle Lone sitting in one of the rocking chairs on Grandma and Grandpa’s front porch. I was confused. Uncle Lone was my surprise?
“Hi, Uncle Lone,” I called.
“Don’t ‘hi’ me,” he said. “Git on up here and start takin’ care of yer dog.”
“My dog?” I asked.
And that’s when I saw a dog sleeping on the porch next to Uncle Lone’s feet.
“Yeah, this animal is ’bout as useless as a bag of chicken feed, which was what I was gonna tie ’round his neck when I drowned ’im.”
“Oh, Lone,” Grandma scolded as Grandpa held open the front gate so we could all walk through. “Stop that nasty talk. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that dog.”
We were all up on the porch now, and I knelt by the dog, who looked a lot different from the other hunting dogs. He lifted his sleepy head to look at me.
I still didn’t understand what was going on.
“Yer givin’ me this dog?” I asked, looking up at Uncle Lone and then back at Uncle Owen.
“That’s right,” Uncle Lone said, “and with good riddance. I found ’im a coupla weeks ago over near Cravens Hammock. He must’ve been in a real mess of a fight. Look at that big ol’ scar under his neck.”
I tipped the dog’s head back and looked at the folds of skin underneath him. I couldn’t imagine what could’ve happened to leave such a lumpy scar.
“He’s been nothin’ but a nuisance ever since I took ’im in. He won’t mind, and he gets into nothin’ but trouble. ’Sides that, somethin’s gotta be wrong with ’em cuz I ain’t never heard a peep outta him—not so much as a bark, yip, or growl. Just ain’t normal, if ya ask me.”
“Now ya know how we felt raisin’ you,” Grandpa Zeke said. “’Cept of course fer the keepin’ quiet part. We all know ya couldn’t talk less if ya tried.”
Everyone laughed—everyone except Uncle Lone. Uncle Owen laughed the hardest.
“Ya mean I git to keep ’im? For real? Forever?” I exclaimed.
“Yep,” Uncle Owen answered, “I talked it over with yer daddy this morning. It took some convincin’, but he had to agree. He might be older than me, but he knows I could still beat ’im in a fight.”
Uncle Owen grinned.
I couldn’t believe it!
I had wanted a dog for as long as I could remember, but Mama and Daddy always said, “Last thing this family needs is one more thing that needs feedin’. Certainly not a dog!”
“What’s his name?” I asked, petting his head.
“I jus’ call ’im Brown,” Uncle Lone said, “but he don’t come when I call ’im, so it really don’t matter what his name is.”
The dog was tan, and he was medium-size, with long, droopy ears. His skin was sort of saggy, almost as if he was wearing a coat that was too big for him. He had a long nose and big, sad eyes. He kind of looked like I should feel sorry for him, and knowing how ornery Uncle Lone could be did make me feel sorry for him.
“Well, since he don’t know his name,” I said, “maybe I’ll give him a new one.”
“Now there’s an idea!” Grandpa said.
“Don’t matter what name ya give ’im,” Uncle Lone piped in. “He’s still not gonna mind ya.”
“Oh, Lone, hush up!” Grandma scolded.
I scratched the dog’s ears, and he let out a long sigh.
“So what’re ya gonna name ’im, Elsie Mae?” Grandma asked.
“Don’t know yet,” I said. “I’ll wait till I git to know ’im a little. Then I’ll pick out the perfect name.”
“That sounds like a dandy idea,” Grandpa said.
“Well, what’s there to eat ’round here, Ma?” Uncle Owen asked. “I’m ’bout as hungry as a hog who missed supper.”
“I made some of Elsie Mae’s favorites,” Grandma said. “Snap beans and squash, boiled rice and pork gravy, baked sweet potatoes, and fried bacon with cornbread. It’s all warmin’ in the oven.”
“And there’s huckleberry pie fer dessert,” Grandpa added. “I been dyin’ fer a piece of that all day, but Sarah wouldn’t let me have so much as a crumb till y’all showed up.”
Grandma’s huckleberry pie was my favorite of favorites, and everyone else’s too.
“Well, let’s stop talkin’ ’bout it and git at it then,” Uncle Owen said, opening the screen door.
Everyone filed inside, and I kissed my new dog on the top of his head. I wished I could’ve stayed out on the porch with him a little longer, but my hunger and Grandma’s cooking were getting the best of me. I’d eat as fast as I could so I could hurry back out on the porch to sit with my new dog. Maybe Grandma would even let me bring him something to eat.