Hoot
Copyright© 2007 by Zaffen
Prologue
Jamie knew he should not have done it.
In fact, his mom had told him not to, but he was nearly thirteen years old, the man of the house for better then two years since his father had died. Jamie still missed him, it was hard not to because every time he looked in a mirror he saw a younger replica of his dad's face.
As he thought of his dad, Jamie felt a tear spill onto his cheek and angrily brushed it away. None of that now, he thought to himself, even if there isn't anybody but Hoot to see.
Hoot seemed to know, somehow, that Jamie's thoughts were not on hunting, at the moment, and the little calico-colored Terrier mix dog pulled his nose away from the scent he had been investigating, to lope back to where Jamie sat brooding on a stump. Placing a paw on Jamie's denim covered knee, he seemed to be saying he understood and, if needed he was there.
Jamie reached down and scratched Hoot below an ear. "Thanks, Hoot," Jamie said, "I love you too, I guess it doesn't do any good to brood about it, so let's go get some squirrels and maybe Mom won't be mad."
Standing up, Jamie re-buttoned his red and black flannel shirt (a Christmas present from his mom) and zipped his denim jacket up part way, before starting. He was glad his jacket had a lining because when he had left home at Spring Creek earlier in the day, it had been 35 degrees, partly sunny and relatively warm after the severe freezes they'd had lately.
The clouds had been closing in, the temperature had been dropping, and you could almost smell snow in the air.
Picking up the gleaming .22 rifle resting against the stump, Jamie started up the rugged hill in pursuit of Hoot's bushy flag of a tail.
He thought of his eighth birthday when his dad had given him the rifle (in spite of Mom's reservations). Dad said he thought Jamie was responsible enough to have his own gun. Talk about feeling 10 feet tall!
Jamie had been out hunting with his dad many times, had paid close attention to everything his dad said or did, and it hadn't been long before he could track and shoot almost as well as his dad.
Just then, he heard Hoot bark "Treed!" He realized that he had been following without really paying attention. Hurrying to the pine tree that Hoot was reared up on, Jamie looked up into the branches, and saw the fat fox squirrel about thirty feet up, trying to blend into the bark of the trunk.