Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

One Wrong Step

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! I thought as I bounded happily to the truck. I’m finally big enough to go hunting. My master Phillip called out, “Rusty get in the truck, boy.”
I leapt into the passenger side of the truck and wagged my tail excitedly. Phillip started the truck and it vibrated violently. “Stupid piece of junk….shoulda taken you to the scrap yard years ago…” Phillip muttered angrily under his breath. The sentences kept getting worse and worse.
We finally arrived at the forest where we went hunting. I almost burst with joy when Phillip opened the door to let me out. “Now calm down, boy,” He chuckled “You will need some of the energy for later.” He said as he petted my head.
We crept slowly and silently through the forest as I tracked the few pheasants that were left. Suddenly the scent of a large male caught my nose. I growled ever so slightly and stopped. I waited for my master’s command to move forward. My body tensed in anticipation, my tail wagged back and fourth rapidly, and my breathing came in quick short pants. He gave it. Oh the thrill of his command. I leapt forward and frightened the bird away. No sooner had I left his side, than the bird was dead at my feet. I faithfully picked up the dead pheasant and returned it to Phillip.
He gently placed his gun on the ground beside me and reached for the bird. I gladly gave it to him. I was so proud of myself. Phillip was proud too. He told me I had done a very good job and rubbed my tummy. After letting go of the bird, I jumped and there was a deafening bang as the gun fired.
Phillip was suddenly lying on the ground in pain. I didn’t know what to do. I barreled forward licking at his face trying to get him to stop crying out. Oh no, oh no, oh no! I moaned as his pained cries continued. I howled louder than any poor puppy has ever howled before.
Luckily, the other hunters around heard his cries and came to help. They picked up Phillip and gently carried him back to their truck. When we got to the truck, the hunters placed Phillip’s limp body in the back seat and called for me to jump in the bed. I leapt as quickly as I could into the truck and the hunters sped off towards the hospital.
Phillip survived. The shot only grazed his leg. I was mortified that I had done something like this. I’ll never go hunting again.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback