佚名/Anonymous
When I was about thirteen years old, back home in Indiana, Pennsylvania, I had a dog named Bounce. He was just a street dog of indeterminate parentage who had followed me home from school one day. Kind of Airedaleish but of an orange color, Bounce became my close companion. He‘d frolic alongside me when I’d go into the woods to hunt arrowheads and snore at my feet when Id build a model airplane. I loved that dog.
Late one summer I had been away to a Boy Scout camp at Two Lick Creek, and when I got home Bounce wasnt there to greet me. When I asked Mother about him, she gently took me inside.“Im so sorry, Jim, but Bounce is gone.”“Did he run away?”“No, son, hes dead.”I couldnt believe it.“What happened?”I choked.“He was killed.”“How?”Mom looked over to my father. He cleared his throat.“Well, Jim，”he said，“Bogy broke his chain, came over and killedBounce.”I was aghast. Bogy was the next-door neighborsEnglish bulldog. Normally he was linked by a chain to a wire that stretched about 100 feet across their backyard.
I was grief-stricken and angry. That night I tossed and turned. The next morning I stepped out to look at the bulldog, hoping to see at least a gash in its speckled hide. But no, there on a heavier chain stood the barrel-chested villain. Every time I saw poor Bounces empty house, his forlorn blanket, his food dish, I seethed with hatred for the animal that had taken my best friend.
Finally one morning I reached into my closet and pulled out the 22-coliber Remington rifle which Dad had given me the past Christmas. I stepped out into our backyard and climbed up into the apple tree. Perched in its upper limbs, I could see the bulldog as he traipsed up and down the length of his wire. With the rife I followed him in the sights. But every time I got a bead on him, tree foliage got in the way.
Suddenly a gasp sounded from below.“Jim, what are you doing up there?”Mom didnt wait for an answer. Our screen door slammed and I could tell she was on the phone with my father at his hardware store. In a few minutes our Ford chattered into the driveway. Dad climbed out and came over to the apple tree.“Come down, Jim，”he said gently. Reluctantly, I put the safety on and let myself down onto the summer-seared grass.