Free Prairie Evers by Ellen Airgood Page A

fall if you hear them, it’s probably a mama calling out to her pups. She’s checking on them. She gives them some free rein, but really she doesn’t think they’re quite grown yet, so she calls out, “Where are you and what are you doing?” They call back to her, all together, saying, “Yes, Mama, here we are, we are all right.”
    I’ll bet five dollars that sometimes those pups are getting into one kind of trouble or another. I’ll wager they don’t say the whole of it to their mama and so get off scot-free with some of their exploits.
    A coyote can get used to about anything. They are alert and wary, careful in their habits. They can run fast and far. Coyotes help raise up their sister’s children and vice versa. There’s always someone to depend on if something happens to the mama or daddy.
    All in all, a coyote’s ways are good to know. I wrote them alldown for Ivy. My information was something she could carry with her. I thought some of it could come in useful to her, because in truth it seemed to me Ivy might’ve done better to be raised by a family of coyotes for as much attention as her mama seemed to pay to her.

PUP
    The gray cat Minerva had babies in October, and I let Ivy name her favorite one. She called it Pup. Pup was smoke colored with a white dot on the top of his head and had large feet like a puppy does before it has grown into dog size. I didn’t say a thing to anyone, but I had it in my mind to send Pup home with Ivy the minute he was old enough. That would be at eight weeks of age, so he could go with her at Christmas.
    I got Mama to take me to town on a day when Ivy wasn’t with me, thinking to spend some of myegg money on a collar. I thought it would set Pup off, giftlike. I picked out a red collar in the store, thinking it would look handsome against his gray fur.
    Mama came up beside me and said, “What’s that you’ve got there?”
    “It’s a collar for Pup. I’m going to give him to Ivy for a present.” Mama got a funny look on her face, and I thought maybe she didn’t like me to give away one of our own without asking. Maybe she was attached to Pup herself. “Is that all right?”
    “Oh, Prairie.” Mama put her arm around my shoulders.
    “Isn’t it all right? Ivy likes him in particular.”
    “I’m going to tell you this plainly. I don’t think Ivy’s mama will let her have a kitten.”
    “Why not?”
    “Oh, honey. Ivy’s mama just strikes me as very unhappy. Very—closed off.”
    “Selfish, you mean. And mean.”
    “Well—” Mama looked pained. She doesn’t like to speak unkindly of anyone, no matter how much they deserve it. “I don’t know about that. But I can’t imagine her saying okay to a kitten. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
    “How about a fish then?” I had a kind of hard time blurting it out, I so wanted to give Ivy that kitten. A fish isn’t the same as a cat, but it’s something living to take notice of and maybe give notice of you in return. Fish are peaceful and quiet, maybe Ivy would like that.
    But Mama said real soft, “I don’t think so, Prairie. I don’t think her mother would allow it.”
    I started to get angry then; it seemed like she was saying no just to say it. “Why not?” I said, quite loud. “That’s dumb. A fish doesn’t bother anyone.”
    An old lady who was looking at tinned cat food glanced over to see what the ruckus was about. Mama didn’t take any notice of her. She hunkered down and put her hands on my shoulders. “Prairie Evers, you’re a good friend to think of giving Ivy such nice gifts. She could use a friend at home like Pup, or even a fish. But trust me when I say her mama won’t allow it. It would only upset Ivy. That’s why I’m telling you no.”
    I bit my bottom lip. I’m not much of a crybaby but I felt like I had lost my last friend in the world. I don’t know why. I wasn’t the one who had lost something; Ivy was and she didn’t even know it, so how could it hurt her? That’s the