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Authors: Farley Mowat
Tags: Ages 10 and up
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about the gun again.
The war with the crows lasted until Dad was out ofammunition. By then, there were a lot fewer crows around Dundurn.
When we got back to camp I was telling Mother about it, beginning with the way Wol had accidentally wandered out into the open.
“Wandered out?” my father interrupted. “Don’t you believe it! Wol knew what he was doing.”
And, come to think of it, Dad was probably right.
chapter 11
The spring when Weeps and Wol became three years old was a very sad spring for me. My father had taken a new job, so we had to leave Saskatoon and go east to the big Ontario city of Toronto. There would be no more sloughs, no gophers, no bluffs and, worst of all, no prairies in Toronto.
I hated the idea of moving; but most of all I hated leaving my friends behind me—both my human and my animal friends. We couldn’t take Weeps and Wol because they would have had to spend all their days locked up in a cage, and that would have been cruel. On the other hand, we couldn’t just turn them loose either, because they had been members of a human family for so long they wouldn’t have been able to look out for themselves.
All we could do was try to find someone who would give them a new home. I talked to most of my chums about this, and they all said they were willing to take my owls—but their parents wouldn’t hear of it. Then, one day, I thought of Bruce. He and his family had moved away from Saskatoon a while earlier and were running a fox farm about two hundred miles to the northwest. I sat down and wrote Bruce a letter, and a few days later I got this reply:
D EERE B ILLY:
It is pretty good here. There are lots of ducks and we hav started the fox farm and got lots of pups. Dad says sure I can hav the owls. We hav a old fox pen I am fixing up to keep them and I am bilding a wood house in it to keep them warm. Rex is helthy and says hello to Mutt and says bring Mutt up here for a visit when you cum with the owls. There is a lot of Indians here and I go to school with a lot of real Indian kids. When you cum I will take you there and you can ride sum of their horses.
So-long,
Your old pal
B RUCE
I showed the letter to my father.
“Sounds fine, Billy,” he said. “What do you say we drive the owls up to Bruce’s place on Friday afternoon, and stay over for a visit until Sunday night?”
I said, yes, of course. And that was what we did.
It was a wonderful trip to Bruce’s. The sloughs were full of water and the water was covered with ducks resting on their way north. We saw prairie chickens dancing on the side of the road; and there were more meadowlarks and red-tailed hawks than you could shake a stick at. The owlsrode with me and Mutt in the rumble-seat, and they had a wonderful time. When we got to the farm, Bruce’s mother had a big feed ready for us.
On Saturday Bruce took me to the Indian Reservation to meet his pals. One of them, a boy about my age named Harry Wild Hawk, loaned me a cayuse, and the three of us rode all over the old prairie that day, chasing coyotes and jack rabbits, on horseback.
On Sunday Bruce and I stayed around the farm and I helped him finish off the cage where Wol and Weeps wouldsleep at night. That was a sad business, though, and I kept wishing that Saturday could have gone on forever.
Wol and Weeps didn’t seem to suspect anything. I think they were having too much fun to be suspicious. Wol went off and explored the big poplar bluffs behind the fox farm. And then he walked all around among the fox cages, hoot-hooting at the foxes, and daring them to start something.
Weeps found his way to the meat house, where the fox food was ground up in a big mincing machine; and the hired man fed Weeps so many scraps that he could hardly walk at all.
Sunday night we put the two owls in their new cage. Weeps was asleep almost before I could turn the catch on the door, but all of a sudden Wol seemed to sense that something was wrong. He gave a funny sort
The war with the crows lasted until Dad was out ofammunition. By then, there were a lot fewer crows around Dundurn.
When we got back to camp I was telling Mother about it, beginning with the way Wol had accidentally wandered out into the open.
“Wandered out?” my father interrupted. “Don’t you believe it! Wol knew what he was doing.”
And, come to think of it, Dad was probably right.
chapter 11
The spring when Weeps and Wol became three years old was a very sad spring for me. My father had taken a new job, so we had to leave Saskatoon and go east to the big Ontario city of Toronto. There would be no more sloughs, no gophers, no bluffs and, worst of all, no prairies in Toronto.
I hated the idea of moving; but most of all I hated leaving my friends behind me—both my human and my animal friends. We couldn’t take Weeps and Wol because they would have had to spend all their days locked up in a cage, and that would have been cruel. On the other hand, we couldn’t just turn them loose either, because they had been members of a human family for so long they wouldn’t have been able to look out for themselves.
All we could do was try to find someone who would give them a new home. I talked to most of my chums about this, and they all said they were willing to take my owls—but their parents wouldn’t hear of it. Then, one day, I thought of Bruce. He and his family had moved away from Saskatoon a while earlier and were running a fox farm about two hundred miles to the northwest. I sat down and wrote Bruce a letter, and a few days later I got this reply:
D EERE B ILLY:
It is pretty good here. There are lots of ducks and we hav started the fox farm and got lots of pups. Dad says sure I can hav the owls. We hav a old fox pen I am fixing up to keep them and I am bilding a wood house in it to keep them warm. Rex is helthy and says hello to Mutt and says bring Mutt up here for a visit when you cum with the owls. There is a lot of Indians here and I go to school with a lot of real Indian kids. When you cum I will take you there and you can ride sum of their horses.
So-long,
Your old pal
B RUCE
I showed the letter to my father.
“Sounds fine, Billy,” he said. “What do you say we drive the owls up to Bruce’s place on Friday afternoon, and stay over for a visit until Sunday night?”
I said, yes, of course. And that was what we did.
It was a wonderful trip to Bruce’s. The sloughs were full of water and the water was covered with ducks resting on their way north. We saw prairie chickens dancing on the side of the road; and there were more meadowlarks and red-tailed hawks than you could shake a stick at. The owlsrode with me and Mutt in the rumble-seat, and they had a wonderful time. When we got to the farm, Bruce’s mother had a big feed ready for us.
On Saturday Bruce took me to the Indian Reservation to meet his pals. One of them, a boy about my age named Harry Wild Hawk, loaned me a cayuse, and the three of us rode all over the old prairie that day, chasing coyotes and jack rabbits, on horseback.
On Sunday Bruce and I stayed around the farm and I helped him finish off the cage where Wol and Weeps wouldsleep at night. That was a sad business, though, and I kept wishing that Saturday could have gone on forever.
Wol and Weeps didn’t seem to suspect anything. I think they were having too much fun to be suspicious. Wol went off and explored the big poplar bluffs behind the fox farm. And then he walked all around among the fox cages, hoot-hooting at the foxes, and daring them to start something.
Weeps found his way to the meat house, where the fox food was ground up in a big mincing machine; and the hired man fed Weeps so many scraps that he could hardly walk at all.
Sunday night we put the two owls in their new cage. Weeps was asleep almost before I could turn the catch on the door, but all of a sudden Wol seemed to sense that something was wrong. He gave a funny sort
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