The forest was still. The birds had ceased their songs, the squirrels their chattering. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath as the woods prepared for the night. Rabbits had long since crept to their warrens, and mice were scampering to their burrows as owls shook out their wings to go hunt in the night air. Only one figure was still awake under the trees, standing in a small clearing near the edge of the woods. It was the king of the forest, a magnificent buck, his huge antlers rising like a menacing crown around him as he stood silhouetted against the dying sun, his eyes piercing the gloom of the forest. What exactly the buck was waiting for, he was not yet sure. Perhaps it was the quietness of the forest this night, or perhaps the instinct that told him that danger was lurking nearby. A sudden change of the wind confirmed his suspicions, and from the bushes at the edge of the glade he could smell life—living, breathing, hungry life. Cougar. The buck’s mind flew to other parts of the forest, where does and fawns lay asleep in the wood, so vulnerable and innocent. Without the buck to protect them they would be helpless, easy prey. Yes, the king was old, but if he did go down it would not be without a fight. Only one figure was still awake under the trees Slowly and cleverly he turned away from the bushes and pretended to graze along the ground, looking for all the world like unsuspecting prey. The trick appeared to work, for with a terrible snarl a huge mountain lion erupted from the bushes, his face distorted as he leaped for his prey. But the king was ready. Easily he sprang aside and the cougar crashed to the ground, where the buck’s sharp hooves rained down blows on him. But the cat was hungry. It had not eaten for a while. It would not let go so easily. Almost too quick to be seen its paw flashed out, knocking the deer’s feet out from under him. The buck toppled and the cat leaped up, going for the neck. For a moment it was flailing hooves and claws, a blur of tawny and soft brown fur. But somehow the buck was back on his hooves before the cougar could pin him, and he rammed his great antlers into the cougar’s side. That was enough. Yowling and screaming, the cat scrambled to his feet and fled from the woods, both hungry and beaten, never to be seen again. The buck stood again at the center of the clearing. Once again, he was victorious. Silently, looking around the glade once more, the king passed into the darkening forest at last. The sun set. Josepha Natzke, 13Newberg, Oregon Dominic Nedzelskyi, 11Keller, Texas
Animals
Shadow
For a few days in mid-September, the temperature seems perfect. It’s not boiling hot, but it hasn’t reached what you would call freezing cold yet. It’s a little chilly, but that makes you feel fresh and wide awake, and the wind isn’t horribly wild and hasn’t started biting at your face. It was one of those days, and so my dad and I drove down to the local woods to go for a walk. The ride was short, and I entertained myself by looking at the trees’ beautiful gowns of gold, red, and orange. Here and there, a pine tree popped up, looking serious and glum compared to the others around it. We stopped and parked in the small lot. I got out, and a cool, crisp breeze brushed my cheek and ruffled my blond hair. We started walking, and our feet crunched on the forest floor. Sometimes—in a sudden gust of wind—a brightly colored leaf would float gently down, adding to the great carpet of foliage already resting there. We talked some, but I usually skipped ahead of my dad, my hair whipping back, and breathed in the fresh, earthy smell of the forest. After a ways, about thirty minutes after we started, a bubbling stream wound itself towards us and continued to race merrily along the path. As we rounded a bend, I noticed a skinny, black animal drinking from the stream. I froze, for my first thought was, bear. My dad didn’t notice it at first but then stopped as well. He was a black lab that was obviously lost—or a stray. His fur was matted, and his ribs were showing. But there was also something around his neck. It wasn’t a collar—I could tell that much—but more like a piece of string. The animal heard our footsteps and turned to look at us. Well, he seemed to be looking at me. He wasn’t just looking, however. He was almost talking to me in a way I couldn’t explain—the way animals seem to give messages to humans without words, through just their eyes. This dog’s eyes were like melted chocolate, and if I had to say what he was conveying to me in words, it would be, “Help me.” Still frozen, I peered closely at him, trying to see what the thing around his neck was. But instead, I found myself gazing back into those eyes, as if I could not look away. And then the dog came slowly, tentatively, towards us, his tail wagging slowly. My dad unfroze and walked toward the dog, just as slowly as the dog walked toward him. Then my dad said, “Hannah, let’s get the dog back to the car, OK? Then we’ll take him to the Humane Society—he obviously needs help.” Unfreezing, I nodded. “Come on,” I coaxed. The dog was too willing. He bounded towards us, then stopped, and limped the rest of the way; his leg was hurt, it seemed. Half an hour later, we were in the small parking lot, and my dad was looking at the map to find the route to the Humane Society. I was looking at the thing around the dog’s neck. Tied on a red string was a piece of paper. In small, messy handwriting it said, “Please take care of Shadow.” Immediately, my heart went out to the dog. How could someone do that? How could someone let a dog survive on his or her own? And then a small question formed in my mind. What would have happened to Shadow if we hadn’t found him? Trying not to think about the answer to that question, I paid more attention to Shadow. His fur was as black as a raven, and one of his ears had a chunk missing from it. On the way back, I had petted him, but my dad said something about ticks, and so I stopped. But he had to agree with me that this dog was very cute. Well, if he was a little bit plumper, and his fur was brushed, he’d be adorable. When my dad folded the map and put it away, I dared to ask him, “Dad, can we keep Shadow?” “Shadow?” he asked. Then he sighed. “Hannah honey, you’ve named the dog already? You know we can’t keep him.” “No, look, Dad, it says on his tag.” “He has a collar?” “No, look.” My dad crouched down and looked at the tag that had been around his neck. I could see his lips forming the words as he read them. He was almost talking to me in a way I couldn’t explain Again, he sighed. “Well, let’s get going, Hannah.” I nodded, looking at Shadow. He was pacing around us, glancing sadly at me with his big brown eyes. We got in the car, and Shadow sat in the back, panting happily. “Can we keep him, Dad?” I pleaded. “No, Hannah,” my dad said firmly. “We can’t. I’m sorry.” “Please, please, please?” I begged. “Sorry, Hannah,” said my dad. “I just don’t want him to go to someone who’ll abandon him again,” I said. My dad sighed. “There are other people who care about dogs, sweetie,” said my dad. “I know,” I said. “But what if he gets placed in a home that doesn’t care?” “He won’t,” said my dad. “That’s what the Humane Society is careful about. ” I turned my attention to the trees again, but somehow they didn’t seem so interesting anymore. Half an hour later, we arrived at the building. We walked inside and I found myself in a room that had cages with cats in them, guinea pigs chattering anxiously, and sounds of barking dogs echoing through it. I wanted to take each cat home, and each gerbil and hamster as well. The lady took Shadow, and my dad dragged me out of the Humane Society. Though I begged my parents for Shadow, they refused. I pouted. They wouldn’t give in. Finally, I had to give
Flying Against the Wind
In a marsh, long green grass reaching up to touch the sun swayed slightly in the cool morning breeze. The marsh was teeming with animal and insect life. A snake slithered through the grasses looking for mice while an osprey swooped low overhead, wind ruffling its feathers. The osprey was looking for an animal to catch; a fish was on the main course for today. He needed to find a big fish or several smaller fish to feed his mate and chicks. He headed towards the river, wind pushing him forward like an arrow shot from a bow. The osprey was happy; he was always happy just flying, hunting, sleeping, and mating. A powerful hawk, he didn’t need to worry about being the prey to some bigger animal. His chicks, on the other hand, did. Eagles were known to come flying by and snatch hatchlings to eat. The osprey promised himself that he would never let that happen to his chicks. He loved his chicks, and would easily sacrifice his life for theirs, and so would his mate. She would fly out of their nest and peck and claw an invader until he retreated, defeated. Ground animals couldn’t get to their nest because the tree they picked was about twenty-three feet high and had sharp branches jutting out from the base. His mate always stayed with their chicks. Often when he came home he would see their chicks huddled under her warm fluffy wings. He was going to catch a big fish worthy of his wife and three chicks He finally arrived at the river. It was fast moving and clear. He felt the thrill of excitement he always felt when he was going hunting. He was going to catch a big fish worthy of his wife and three chicks. He swooped into a dive. He loved the sensation of the wind rushing past his head. He pulled out of it about three feet from the surface of the water, looked quickly for a fish, and then swooped in. He dove quickly and made a splash as his talons entered the water. The fish, alarmed by the commotion from the ripples, tried to get away. Too late. The osprey speared the fish with his talons, piercing through the scales and deep into the flesh. He quickly flew up, the fish’s head dangling in the air. With a tight grip, he headed to his nest where his chicks would be with his mate. He was flying against the wind, which made it harder, but he prevailed. He finally reached his nest. He saw his mate, with their chicks under her wings, and felt happy that he had such a good family. That night they ate well. Christopher Fifty, 13Churchville, Maryland Sarah Emig, 13Fort Belvoir, Virginia
