Can't Tame a Wild Thing

Some said it was a weasel. Others thought maybe a ferret. All I knew was it was a soft, furry little critter, and I loved it. I found it along side the drainage ditch after a big rain, its mother nowhere to be seen.

I stuck her in my shirt pocket to keep her warm. For some reason I was sure it was a female.

She went with me everywhere those months. She would look at me and open her mouth. I'd feed her some milk or whatever I was having. She seemed to like what I liked. She'd cling to my neck and lick me with her raspy tongue.

She wouldn't go near anyone else except my nephew Sam. I guess she felt like Sam was little, too. Sam would hold her and pet her, but he mostly just let her climb all over him.

Sam was with me that day she left. I was driving a combine down the edge of a field. I was sitting up high, driving along and couldn't pay much attention to her. Sam was sitting on the steps holding her.

Suddenly she jumped into the hedgerow. I had gone a piece further down the field before I heard Sam holler. We went back and looked and looked, but never did see her again. Sam felt like it was his fault. I couldn't get him to stop crying.

Some of the fellows came by to see why we'd stopped. "You can't tame a wild thing," one of them said. Everyone was quiet for a moment. Ed looked at Sam and said, "It's ok, boy. You didn't know."

I started up the combine, and we went off again. Sam wasn't crying, but he didn't take his eyes off the hedgerow.