Kneel & Kit: Magnificent Brotherhood

By Kenneth Russell Warren

Kenny Russ Warren’s 60,000 word novel ‘Kneel and Kit: Magnificent Brotherhood’ is the story of wildlife enthusiast Kit Warner, 10, of Vancouver Island, who meets a young Bigfoot, his own age, after the Bigfoot’s father, Thunderhead, saves Kit from a ‘killer’ grizzly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9780993648816

Book preview

family.

CHAPTER ONE

Ten year old Kit Carson Warner got most of his name when his father, Jack, checked to see what famous people were born on Kit’s birth date, April 2, 1974. Jack chose Kit Carson, the wilderness explorer and guide, and young Kit Warner has emulated his namesake for at least half of his first decade on Earth.

Kit was everything his parents--especially his dad--could hope for. Living on a 25-acre hobby farm nestled amongst the Coast Mountains in British Columbia’s Cowichan Valley on Vancouver Island, Kit, honest and responsible, excelled in all sports and was popular with classmates and teachers alike. Although he viewed his school work as a necessary evil, his reading kept pace through an outside interest. This ‘outside interest’ engaged all forms of wildlife, to such an extent that the boy carried wildlife books almost everywhere he went; whether for reading in cars, or while examining bugs and animal habitats.

He’ll be a vet one day, his mother, Laura, would tell friends. He knows everything there is to know about animals. He reads everything he can about them.

Jack was sure that Kit would be a zoologist or, as the lad himself often said: I just want to be a zoo keeper.

His parents would also tell friends of the many birds, even mice, which Kit had saved from the clenched jaws of the family’s many barn cats. Several times he had been either clawed or bitten by either or both the victims and the felines. They told these stories because they wanted to convey the special love this exceptional boy had for all animal life.

Kit spent hours at the large pond near the farm house. Often he would have one of his animal encyclopaedias with him for reference on the bugs, or fish, or reptiles, or visiting water fowl. Always, he would have a jar or a tin can to catch and study the habits of smaller specimen; and always he would let them go when he was satisfied with his familiarization program.

Kit, hurry up, you’ll be late for school, Jack would holler almost every morning. Laura, we’re going to have to move that chicken house further away from the pond.

One of the youngster’s chores was to feed the chickens and gather the eggs. Since he had to go past the pond every morning to get the job done, you can imagine what happened on his return trip with two empty chicken feed cans and the water’s edge beside him. Every morning the allure to inspect the pond was too great. He didn’t mean to stay there so long.

You heard me, Kit. Get back here, Jack would often tell the disappointed truant. You can do all of that after school.

Teachers had too often complained about the boys arriving late for classes. Jack didn’t want to further abide such daily distractions.

The Warner’s farm was situated two miles from beautiful Shawnigan Lake. Originally a resort lake twenty miles from Victoria, BC, Shawnigan now sported year-round residences on its shores and in the subdivisions in the hills around the lake. Easy commuting had changed the character and extended the use of the large, popular lake. New stores and new schools were hastily erected to serve its growing population.

The Warners were lucky, however. They could take advantage of the modern conveniences and yet maintain the ages-old solitude of life on their farm on Silvermine Road. With only three other families living near them on Silvermine, and thousands of acres of unused logging property to the north and east of them, no vehicles ever went past the Warner home.

The farm itself was like something out of a picture book. The old and large home was almost hidden from the road by the several huge, mature apple trees in the front yard. Between the road and the home was five acres of pasture, and then a spacious acre lawn where the fruit trees yielded their tasty abundance.

The house was not particularly attractive on the outside. Sporting its original wall shingles--a ploy to keep the tax man from knowing how beautifully the house was renovated inside--it couldn’t hide its age. But together with the old wooden water tower, the detached garage and large woodshed; that cluster of buildings around the house added warmth and dimension to the home’s setting.

Other features on the property were the gardens (flower and vegetable) that Laura tended near and around the house. Also near the house were a small pig barn, the pond, and fifty yards south, a chicken house. Twenty-five yards west of the house was a large gate that opened up to another five acre pasture and a huge, old, weathered barn that sheltered a big Red Angus bull, and three Hereford cows.

Through the property, from the edge of the pond to the lower northwest corner ran a small creek with ten inch trout , and the entire property, except that portion fronting Silvermine Road, was rimmed with a forest of fir, arbutus, and cedar trees. About 200 feet due west of the barn, on a small knoll, sat an old, circa 1821, log cabin. Still in good shape, but missing a door, the unused cabin was a favourite haunt of the Warner boys.

Both Kit and his eight year old brother, Marcus, led active lives. They were members of soccer teams, swim teams, and Little League baseball teams in Duncan, a small city about ten miles from the farm by good highway.

Theirs was a busy time outside the home; as was driving them for their parents. At home, the boys showed little interest in television and spent most of their spare time outside either playing with an abundance of sports equipment or exploring the property and adjoining woods with their big German Shepherd/Irish Setter cross named Shadow. This wonderful beast followed the boys everywhere they went, and if Jack or Laura ever wanted to see where they had wandered, they just watched for Shadow’s large feathery tail waving above the tall reeds and bushes that followed the creek and spread out on about five acres of rich, dark-soiled lowlands in the northwest. Another reason the boys spent so much time outside was because they had built a fort in a huge (28 feet around the base) cedar tree near the pond. The pond, quite clean because of its clay bottom, was great for swimming, and had a well-situated trampoline at the deepest end for diving and cannon-balling. The boys were lucky that two other boys, Jay and Tommy Bates, lived directly across from them on Silvermine Road. Jay was ten and Tommy eight; the same ages as the two Warners.

Kit loved all the activity at the farm, but best of all for him was the way that Mother Nature had revealed so many of her wonders to him. Deer were abundant both on and near the farm, and often came to the pond or creek to drink. In Autumn, black bears would come at night and shake the apple trees and munch on the apples that fell. Raccoons were other night visitors scurrying about looking for something to eat from the pond or creek. A year ago, Kit had been chased by a hungry cougar while he was feeding the chickens. Though he had been frightened by the big cat, he cried when Jack shot the animal. But then he also cried when he and his dad found what little remained of their only house cat, Marble, who had been eaten by the cougar.

Seeing rabbits was a daily occurrence on the farm. Shadow tried in vain to catch them. What was especially fun for Kit was catching the baby ones, petting them awhile, showing them to his friends and parents, and then returning them to their hiding place.

What Kit wanted most in life was a pet bear cub. There were many black bears in the area, and his father had foolishly suggested a couple of years back that Kit’s fondest wish was not just a pipe dream.

It’s quite possible that we could get a bear cub for you one day, Jack had said, pulling the bed covers up to Kit’s neck one night. With that, he rubbed the boy’s hair, kissed his cheek, and turned out the light.

What he didn’t see was that he had turned the light on in this loving youngster’s mind, and for the rest of his boyhood he would likely yearn for the day that he and his dad would bring home a young bear as his playmate.

CHAPTER TWO

Patches of wet melting snow dotted the higher ridges of the Coast Mountain Range in late March in the Cowichan Region of Vancouver Island, but Spring buds, grasses and flowers flourished in the valleys below. Because the moist, lush valleys glistened in the warm sunlight, deer made their way down to the meadows all over the range. There they searched out longer grasses that had had a month or more without snow cover. A gentle north breeze wafted uncertainly through the valley at the base of Goldie Mountain in the area of the Warner farm. The breeze seemed to stop and start again, not sure how to get out of the valley, nor whether it really wanted to leave. For this was a warm and peaceful scene; one which portrays what nature should be all about. However, the breeze did escape the serene valley floor and carried the delicious scent of tasty venison high up Goldie Mountain where the violent side of nature was smacking his lips as he looked down from his perch, a high, rocky crag overlooking the valley, trying to spy an easy victim.

He was an eight-foot tall Grizzly bear named Angry One. He got the name from the Alberni Coast Salish Indians because of the destruction he had caused in their village after they had saved one of their children from his attack. For three nights after that rescue, the angry bear returned to the village and damaged lodges, knocked over totem poles and ravaged the insides of two homes. Angry One, that’s a good name for him, they decided. The tribe sent out search parties looking for Angry One, but they were soon convinced, and quite happy, that he had left the Alberni Inlet area. They were mistaken however when they thought he had left the area because he feared their reprisal. No, this gigantic grizzly, who had already feasted on human flesh, feared no man. There was another reason that he moved to Goldie Mountain, and it wasn’t because of the excessive numbers of deer there. In fact he hadn’t even known these extra meals would be on the menu.

As he viewed the valley from far above, Angry One’s thoughts coursed the current situation.

Too early yet for fawns, he thought. Pregnant does are too skittish and fast. Rumour has it that Old War Horns is in this area. Where is he? If he’s lasted the winter, this will be his last Spring.

That was the reason the big grizzly had moved to Goldie Mountain. He wanted to feast on Old War Horns.

Angry One squinted and carefully surveyed the valley for a glimpse of Old War Horns. That tired old buck had sired most of the mature deer for miles around. Inactive now, he was tolerated by the powerful young bucks in all surrounding valleys. He was a grandfather to most of them and they knew it. He was on his last legs, but still he possessed the best trophy head and antlers in all deerdom. Angry One stood tall on his hind legs to get a better look. His gaze scanned all of the feasting deer in sight, but none was Old War Horns. He cursed his bad luck. I’d eat for a month off that sinewy old carcass, he thought. By that time the fawns would be here. Ah, I can hardly wait for that tender dessert. Angry One took a last glance at the deer below.

"Too fast, too cautious for me