Incident: Freckles

Written June 30, 1960

Day had cooled into evening, and it was time to find the leather leash and take Freckles for her walk. We were about the same size then, she and I, even though she was a small dog. I clipped the leash onto her collar and her excitement dispelled my reluctance. We were off.

“Heel,” I commanded. She trotted along at my side, tongue out, eyes on my face waiting for any signal that she could translate into permission to run.

I led her up the street to where the sidewalk ended at the canal. I turned around and she followed. Back we walked, past the fields, past our house, and on down toward the orchard. As the trees came into view Freckles’ ears snapped up and she padded on a little ahead of me. I knew she was thinking of the pheasants hidden in the grass. I thought of the apples.

“Okay,” I whispered—and off she went. The leash and my arm were stretched full length and I flew along behind. “Hey!” I called and laughed. I was breathless and excited, “Hey Freck!”

She halted in front of me and retreated toward me, forcing me back.

Before me, in the weeds at the side of the walk, sprawled a grinning man. My eyes met his glassy stare. My muscles refused to move and the pounding of my heart filled my whole body. It was only an instant. Then I felt a jerk and, like a puppet in the wind, I ran, not of my own volition. Freckles was mistress now and I was on the leash. I couldn’t breathe – I couldn’t see. I only felt her incessant pull and hung on.

My father met us in the drive; I’d called without realizing it. When I told him what I’d seen he ran to investigate. I dropped the leash and Freckles ran after him, barking, eager for adventure, now that her charge was safe at home.