Prissy came to us as a puppy, a little black Pekinese mix with the cutest face. As cute as she was, Prissy had one major flaw ——she couldn’t even find her way home from the mailbox.

We spent half our time hunting for that dog. We live in a rural community of northwest Georgia ——mostly woods and a small lake. She loved that lake, and spent most days patrolling the water’s edge for frogs.

Prissy didn’t always stay by the lake, though. She liked to explore. Consequently, it became an almost weekly ritual to look for her. We rescued her from a boot camp for troubled teens, a neighbor’s house six miles away, and even once from fifty feet up an oak tree.

Prissy was smart but she never paid attention to where she was going. She would just put her nose to the ground and start following a squirrel, rabbit or stray cat. When she finished her mission she would have no idea how she got wherever she ended up.

After a while, most of our closer neighbors knew her. Consequently, she never really “had” to find her way home because she would just go to the nearest front door and cry and whine until they let her in. They’d call, and we’d drive over and get her. If we weren’t home, they would just load her in their car and bring her home.

However, one time when she wandered off, no calls came in.

She had been missing for about fourteen hours, and none of our neighbors had seen her, so we decided to search by car. We drove up and down the surrounding roads calling out to her, driving slowly and checking house to house. After driving several miles in the surrounding area, we became discouraged and decided to head home to regroup and figure out what to do next.

Then, I caught a glimpse of something black in the road up ahead.

Relieved and overjoyed to have found her, we scooped Prissy up into our arms, showering her with affection.

Four men once came to a wet place in the roadless forest to fish. They cast their tent upon pine-clothed rocks. On sweet-smelling branches they slept the sleep of unsuccessful fishermen, for the sun made them lazy and the rain made them wet in turn. Finally they ate the last bit of bacon and the last wonderful cake.

Immediately a little man volunteered to stay and hold the camp while the remaining three should go miles to a farmhouse for supplies. They looked at him dismally (沮丧地). “There's only one of you — the devil is your brother,” they said and disappeared down the hill. Then night came and the three had not returned. The little man sat close to the campfire and added branches. Suddenly he heard the coming rustle (沙沙声) of the dead leaves. The little man arose slowly to his feet, his clothes refused to fit his back, his pipe dropped from his mouth, and his knees struck each other. “Hah!” he cried. A low voice replied and a bear paced into the light of the fire. The little man supported himself upon a tree and recognized his visitor — a bear.

The bear was obviously an experienced fighter, for its fur had become deep yellow with age. There was confidence in his small pace and in his shining eyes. It rolled back its lips and exposed its white teeth. The fire enlarged the red of its mouth. The little man had never come across the terrible animal before and was too scared to breathe. “Ah!” The bear interpreted this silence as a gladiator (角斗士). It approached cautiously and slowly. As it came near, the boots of fear were suddenly upon the little man's feet. He cried out and then ran around the campfire. “Ho!” said the bear to himself, “this thing won't fight — he runs. Well, let me catch him.” It started strongly around the campfire. The little man screamed and ran violently. Twice around they went.

In desperation the little man flew into the tent.

The little man went into giggling (咯咯笑).

My husband, Tom, has always been good with animals, but I was still amazed when he befriended a female grouse (松鸡). It’s unusual for a grouse to have any contact with people. In fact, they’re hard to spot, because they usually fly off when they hear humans approaching.

This grouse came into our lives in spring. Tom was working out in the field when he noticed her walking around at the edge of the field. She was surprisingly unafraid and seemed to be curious about what he was doing.

Tom saw the friendly bird several times, and she got more comfortable around him. We quickly grew fond of the bird and decided to call her Mildred.

One day, as Tom was working, Mildred came within a few feet of him to watch. Tom pretended (假装) he didn’t see her and kept working to see what she would do next. Apparently, she didn’t like to be ignored (忽视). She’d run up and peck (啄) at Tom’s hands, then back off to see what he would do. This went on for about 20 minutes, until Mildred became tired of the game and left.

As spring went and summer came, Mildred started to come out more and more often. Eventually Mildred felt comfortable enough to jump up on Tom’s leg and stay long enough for me to get a picture of the two of them together. This friendly grouse soon felt comfortable not just with our family, but with anybody who walked or drove by.

When hunting season opened, we put a sign (标牌) at the end of our driveway asking hunters not to shoot our pet grouse. My father, who lived down the road also warned people not to shoot her. In fact, hunters would stop and take pictures, because they had never seen anything like her.

One day, when Tom worked as usual, Mildred didn’t show up.

While all of us thought Mildred was dead, she came out the next spring with many small cute grouses.