Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls - Book recap

Does Magic Pen Stack - Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls - Book recap

Hi friends. Today, I learned about Does Magic Pen Stack - Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls - Book recap. Which could be very helpful in my experience and also you. Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls - Book recap

Let it be known from the outset that I do not believe in ghosts, spirits, superstitions, miracles, or the intervening hand of God directing the flow of events any way in this life or on this earth. That does not mean any of the aforementioned phenomena don't exist; it plainly means that I question the validity of their existence and look for scientific cause-effect relationships to explicate their presence. Red ferns? maybe a lack of photosynthetic performance in its normal totality explains them. I don't know. I am not a botanist. Answered prayers? Maybe coincidence can explicate the series of incidents that are attributable to the divine. I don't know. I am neither seer nor prophet. Did God provide the funds for the pups? Did divine intervention render the sudden inspiration to use the lantern deal with to save diminutive Ann from the frosty river? Was it by divine providence that Old Dan and diminutive Ann were able to save Billy Colman from distinct death from the ravaging jaws and razor claws of the mountain lion? Did the hand of God hold the axe that impaled the guts of Rubin and by destroying him save the hounds that were to provide for Billy's house the occasion to win the competition as well as the pool of money that allowed them to come out of the hills? Could be. Still, there might be logical explanations that apply to any of the fateful questions we ask about what controls the behavior of man and leads them to their destiny.

What I said. It is not the conclusion that the actual about Does Magic Pen Stack. You read this article for info on a person want to know is Does Magic Pen Stack.

Does Magic Pen Stack

What made Romeo and Juliet do what they did? God? Fate? Nature? Maybe a red fern?

The record of the dogfight in the first episode (which I read as it was intended, a prologue to the rest of the story) reminded me of the two dogfights I had witnessed while I was involved with breeding greyhounds. All the males were penned in one section while the bitches were penned next to them. There were twenty-five dogs grist about getting their rehearsal and getting digestive relief (to speak euphemistically). One of them incurred the wrath of two others who, with the others at first cheering them on, ripped into the throat and belly of the unfortunate loner. Once he was down, some of the others -- not all of them -- joined in the frenzy and ripped the poor beast apart while three of us beat the pack back with water hoses and broom handles. It was too late. Just as with Old Dan, the entrails hung out unceremoniously leaking blood and feces straight through gaping holes torn apart by relentless jaws and gnashing teeth. There was no mercy, no sorrow, and no repentance. The weaker fall prey to the strong and those who dare help come to be victims themselves. I enumerate this to what population do to each other with more refined weaponry but resulting in the same miserable death. I feel compassion for them as well -- some of them.

It strained my imagination to appreciate the trapping which busy Billy's time before he was carefully to work for his savings to get the dogs. But, I was a city boy and was more of an animal rights proponent long before it became thein thing to do. But, I can understand the life style of mountain folk who hunt and trap for a living and do not criticize them for doing what is part of their way of life. Having gone deer hunting once in the hills of Georgia while one cold winter, I tried to scare the helpless animal away from my heartless in-laws who wanted a trophy for their efforts. The blast from the gun I used to warn the deer away nearly pummeled me out of the tree. It got away much to the frustration of the same in-laws whose heads I would have adored to see over the mantle than any of the innocent beasts they tried to destroy.

Did God put the magazine with the ad for the pups at the camp? Did He scrawl the names in the tree? Not likely, but that's a question of trust with which no amount of logic can argue. No matter. Billy got his dogs. Rawls found the occasion here to add a bit of foreshadowing that, once looked upon in retrospect, provides a thread of continuity that makes the story a unified entity. The distant confrontation of Old Dan, as a pup, with the mountain lion meant diminutive when it was first mentioned; it later proved to be closure as the association ended in death. Yet, Billy stated that he was ready to die for his pups (page 46). How ironic it was that Dan died for him and both would have died to save him from that same (?) mountain lion. Was it also occasion that the dog in the first chapter, fifty years later, had the same kind of collar attachments as those Billy provided for his pups? Also, unlikely. But, it works to tie the two polar parts of the story together.

I have seen raccoons from a distance, alive, and up close as road wash. But I have never had the occasion to watch their evasive skills in action; as this story presents them, I don't doubt a word of it at all. It must have been engaging and adventurous to have lived so close to them. My closest touch to them were the rats in New York, which were so big they were charged full fare on the subways. I would never skin them for love (n)or money. Reading about the life of the likes of Lil Abner and his ilk left me both in awe of their perseverance to survive under the worst of conditions and gratitude that I never had to do it, too. I learned much from Gramps, who appeared to be the stabilizing element in the roller-coaster emotional circus that pervaded Billy's growing up period. Billy cried more than I would have, but I did follow in holding back the tears that blurred my reading vision as I waded straight through the last three chapters.

I know the feelings of sorrow at the loss of house members -- that's what all my dogs have ever been to me -- and closure after their death is never easy. I enumerate to the affection that population have for their best friends. Mine included, most memorably, a monster Newfoundland that I saved from abusive owners. She had been left in a four by six by six pen for nearly two years with no rehearsal so that her back collapsed like a swaying footbridge and her eyes sagged from the lack of nourishment so she all the time looked as though she were finding up from the bowels of hell in supplication for an iota of mercy from her miserable plight. After scraping the caked feces from her fur and bathing her for hours in Dawn dishwashing detergent, vinegar, and gallons of flea dip, she remained my companion. All two hundred pounds of her accompanied me by car and on foot for years until I sent her to Booth Bay in Maine to retire in luxury at a resort hotel where she has lived ever since. finding every bit as big as a black bear, she exuded the gentleness of a lamb and the devotion of a loving friend for whom she found a new suspect to live.

Later, I acquired two great Danes who were as frolicsome as a newborn colts and traveled with them up and down the east coast as equal members of my family. Years ago, I had two Golden Retrievers, Samantha and Reginald Armstrong Maximillian, who acted every bit like Old Dan and diminutive Ann. The female was smaller and smarter as the male was bigger and stronger. It was not surprising to find the similar association in the middle of Dan and Ann. But, the closeness that they had, the extra inner conjunction that bound them as if they were identical twins, seemed unbelievable. I wanted it to be true but the emotional stress I felt was too much. I wouldn't turn it. My attentiveness was more on their association with each other than it was with their devotion to Billy. It intrigued me that they functioned so well together, roughly as two bodies with one mind. More than that, I wanted them for myself. That's why I felt such empathy for Billy when they died roughly together. Well, one might say that Ann died, really, when Dan died. How I hoped they would get replacements -- though nothing could adequately replace them realistically, just as none could replace my Newfie or Danes -- and begin the scenario anew. Having moved out of the mountains, though, the Colmans would have no running room that such hunting breeds so desperately need just as my Newfie, Folly, needed the cool climate afforded by Maine.

This story awakened in me many things I didn't know about raccoons, a lot I did know about dogs, and left me questioning the possibility of a more remarkable force than Nature that takes care of its own. Many incidents in my own life tend to make me lean towards the greater probability of there being a originator who intervenes subtly in the operations of His universe, but I am not sure that finding a red fern would bring me any closer. I admit that red ferns, as signs of some greater power, come in many shapes and forms. I am equally distinct that they are growing in the middle of the cadavers of my experiences long-buried and forgotten in the grave yard of my mind. I only have to open my eyes to admit that they exist.

Old Dan and diminutive Ann were not dogs. The more I ran with them throughout the story the more they became a part of my reminiscence -- my fond memories -- of the dogs that lived an irreplaceable part of my life's experiences. They were representations of the population I knew who felt for each other what Dan and Ann felt. Such death-defying and life-sacrificing devotion is incomparable and far too much to expect with population who place less value on their lives than they do on the material possessions that have no meaning face of their private existences. When I see population who feel for each other what Ann felt for Dan, I cannot help but pray to anyone force there may be to allow such love to prevail over the Rubins, Ranies, and all others like the Pritchards of the world. Love like that is roughly adequate to make me believe in some form of god, magic, and even red ferns, whether I care to admit it or not.

I hope you get new knowledge about Does Magic Pen Stack. Where you may put to use within your day-to-day life. And most of all, your reaction is passed about Does Magic Pen Stack.