Richard W. Leech - The Adventures of Button

The Adventures of

Button

Broken Tail

Richard W. Leech, M.D.

Shaking involuntarily, Buttons moved quickly ahead, ignoring the warning hiss of Cross-eye. Toby backed carefully toward the shore, ever keeping his eyes on the logs and the fangs behind them. Each had sustained bites, and small ragged lines of blood followed them in.

Buttons cried out as she rose from the water. The dark figure had to be Sally, but something dreadful was wrong. The small Scottie hastened forward to be with her best friend.

The two cats shivered also. Nothing to be seen, no sounds. Yes, that was it. Nothing was to be heard. Even the wind had ceased.

Buttons rapidly approached her best friend and stumbled as she viewed the terrible scene before her.

Sally lay on her side. Instead of brown and black mixed with white, there was only blood, trickling in many small streams from many rips and fang marks to clot in the sand, forming a black ring of approaching death around her. She was pinned to the ground by many pieces of rope to stakes driven into the sand. They criss-crossed her body in an obscene pattern. Only a torn ear moved.

As Buttons moaned deeply in her throat at her friends plight, an eyelid fluttered and a blood-filled eye opened, wandering, trying to seek the source of the moan.

A croaking sound came from Sally. But more she could not do. She was too weak to move. Her limps pinioned as they were could do nothing. Each toe had been wrapped individually, increasing the pain if she tried to move.

Buttons howled in anger. She rose on her toes and shouted her defiance at the dark and torn trees of Elderwood.

Sally was dying even as Buttons stood there. She could not free Sally in time to do anything. A terrible resolve covered her mind like a soggy blanket. She could not think. She just wanted to kill. Rats. And more rats. And more.

Toby and Cross-eye had quickly come to Buttonss side. But as they stood beside her facing the shadows of Elderwood, JWs cry was heard. Neither moved, fixed like marble statues. They waited and listened.

JW cawed loudly from a perch high on an old tree standing starkly and alone at the edge of the swamp. More come. Beware.

He fanned his wings and swept down on a group of fallen trees. From the deep darkness beneath it, a large cluster of rats issued forth, their eyes glittering with hatred and blood lust. They moved carefully, circling to the cats right. JW cried out as he swept toward another fallen cluster of trees.

As he did so, the raven swept awkwardly down from a perch unseen. His flight was erratic, and JW did not see the coming attack, but Buttons did. She rose on her rear legs and yipped a short call. JW wheeled aside as the raven crashed into him.

Screaming hatred on all animal-kind, the raven struck as hard as he could. It was too late. JWs sharp turn avoided the full impact, but both birds struggled as they locked claws and pecked at one another. Their fall brought them crashing to the ground. The raven shrieked in anger and pain as his bad leg once again crumpled under him.

JW struggled to his feet as several rats rushed him, only to be met head-on by a furious small black dog who literally threw herself into them, allowing JW to rise swiftly above the battle. He would be short work for anyone of the rats.

The Story of Delph

Buttons and Sally moved through the forest at their steady ground-eating pace, their legs a blur of movement. Buttonss broken tail was carried tight against her round rump, unlike other Scotties whose tails were always held high. Her tail was broken very early in her young life by rats who had ventured into the Great Forest undetected. Buttons would never be able to hold it aloft like a bold, black flag constantly advancing on the enemy. Sally, however, snapped her brown-and-white beagles tail high and low in a constant game of crack-the-whip. As different as they were, they had one thing in commonthey were best of buddies.

In their usual haste to explore anything and everything about them, they stopped now and again to sniff about the tracks of raccoons or the short and long leaps of the weasel. Buttons stopped abruptly. Look, she said, the scats of an otter.

Sally looked sideways at her friend, and then approaching the small black droppings, she smelled them. Smells like....

Ah, ah, Buttons broke in. None of that. Weve got work to do, remember.

Sally grinned in anticipation. Boy, I bet that trapper was surprised when he found his traps already sprung and there were no animals in them.

Buttons would have smiled, too, but it was not a fun time. It was dangerous, and great harm had already been done by the trapper. She reminded Sally of it as they moved toward the forest.

Just keep in mind what has happened already. The trapper is as mean as his traps are unforgiving. They take rabbit, weasel, wolves, and otters alike. He particularly likes to trap and kill beavers.

Sally sighed. Yes, I know, she said. Does take some of the fun out of it, doesnt it. I spoke to Dodger the otter and hell let us know if and when he shows along the waterways.

Buttons grunted her assent. Both had passed the word around both the forest and field, but many small animals remained forgetful and careless, too busy with simply finding food to worry about something most had never heard about in the first place. Still, it had helped some, like the otters and the coyotes who were normally careful. They could understand the trapper taking some for food, but just for the skins. It made no sense to most.

So, today, they were going trap-hunting again. The trapper had gone, the birds having seen him return to his large truck, taking some time to beat his dog who was tied to the truck in order to protect it and warn him of any passersby. He had found the gaunt dog asleep and had taken his usual meanness out on the helpless dog. Both Sally and Buttons had bridled in anger when they had been told. Well, they would fix matters. Sooner or later, they would set the matter right so that the many and varied creatures of the forest, swamp, field, and river could live their lives in freedom.

As they moved forward, the maples gave way slowly to towering fir. Moss hung from the other taller trees in great garlands. The air, which had been quiet and nearly motionless, became increasingly damp. A small, musty breeze broke out, moving the dangling moss slowly to and fro. They were approaching the swamp, and like the air, the ground became soggy also. Small puddles of water appeared on either side of the trail. The bounding tracks of the playful and nosy weasel appeared first at one side and then the other, clearly showing the dogs the weasels forward and careless rush.

The two dogs suddenly halted. Sally started to move to one side, her keen nose to the ground.

Do you smell a trap?

Buttons in turn moved to the right, away from Sally. Their keen sense of smell was focused on the ground immediately in front of them as they moved forward warily, each step carefully placed.

Sally froze in motion, one forepaw still held above the ground. Buttons stopped also. This was the critical time. No movement forward until they were absolutely sure.

Sally sang out, Ha! Ive got one. Over here, Buttons.

Buttons turned across the trail which was now broken by tufts of grass and the debris of dead and fallen leaves. She carefully stepped through the littered path over to where Sally pawed the moist ground. Both dogs gingerly nosed the ground, turning up small rows of fresh dirt. They stopped a short distance from the main trail. Checking with one another, they began to dig furiously. Because of her strong forelegs and broad paws, Buttons did most of the work, the ground flying backwards from her in a brown spray of dirt and leaves.