The moon was high in the sky, and I was riding along a bumpy road in the backwoods with my faithful dog Smokey when a hawk swooped down on him and tore his ear off with its hooked claws. I rushed home to bandage him up, and Smokey whined all night he hurt so bad. Poor Smokey. The bleeding didn’t stop until morning.
Smokey felt better as the morning turned into afternoon, and by evening he was his old self, well, as much as he could be without one of his ears. I suggested we visit the doctor in town, but he would have none of that. I think he was figuring he could endure any lasting pain, determined to get even with that hawk.
A month later, I loaded the hay in the wagon to deliver it to the farmer just a few miles from my house. I was singing along, going down that bumpy road in the full moonlight when suddenly the hawk—yes, that hawk—swooped over my head and bore his claws into my ear.
I wished Smokey had come with me, but the last I checked he was curled up on our bed, fast asleep.
I thought I had lost my ear to that spiteful hawk, but before he could claw my ear off, Smokey jumped out of the hay and leaped on the hawk and chewed right into his neck. That’s when Smokey chased the hawk away.
I held my hand to my ear hoping the pain would go away, trusting Smokey to take me home and take care of me. I was really glad Smokey was hidden in the hay ‘cause I couldn’t have saved my ear while the hawk clawed it off.
Smoky saved my ear, grateful that I am, but I must confess I felt sorry for that hawk.
