My sisters started bawling and yelling for Mama. She came running, wanting to know what in the world was going on.
None of us had to tell her. Samie told her with his spitting and squalling.
He was mad. He couldn’t understand what that thing was that was biting his foot, and he was making an awful fuss about it.
His tail was as big as a wet corncob and every hair on his small body was sticking straight up.
He spit and yowled and dared anyone to get close to him.
My sisters yelled their fool heads off, all the time saying, “Poor Samie! Poor Samie!”
Mama shushed them up and told me to go get the forked stick from under the clothesline.
I ran and got it. Mama was the best helper a boy ever had.
She put the forked end over Samie’s neck and pinned him to the ground.
It was bad enough for the trap to be biting his foot, but to have his neck pinned down that way was too much.
He threw a fit. I never heard such a racket in all my life.
It wasn’t long until everything on the place was all spooked up.
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