By the time she was through kissing me and talking to me, I was sure I didn’t need any dogs at all.
I couldn’t stand to see Mama cry. The next night I heard the hound again.
I tried to cover my head with a pillow to shut out the sound.
It was no use. His voice seemed to bore its way through the pillow and ring in my ears.
I had to get up and again go to the window.
I’m sure if that coon hunter had known that he was slowly killing a ten-year-old boy, he would have put a muzzle on his hound.
Sleep was out of the question. Even on nights when I couldn’t hear the hound, I couldn’t sleep.
I was afraid if I did, he would come and I would miss hearing him.
By the time hunting season was over, I was a nervous wreck.
My eyes were red and bloodshot. I had lost weight and was as thin as a bean pole.
Mama checked me over. She looked at my tongue and turned back one of my eyelids.
“If I didn’t know better,” she said, “I’d swear you weren’t sleeping well. Are you?”
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