Immaturity At Its Best

Katherine Korting
Periods 3-4 British Lit.








Some of the names have been changed to... prevent embarrassment on the part of a friend of mine. Hey, she requested it. *shrug*

My aunt and uncle's house was a fine, old country home that creaked wherever one walked and always smelled of fresh mud from the fields outside the home, the smell of hearty home-style cooking wafting through the rooms. I couldn't help but love the house for its simple coutry decor and the antiques strewn about the wallpapered rooms. The entire farm was old; it had barns that hadn't been painted for years, the paint slowly curling away from the sides, chicken coops with holes as big as doorknobs. I loved my aunt and uncle, the hard-working inhabitants of the farm, as kind and loving as any aunt and uncle could be.
Another attraction to the old farm were the barnyard animals they kept. Chickens, pigs, cows, dogs, and even horses at one time had grazed in the lush fields, picked at the ground, or wallowed in the gritty mud at the farm. The barn smelled of pig manure, making any intruder wince upon entering, although one easily adapted to the smell within a few moments. On this trip I had come with my family and best friend, Samantha, to celebrate a cousin's birthday- not a big affair, but something to do on a Sunday afternoon.
It just so happened that Samantha's grandmother was celebrating a birthday in the next two weeks, and Samantha had yet to find the perfect gift for her beloved Gramma. Our focus was grabbed by the litter of beagle pups my uncle's dog had given birth to, their warm bodies squirming and wriggling, tails whipping back and forth. Of course, Samantha and I deemed a puppy the perfect present for her grandparents, and we set about acquiring one of the rascals.
"Uncle Bill?" my timid voice barely rached across the room, "How much are those pups out there?" My innocent and excited eyes concealed nothing from the jolly man.
"Those puppies out there?" He jerked a thumb at the window, towards the doghouse and pen the pups were kept in. "They're thirty-five dollars. But they haven't been to see the vet, and they aren't registered." The minor drawbacks were nothing to our ten-year-old minds, and addressing my parents in our most innocent fashion, we asked to call Samantha's parents about the ordeal.
The conversation was a long one, with rising voices and soothing voices, Samantha and I doing our best to turn her reluctant parent's opinions. Finally, her protesting parents gave their final reply.
"You are not to buy one of those puppies," voice Mrs. Ash over the phone. And of course, Samantha and I, by twisting words and sometimes plain-out lying, convinced my parents that she had in fact said "yes." When my parents finally consented, Samantha and I rushed outdoors to pick the perfect pup. We looked for the ultimate "Cute Dog", a bright eyed female that no one could resist.
After repeated tries to assess the gender of the pups, we (under the steady guidance of my uncle) picked a healty-looking female and purchased her for a lump sum of thirty-five dollars. She had soft white fur with doe-brown and pitch black patches all over her, a fine looking pup. Soft yet dusty, every time she was pet the dust-powder from her coat tickled the nose. A wet and pink tongue was always ready to lick whoever's hand came nearest. She needed a bath; she was a little bit on the small side; her claws were totally unclipped, and she was (in our opinion) just a hair on the thin side, though we didn't much care. She was the best-looking pup that suited our needs, and we were going to have her no matter what.
We carried th pup hom in a towel, rocking the present back and forth trying to get her to sleep. Unfortunately, our efforts didn't work. Though luckily the pup was a quiet one, barely making a sound the entire ride home.
When we finally did reach home, we decided that the little pup would stay at my house, becaues Samantha already had a puppy scampering about her house that dind't get along with others very well. The only scruple was over the place in which the puppy would sleep. My father was adament in his decision that the dog would not sleep inside his home. We could only put her in the garage. We emptied a recycling bin as the bed for her, and we set down old, soft towels for her to sleep upon.
Naturally, the puppy started to whine. We could hear her pitiful and shrill calls coming from the garage, even though Samantha and I tried to make her feel more loved and welcomed. We gave her no name, and none were suggested considering that this pup was a present and should have been named by its owner. So the nameless thing in the garage whined for it's mother, brothers, and sisters. When Samantha's parents came to pick her up, through the garage door you could hear a quiet but insistent whine.
Samantha's mother was in a rage. Red-faced and angry, both sets of parents stomped around in teh twilight, reprimanding us in from of God and everyone. Never had I seen us both in so much trouble, with so much yelling, the tossing of objects and the rest of it, all pulled from their tightly kept bag of fireworks. We were in trouble like we'd never been in before. All we could do was plead that we were showing compassion and good will towards Samantha's grandmother, but that did no good. It was wrong, and we both knew it.
The little beagle puppy was taken back to my uncle's farm the next morning to be where she should have stayed, with her family. We never saw her again; she was sold within a few few weeks to a breeder from another farm. All the dogs of that litter were sold, none to Samantha or I. For a while we felt as if the pup was our and that we going going to make Samantha's gramma happy with the gift of a puppy. Truly immaturity at its best.


Yeah, alright. It's way forced. The voice sucks. It's not very good. I had to write about something from Real Life, so it sucked. Sorry. I don't write non-fiction very well. :P *shrug* Anyway. My teacher made comments about detail and how much of it there is, but that all stemms from RP. It's a writing /style/ I've learned, and one has to learn it.

Email me with questions/comments at bbcornet1@innocent.com or just go Back to Writings Page and get it there. But tell me what you think about it, alright? Tell me if you think it sucks, if I spelled all the words wrong, if I've got my words in the wrong order... but tell me why, too.

IF IT SUCKS, TELL ME WHY.

;) Thanks.

-Management