Kelly Jacqueline - Calpurnia Tate, girl vet. 04: A prickly problem

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For animal lovers everywhere

One thing Ive learned is that some dogs are pretty smart, and some dogs are pretty dumb, and most of the time its not too hard to tell the difference between them. (Ive learned that people are like that too.) But with some dogs, well, you just never know what youre getting. Im thinking here of Ajax, my fathers prize bird dog. Youd think a dog that won prizes for hunting birds would have at least a little common sense, wouldnt you? You probably would. I know I sure did, until that dumb dog proved me wrong in a really big way. Let me tell you about it.

It was early autumn in 1901. The crushing summer heat had ended. All around us were the welcome signs of animals getting ready for the coming winter: the cats fur grew thick, the hummingbirds departed for the south, the Canada geese arrived from the north. The squirrels rushed around burying as many pecans as they could, patting the soil into place with their tiny paws like busy little gardeners.

My six brothers and I would be going back to school in another week. But before that, we always gave away our old clothes to the poor at the other end of town. Every year, Mother would put together a big wicker basket of boots and clothes, and wed deliver it to the needy.

This time, Mother said, Calpurnia, I notice that your bedroom is getting overrun with books. I think its time to part with some of them, so pack a few in the hamper as well.

What? I was outraged.

Watch your tone, young lady, and do as I say.

You dont give away books , I said.

Why on earth not? She continued sorting and packing.

Well, I I dont know. Its just not right. Somehow. I sounded lame, even to myself.

Hmm.

I trudged heavily up the stairs in a black mood. Give away my books? What a terrible idea. I finally picked out an old book that I had long outgrown: A Childs Collection of Fairy Tales . The cover was faded and the pages dog-eared. On the cover, a giant wielding a club and dressed in green chased after a small boy dressed in brown: Jack and the Beanstalk. My three older brothers had read all those stories to me, and I in turn had read them to my three younger brothers. That book was part of my childhood. It didnt feel right, giving away part of my past. But the shelf was getting crowded, and the other books had to do with birds and mammals and plants and fossilsall part of my present. (And, I hoped, my future.) I couldnt give those away. I sighed and grabbed the fairy tales and ran downstairs. I comforted myself with the thought that I knew the tales so well that they were fixed forever on the bookshelves lined up in my brain. That is to say, in my memory.

This year we were visiting the Thompson family. We loaded the hamper onto my younger brothers red wagon, and I pulled it down the street with Mother.

It was hard to tell exactly how many children the Thompsons had. Each time we visited, there seemed to be yet another grubby little face peering out from behind Mrs. Thompsons skirts. The youngest Thompsons went barefoot, even in winter; the older ones wore our cast-off boots. All but the very youngest had to help out on the farm from time to time, so they missed many days of class and lagged behind in school.

Mrs. Thompsons eyes lit up when she opened the door and saw the hamper in the wagon. Mother handed out the clothes to the children of various sizes. One of the younger girls eyed the fairy-tale book. I think her name was Milly, or maybe Molly.

I plucked it from the hamper and handed it to her. She took it with big round eyes, plunked herself down on the floor, and started paging through it right away. Mother and Mrs. Thompson chatted about this and that, and I heard Mother promise to bring a turkey at Thanksgiving. We always raised three: one for us, one for the help, and one for the poor.

When it was time for us to go, Milly (or maybe Molly) stood up and handed the book back to me. Thats all right, I said. You can keep it.

What? she said, looking puzzled.

You can keep it.

You mean you dont want it back?

No, its your book now.

My book?

Yes, I said.

My book?

Yes, I said, thinking she must be a little slow or a little deaf.

Then she said something that made it all clear. Ive never had my own book before.

Oh, I said, taken aback. Well, uh, you do now.

She stammered her thanks and hugged it to her chest like a great treasure.

And here was I, Calpurnia Virginia Tate, with a dozen books on a shelf by my bed, and hundreds more in my grandfathers room, and thousands more at the Lockhart library. All the books I wanted, really. Was I not the luckiest girl in the whole world? Why, yes, I was. And was I not the most selfish as well? Well, yes, that too. I told myself I would never complain about giving away a book again as long as I lived.

On our walk home, Mother shook her head, saying, How that poor woman manages, Ill never know.

We walked on in silence until she said, Youre being very quiet today.

I said nothing because I had nothing to say.

Early Friday Travis and I went out for a walk to the riverbank. Ajax decided to trail along with us, bounding through the brush and sniffing everything in sight. Travis was telling me some boring story about something my friend Lula had done at school. I admit I wasnt paying much attention.

Up ahead, I caught sight of a strange fat little creature waddling along. It turned around to look at us. With its big front teeth and round body, it looked a lot like a beaver, except, of course, for all the fearsome quills sticking out.

Ajax, whod been busy sniffing around, suddenly looked up and caught sight of it. He bolted at it, barking his head off at this stranger on his turf.

Ajax! Stop! I screamed.

The porcupine ran to the nearest tree and climbed up it at a surprising speed. Granddaddy and I had seen one at the riverbank a few weeks before, and I remembered him telling me they were good climbers. Slow on the ground but fast in the trees.

The porcupine looked down at us, chewing peacefully on a bit of bark. It was actually kind of cute, except for being covered in those terrible quills. We finally hauled Ajax away by his collar.

Gosh, said Travis, that was a close one.

Yep, way too close for comfort.

The next day, it was time for a family trip to Sutherlands Emporium, the huge department store in Lockhart, where wed buy school supplies and new boots and cloth for Mother to sew us our school clothes. I didnt care that much about the clothes, but it was important to Mother that all the Tate children looked presentable.