Lessons from Old Yeller

Arliss Coates: Why did you shoot Rosemary? (the cow)
Travis Coates: She was sick.
Arliss Coates: Well, you were sick. How come we didn’t shoot you?
Travis Coates: That was different.

I was four years old in 1957. That is the year the movie Old Yeller was released. In the typical fashion of the times it took a couple of years for the movie to make it to our little theater in Lenox, Iowa. Some critics have deemed Old Yeller the finest boy/dog movie ever made. Probably so.

For those few who may not be familiar with the tale, it is the story of a family on the Texas frontier, post-Civil War. Father is off on a cattle drive so Mom and her two sons are left to tend the farm. From seemingly nowhere a large yellow dog appears and ingratiates himself into the family. He is christened “Old Yeller” and quickly becomes an indispensible member of the family.

In one pivotal scene Old Yeller defends the older brother from a rabid wolf but is bitten in the battle. Certain that their now beloved pet will contract the deadly disease Old Yeller is quarantined in the corncrib, chained to the wall. When Old Yeller exhibits symptoms there is no recourse but to have him destroyed.

Travis: No mama!
Mama: There’s no hope for him now. He’s sufferin’. You know we gotta do it. Travis: I know Mama… But he was my dog… I’ll do it.

By the time movie finally made its way to Lenox I was six or seven years old. My older sister Margaret Ann took me to town and sat through the movie with me. To this day I can remember. We sat halfway down the theater on the left hand side. I sat next to the wall. I was rapt with the story. In no small part because the little brother reminded me very much of myself. The life of a small boy running free on the prairie having adventures with his dog I thought was pure magic.

Then came the dramatic high point. There was no hope for the dog. Even at my tender age I understood. I did. But… to be forced by life to give up the very thing you loved because it was best for the poor suffering dog. Well that was just too much for one small boy.

Travis stepped up like the fine young man he was and the deed was done. In typical Disney fashion the movie ended on a high note. Cue the happy music and see the boy running with his new puppy, the progeny of Old Yeller himself. I sat stunned through the credits. I began to cry, then sob. I was inconsolable. The lights came up and we were the only ones left in the theater. Finally Margaret Ann had to pick me up and carry me, still sobbing to the car and home.

I don’t remember that I went home and gave our two old dogs a good pet but if not, I should have. Most farms had at least one dog that served as ratter and house alarm against stray animals and strangers. Back then we had two. Farm dogs were rarely treated like our modern housedogs are today. I don’t remember Dad ever buying a sack of dog food. Our dogs ate only what they could find around the farm and the occasional scrap from the table. Of course as all little boys do I loved my dogs. They were constant companions anytime someone was outside of the house. They served as herd dogs, hunting dogs, faithful companions, and of course the aforementioned ratter and alarm system.

The first dogs I remember on our farm were Skipper and Tubby. Skipper grew old and died in his time. Tubby ran off with a pack of coyotes and “went wild.” For a while we would see Tubby swing through the neighborhood running across the pasture until one day we found him dead in the ditch along our road. It seems he developed a fondness for our neighbor’s chickens and paid the price.

Not a boy to be without a dog Cricket came into my life. Cricket was… well Cricket was about everything one can throw into a dog. Medium sized, reddish blonde medium length coat of hair. Certainly part Collie also part a few other breeds. Where ever I went Cricket went. He was a good squirrel dog too. When we were out hunting and would spy a squirrel up in a tree Cricket would worry that squirrel around until it moved to my side of the branch where I could get a good shot. I shot a lot of squirrels that way. I would just stand quietly gazing up into the tree while Cricket ran to the other side barking until our quarry moved to get away from his tormentor.

In today’s world of 24/7 electronic stimulation and at the risk of sounding like the fogy I am the joy of running across the landscape unfettered and unsupervised is a feeling that cannot be equaled. Especially if your best friend Cricket is running by your side. We spent many many hours conquering the world as both cowboy and Indian. In the summer we fished and camped and in the fall and winter we hunted. It was nothing for me to fetch up my rifle, a pocket of shells then Cricket and I would hike the mile across from road to road, through the fields and back, hunting all the way.

In 1963 Disney released a sequel to Old Yeller titled Savage Sam. It was a pretty good movie for a sequel, having all the necessary elements to make a small boy happy, a dog (of course), wild boys, wild Indians, danger, and adventure. I do remember thinking that Mr. Searcy’s daughter got one heck of a lot better looking in four years than I thought was possible. I was flush with the adventure of Savage Sam. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to be the boys, the man who takes the mile long shot, or one of the wild Indians. It was in short, the type of movie that fired my imagination and playtime for a longtime to come.

I turned twelve years old on that farm with Cricket as my outdoor companion. Living miles out in the country I had no one else to romp with. Playing around the yard one day I watched as our neighbor came barreling down our gravel road. This neighbor went everywhere at high speed. My folks had commented on it often. I had only a passing interest until I heard the Yelp! Cricket had charged into the road and was struck by the pickup as it barreled past our farm. I doubt if the driver even knew he’d hit the dog.

I gathered Cricket up in my arms and carried him to the house. Cricket was alive but his eyes were clouded with pain. His legs were not moving. He was very broken. It is impossible to know the extent of his injuries but it was hard to imagine that the collision had not killed him outright. I asked my dad, “can we take him into the Vet?”

His response began with a sad look and a hand on my shoulder. “That dog is so broken I doubt he can be fixed. He is in pain. Further, you know we have no money to treat the animals that don’t bring in money like cattle or hogs. Cricket will have to be destroyed. Go get me my rifle.”

A sob caught in my throat. I knew what must be done. I also knew it would be wrong to leave this task to my father. This was my job to do. When I returned I was carrying my own rifle. I looked at Dad. Dad looked at my rifle and then at me.

“Are you sure?”

I took a deep breath looking off into the distance. “I’ll do it. I have to.”

Dad went back into the house, trusting that I would do what was needed. I sat next to Cricket and lay his head on my lap. I stroked him and talked to him for a few minutes. He still had not moved and the dull light of pain was in his eyes. I pulled the bolt and slipped the single round into the chamber of my rifle. I stood behind Cricket his eyes did not follow me. I stared at nothing for a minute then raised the gun to my shoulder.

I put Cricket in the ground south of the house along the edge of the field of bluegrass where he liked to run, chasing rabbits and birds. What was done was what needed to be done. I sat behind one of our outbuildings sobbing and sobbing until there was nothing left to come out. Then I put my rifle away and the sad experience behind me. I fully understood that it would have been far crueler to Cricket to try to hang onto him. It would have been selfish on my part. A lesson from Old Yeller.

By 1989 Karen and I were living in Kansas. We had two boys by then, Brad was a toddler and GK was five. Today it is difficult to imagine at the pace technology changes that the VCR was a pretty new invention. Instead of waiting for old reruns on late night TV one could rent many of their old, all-time favorite movies to watch right in their own home. Magic.

Like many fathers I wanted to share a bit of my own childhood with my boys. I rented Old Yeller so GK and I could watch it together. He had already been walking with me on hunts since he was three. For his first five years there were dogs in his life. I knew he would love the story of the boy and his dog.

The two of us sat in our rec room watching this wonderful story. GK crawled on my lap and watched wide eyed. When the pivotal scene unfolded there was not a single reaction from my small companion. Puzzled, as the credits rolled I asked, “Did you like the movie?”

“Oh yeah,” was his response.

I pressed on, “didn’t you think it was sad that he had to shoot his own dog?”

A thoughtful look came over his five year old face but his response blew me away. “It was sad and all, but he was sick. I would have shot him if he were my dog.”

And there you have the lessons of Old Yeller.