I’ve thought of names for my rambunctious fawn, but none seemed to fit. I tried names of dogs like Joe and Grab, Rover and Rob. I went all the way down the line, calling them to the fawn, but I didn’t prefer any of them. Pa had said he was “tippy-toed,” so I thought Twinkle-toes and then Twink for short, but that only spoiled the name of Twink Weatherby. I immediately removed Tip from the list because Pa had a vicious bulldog by the same name. I knew Fodder-wing would help me. He had been so good about naming his own pets, I knew he wouldn’t fail me.
I did well since Buck had gone home two weeks ago. I was happy that Pa was doing better and getting back on his feet, but I was concerned when he would feel faint or dizzy and climb back into bed. I tried to continue my work but I was distracted with the thought of seeing Fodder-wing. Pa came out and made me a deal, because he understood that I had done a lot of work but he promised Ma that he wouldn’t release me of my “contract.” So Pa told me to tread up to the sink-hole to fetch water for Ma and then I could leave. I came back with full water buckets and was thrilled he let me go. I brought the fawn with me, because I enjoyed for the sake of his company. Walking down the cross roads, I imagined Fodder-wings face lit up with excitement for the fawn. My desire to see Fodder-wing and to get a name for the fawn was overwhelming, so I began to run with my beloved fawn at my side. I reached their door and began pounding and calling for Fodder-wing. Buck answered the door, depressed and sad. I explained that I came to show Fodder-wing my fawn so he could help choose a name. Buck stared at me and said, “He’s dead,” and, “One minute he was breathin’. The next minute he jest wasn’t. Like as if you blowed out a candle.” I felt confused, not sorrowful or sad. It felt like Fodder-wing was here and just out of sight, but he wasn’t, he was nowhere. Buck allowed me to come and see him, letting myself through the open door with the fawn at my heels. I felt incredibly confused. Buck said Fodder-wing was gone, like a blown out candle, but then he said he was here. None of what he said made sense to me. He led me to a large bedroom and I entered. On the bed was a motionless Fodder-wing draped up to his chin in a sheet. His arms were placed outside the sheet, folded limply across his chest. His eyes were closed while he lay still in the large bed; he seemed so small. “Hey,” I called, finally speaking after entering the Forrester’s home. My paralysis broke talking to the motionless stranger. Fodder-wing’s silence was unbearable and upsetting to me, and probably to the rest of his family. Now I understood Buck—this was death, the deafening silence of a person. My friend would never speak to me again. I hurled myself into Buck’s chest, burying my face. His large arms wrapped around me, and we hung like that for quite some time. I knew I was upsetting everyone, so I left the house and solemnly walked out to where Fodder-wing kept his pets. His five-month-old bear cub was chained to a stake. It had walked around and around in a dusty circle, causing the chain to entangle around the stake and keep it at hugging distance of the stake. When the cub caught sight of me, it rolled onto its back and cried. Squeak the squirrel ran inside its cage, its bowl and food box both empty. I noticed the possum was asleep, but I couldn’t find the raccoon. Preacher the red-bird hobbled on its only good foot, pecking at the bare floor of its cage. I fed the smaller animals and then progressed further to the larger ones. I knew where Fodder-wing kept peanuts and corn for them; his older brothers built and filled a feedbox for him. When I finished, I sorrowfully wondered what would happen because their master would no longer give them comfort and tend to their needs. As I walked sadly back inside, I helped Ma Forrester cook and waited on her. I ate dinner with them, leaving the milk and biscuit for my fawn. She wondered why and I told her, and her face was then draped with tears. She said Fodder-wing had wanted to see the fawn, always saying I had gotten a brother. I sat in silence, then explained why I was here—for Fodder-wing to name my beloved buck. “Why,” she said, “he named it. Last time he talked about it, he give it a name. He said, ‘A fawn carries its flag so merry. A fawn’s tail’s a leetle white merry flag. If I had me a fawn, I’d name him ‘Flag.’ ‘Flag the fawn,’ is what I’d call him.” I felt near of bursting, I was filled with grief of a friend and happiness for a new one. Fodder-wing had talked about me and my fawn. I excused myself to go feed Flag.
The next morning, Pa came over on horseback to see why I hadn’t come home. He thought the worst and understood. I had fallen asleep on the foot of Fodder-wing’s death bed and woke up startled to find he was gone. Flag and I sleepily walked outside with the Forrester family and Pa. Fodder-wing’s body was wrapped in cloth and placed in a wooden box, just large enough to hold him. Pa offered to carry the tomb with Buck, but he lifted the entire box onto his shoulder. We walked a short ways over to the live oak where Fodder-wing had a grape vine swing and a hammock. Pa Forrester and Gabby were there, standing beside a large ditch and shovel. Buck placed the box in the hole and Pa Forrester took the shovel and scooped a clump of dirt, dumping it into the hole and passed it around. Finally, the shovel was put n my hand. I felt confused again, they really were asking me to finish the process. Only a small amount of dirt was left, they wanted me to do it? I lifted the last of the dirt and began to tremble, dumping it in, I went numb, my best friend…was really gone.
