Shake on It and Spit in the Dirt

By Lynne Gregg and Karen Jennings

This is a multicultural juvenile novel targeted for ages nine to twelve. But people eight to eighty-eight have read this book and enjoyed it. Set in the East Texas Piney Woods, two young boys form a secret pact to capture a monster and hopefully bring a racially torn community together. This monster has been wreaking havoc and casting suspicion and blame between the two races for too long.
Winning the Editors’ Choice award for these first time novelists, Gregg and Jennings, was a grand pay off for all their hard work. As you read this award winning story, you will find it filled with family love, family conflict, bullying, friendship, jokes, a monster hunt, and a boy’s love for his dogs. This mystery for juveniles has toned-down violence that takes place before the young boys ever come upon it. The monster search party members are instructed in the use of tranquilizer darts when they attempt to capture it. This book illustrates the pain of racial hatred but always uses positive language for the races.

Young people will grab Shake on It and Spit in the Dirt and begin reading it because of the title. They will finish reading it because of the exciting, mysterious, fast-paced action in the book.

Our world needs to become more cohesive racially. What better way to do this than through the friendship of two young boys who don’t judge people by color?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lynne Gregg and Karen Jennings
• Release date: Jan 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466058569

Lynne Gregg and Karen Jennings

KAREN and LYNNE retired after more than sixty years combined in education. Lynne taught language arts/English, 6th grade through college. Karen taught language arts/ESL and then became an administrator. Lynne lives in Houston with her husband John and they travel the world whenever they can. They have 5 super grandkids. Karen lives in the country with her two dogs and also loves to travel frequently.Karen and Lynne give school presentations, discussing bullying and differences in people,and then they read to the classes from their book.EDITORS' CHOICE WINNER

Book preview

Chapter Two

Jon had never seen Grandpa look as sad as when he said, I guess we need to do the buryin’ before it’s too dark to see.

Grandpa, Gram, and Jon walked to the shed to get the items they needed to bury Ole Blue. Gram saw Grandpa cringe with pain as he lifted a half sheet of plywood. Gram moved the flashlight and a towel to one arm and said, Here, Horace, let me help you with that. Gram took one corner of the plywood, and Jon carried the shovels and a coil of rope. They walked one behind the other to the spot where Ole Blue lay.

Jon knew Grandpa was hurting, because he kept clutching his left side. Grandpa bent down to lift Ole Blue onto the plywood so they could drag him to his grave. When Grandpa slid his hands under Ole Blue to get a hold of him, Grandpa seemed to fall to one knee in slow motion. He pitched forward, but he caught himself. Jon thought Grandpa was fainting and grabbed for him.

What’s the matter, Grandpa? asked Jon. Do you need some help? Both Jon and Gram steadied Grandpa as he stood up. They helped him over to a tree stump so he could sit down.

Both of you, I’m fine, Grandpa said. Just as I lifted Ole Blue, a big gush of air, kinda like a sigh, come out of him. Made me think for a split second he might not be dead.

Whatever would make a dead dog sigh like that? Gram asked, rubbing Grandpa’s sore back.

Jon wanted to believe it was all a bad dream. He asked, Are you sure he’s dead, Grandpa?

I’m sure, Jon, Grandpa said. I guess some air was just left in his lungs. When I picked him up, it just whooshed out of him.

Grandpa looked miserable. I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t shook-up when it happened.

Grandpa groaned when he straightened up. Since Ole Blue was such a big dog, Grandpa had to tie the rope around the plywood with Ole Blue’s body on it. Then he slowly began dragging Ole Blue to his gravesite. Without saying a word, Gram and Jon helped Grandpa pull the board.

***

Chapter Three

Grandpa stopped and sighed as they reached the row of pine trees. I guess we better start diggin’ his grave, he said. It’s gettin’ dark, and we won’t get much moonlight because of all these clouds. Might even rain on us.

Jon looked at his grandparents’ faces. Gram, we’re gonna need that flashlight. Where d’ ya think we should bury Ole Blue? Jon asked. She shone the flashlight at the end of the stand of pine trees by their fence line.

Country people always plant trees over the graves of their pets, Gram said, gently covering the dog with a clean towel. He’ll help the tree to grow, and we’ll have a living marker to remind us of Ole Blue.

Grandpa began digging the grave. Jon smelled the damp soil as Grandpa’s pile of dirt grew. We need to dig it fairly deep so no prowlin’ animals get his scent and dig him up, Grandpa said. "I already hear the coyotes howling in the distance.

Ole Blue here was eleven, like you, Jon, Grandpa worked as he talked. Your daddy called when you were born, and I was so excited to have a grandson that I immediately called a hound breeder I knew who had Bluebonnet. This man recommended another breeder who had Ole Blue. I wanted you to have a pair of hounds. I rushed right out and bought the two of them. Both dogs were four months old and became fast friends on the way home in my truck. I figured I’d train them, so they’d be ready when you were old enough to hunt with me.

Grandpa stopped for a minute. He wiped his sweaty face and neck with his red handkerchief and smiled at the memory. I walked into the kitchen with those two wiggly pups’ heads sticking out of the front of my shirt. Grandpa winked at Jon. I said they were for you, but your Gram wasn’t fooled at all.

Gram interrupted, I knew Grandpa wanted those dogs as much for himself as he did for you, Jon.

Called me an ‘old fool,’ if my memory serves me right. Grandpa wiped his forehead again with his bandana.

Gram smiled, but with a faraway look in her eyes. Your Grandpa brought those two long-eared pups into my kitchen with a mighty sheepish look on his face.

A boy oughta have a couple of hounds to grow up with, Grandpa said. Since the dogs were Blue Heeler hounds, I named them Bluebeard and Bluebonnet, but Ole Blue’s nickname soon became the only name we called him. Grandpa continued scooping the black, loamy soil out of the grave.

Mind if I help with some of the diggin’, Grandpa? Jon asked. He picked up a shovel and started to dig.

They developed a rhythm of digging and throwing the shovelfuls of dirt as Grandpa talked. Those pups were so gentle with you, Jon. When you were little, they never knocked you down. When you got bigger, they seemed to know how much roughhousin’ you could tolerate.

The coyote howls seemed closer now. The sound caused the hairs on the back of Jon’s neck to stand out. He dug faster.

Overhead they could hear the swoosh of the vultures’ wings as they circled Ole Blue. They seemed to fly lower with each pass. They were instinctively pulled closer by the scent of the dead dog. We need to hurry and get this hole dug before one of those hungry birds lands on Ole Blue, Grandpa said.

Grandpa continued the story of Ole Blue and Bluebonnet, while Gram shone the flashlight. Grandpa leaned on his shovel, thinking about the past with those two hounds and Jon. Cicadas and croaking frogs played their night music for them, as they finished digging the grave. White lightning flashed across the summer sky.

I’ll go back to the house and bring Bluebonnet up here, Gram said as she handed Jon the flashlight and turned towards the house. She needs to say good-bye to Ole Blue. Once she smells the scent of death on him, she’ll do okay. Otherwise, that dog’ll wander around looking for him and grieve herself to death.

Jon heard Gram mutter under her breath as she walked, I hope all the snakes and skunks stay asleep until I get Bluebonnet out here.

Gram called softly to Bluebonnet, who was back under the house licking her wounds, Come here, girl.

After a minute or so, Bluebonnet crawled out from under the house and slowly walked beside Gram to the grave. Bluebonnet limped over to where Ole Blue lay on the board covered up with a towel. Gram lifted the towel. Bluebonnet sniffed all around Ole Blue and then prodded him with her nose as if to say, Get up. When he didn’t move, she looked up at the three of them from under the deep wrinkles of loose skin on her forehead. It was as if she wanted them to explain.

Bluebonnet whimpered as she nudged at Ole Blue’s face. Then she began the sorrowful howling of a hound. Gram, Grandpa, and Jon wept as the dog grieved for her friend and mate. Finally, whimpering, she lay down right next to Ole Blue, with her head on his front paw.

Jon didn’t think he could stand one more minute of this sadness.

Your old friend is gone, girl, Grandpa said. He knelt down and began talking softly to Bluebonnet. You’re gonna miss him; we’re all gonna miss him. We’ll try to be extra good to you, girl, till you get used to bein’ without him.

Jon finished scooping the last few shovelfuls of dirt from the grave. It was about three feet deep. Grandpa pulled the board next to the hole and gently slid their beloved dog into his grave. Lying on his belly, Jon leaned in and covered Ole Blue with the towel.

After he stood up and brushed the dirt off his shirt and jeans, Grandpa handed Jon his shovel and said, You go first, son. Jon scooped up a shovelful of dirt and gently sprinkled it over Ole Blue.

Grandpa took the shovel and did the same.

Jon offered Gram his shovel, but she shook her head and scooped up a handful of dirt. Rest in peace, old fella, Gram said as she slowly let the dirt sift through her fingers onto Ole Blue.

Grandpa started talking again, Old Blue was the best. He was a good huntin’ dog and a good friend. He didn’t deserve to die like this.

Gram held the flashlight. Since Jon had the larger shovel, he threw mounds of dirt into the grave for a long time. He kept wiping his damp forehead on his arm. Grandpa tried to take the shovel from him, but Jon couldn’t let go of it.

Once the grave was filled, Jon stomped down the dirt to pack it solid. Then they piled rocks over the mound. They could see the amber glow of wild animals’ eyes beyond the pine trees. They were drawn there by the scent of death. Jon felt prickles go down his spine.

Bye, Ole Blue, you were the best. Jon didn’t know anything else to say.

Without another word, Jon picked up the shovels, Gram Carried the flashlight, and they helped Grandpa drag the empty board. As the three of them left the grave of Ole Blue, Jon called, Come, Bluebonnet.

But Bluebonnet remained lying by the grave. Grandpa whistled twice before she slowly got up and followed them home in the moonlight. Bluebonnet crawled back under the house, as Gram led the way up the porch steps.

It’s time we ate some supper. Ya’ll must be hungry, Gram said as she washed her hands and bustled about the kitchen. She warmed up some tomato soup and made grilled cheese sandwiches.

As Grandpa and Jon came to the table, Gram asked, Did you wash your hands?

Yes, ma’am, we did. Jon wasn’t really hungry, but he managed to eat a little to please Gram. Later, Jon went out and sat on the steps by himself. Bluebonnet crawled out from under the house and sidled up next to him. They listened to the splashes of the river, the croaking of the frogs, and the chirping of the crickets, all mixed together with the occasional voices of distant dogs, cattle, and coyotes.

Jon’s mind would not settle down. He had grown up a lot today. I can’t believe Ole Blue’s dead and I helped bury him, he thought. He hugged Bluebonnet tightly around the neck and buried his face in her smooth blue-gray coat.

***

Chapter Four

Jon climbed into the creaky bed that he slept in every summer. He wore new red and blue striped pajamas that Gram had made for him. He pounded his pillow and tried to make it comfortable, but his mind raced with thoughts of the day’s events. He raised himself up on one elbow to think. Could Grandpa be right? Could the white people have killed Ole Blue? He remembered his mother warning him to be careful. This wasn’t starting out as the great summer he had dreamed about.

The movement of the curtains from the night winds gave Jon the creeps. Those curtains are movin’ like the swoop of those vultures. Jon knew Bluebonnet was probably sleeping, but he talked to her anyway.

As Jon listened to the river in the distance, he watched the full moon trace shadows on his walls. They look like the prowling animals with those eerie amber eyes that wanted to eat Ole Blue, he thought.

Jon tried to concentrate on the rhythm of the river symphony to calm down, but he was too edgy. Sheesh, I’ll never get to sleep.

Bluebonnet, who was sleeping at his feet, started to growl, most likely doing battle in her dreams with Ole Blue’s killer. Jon reached down and patted her head, as her jowls