Favorite Animal Stories: Award-Winning Animal Stories

By Kimberly Vernon Rodgers and Gary Rodgers

A collection of stories for animal lovers. From true stories of the animals we've loved, to imaginative tales that feature some of our favorite animals, the stories included in this collection follow one common thread.  Animals add joy and meaning to our lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Little Red Writing Hood
• Release date: Feb 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224871131

Book preview

The Pony, the Panther, and Trixie Malone

Trixie Malone leaned forward in the saddle and spurred the pony up the steep incline.

Come on, Ginger. 

She reined the chestnut mare around gulleys that had washed out in the recent rains. Small pebbles crunched under Ginger’s hooves and clattered down the hill behind them.

We made it! she whooped loudly when they reached the grassy plateau, thrusting her fists in the air. We’re on top of the world!

Dusty barked in reply. Nose to the ground, the German Shepherd circled the perimeter of the small hilltop, then returned to Trixie’s side. Sliding to the ground, she looped Ginger’s reins into Dusty’s collar. She knew Dusty wouldn’t leave without her, and she’d learned the hard way that Ginger just might.

She looked around their perch. Not quite the top of the world, but they were higher than they’d ever been. She’d never been this far up the mountain, but she wasn’t worried. She gazed east down the wooded, rocky path they’d just climbed. They’d been riding for a couple of hours. Home was down there somewhere, beyond the woods, at the edge of town. Ginger and Dusty always knew how to get home.

The north side dropped sharply toward the river, its bald face a craggy bluff. She looked around for a rock, selected one that fit in her palm, and pitched it hard over the edge. Trixie counted aloud. One, two, three,... She had reached ten before she heard her stone hit the scree below.

The west side sloped more gently, but heavy underbrush offered no hint of a trail. Hardwood trees grew thicker as the hillside fell away and blended into other hills as far as she could see. I bet the Ponderosa’s just on the other side of that farthest mountain.

The south and east slopes were steep but passible. Game trails wove around trees and rocky outcroppings. A girl on horseback could maneuver without much trouble.

South it is. Since they’d come from the east, it was the right choice. They were always looking for new trails. She patted first the dog, then the pony, and climbed back into the saddle.

She rested the reins lightly on the saddle horn, signaling the mare to pick their trail down the steepest parts of the slope. Dusty trotted ahead.

Soon the trail smoothed out. Though still going downhill, the pony’s steps were more sure on the hard-packed dirt trail.

Suddenly, Dusty stopped in the middle of the trail, his hackles raised, body tight.

What is it, Dusty? Trixie tugged on the reins, bringing the pony to a halt. She looked around them at the rocky outcroppings on either side of the trail.

Ginger pinned her ears back and tossed her head. Trixie pressed her palm against the pony’s damp, trembling neck.

A blur of movement, a shriek, a growl. Then a tawny panther landed in the middle of the path with a hiss, and crouched facing the girl and pony. Ginger snorted and shuffled backward, rearing up and pawing the air with her front feet.

Caught off guard, Trixie toppled from the saddle and landed on her rump with a thud. She found herself eye-level with the panther, with only Ginger’s stomping legs between them. Dust rose from the path around the prancing hooves.

Dusty rushed in from the panther’s flank, snapping and snarling. The panther spun and swiped at the dog with a massive paw. The dog yelped and jumped back, but lunged again, nipping the panther on the shoulder.

While the panther faced the snapping dog, Ginger wheeled and kicked the cat. One hoof landed on the back and another found the soft flesh behind the ribs. The panther snarled and hissed, spinning to face first the fierce teeth of the dog, then the sharp hooves of the pony. 

Trixie scrambled to her feet and pressed her back against a hickory tree. She watched in horror as the cat lunged and swiped at her two best friends. She gasped when she saw the blood on Dusty’s shoulder and chest.

No! Dusty! Trixie’s screams mixed with the din of angry fighting animals. She had to do something. She grabbed rocks from the ground beside the trail and began pelting them as hard as she could at the hissing cat. She continued to scream as she threw rock after rock.

The pony kept kicking, sometimes missing, sometimes connecting. Dusty snapped and lunged at the cat’s back and belly, but Trixie could tell her dog was slowing down. It was only a matter of time before the panther caught him in another fierce swipe of knife-like claws. Trixie hurled a large rock into the side of the big cat’s head, then followed with a volley of smaller rocks.

Facing the sharp teeth of the German Shepherd, the flailing hooves of the pony, and the barrage of rocks, the panther decided this prey wasn’t worth the effort. With agile grace, the giant cat leaped onto a boulder and disappeared back into the forest.

Trixie dropped the rock she was holding and rushed to hug Ginger. Securing the reins of the excited pony, she rushed to Dusty and hugged him to her. He sat down, breathing hard. The fur on his chest and right shoulder was matted with blood. He whimpered and licked her face. 

We’ve got to get you home, Dusty. Hang on, Buddy. You’ll be okay.

She had to get Dusty onto Ginger’s back. And the panther could come back any minute. The dog weighed as much as she did. She looked around. She led Ginger over to a log beside the trail. Dusty limped along.

Patting the log, she urged Dusty up onto it. Then she pushed Ginger over until the stirrup was next to the log. Half encouraging, half wrestling, she got Dusty up and across the saddle. She climbed on behind him.

Home, Ginger. Get us home. And be careful.

She turned the mare onto the trail, then allowed her to set the pace, using both hands to pat and soothe Dusty. With tears streaming down her face, she murmured to the horse and the dog, trying to keep all three of them calm.

After what seemed hours, they turned onto a trail Trixie knew well, and she felt the pony pick up speed. She grasped the saddle horn while trying to cushion the dog from the jostling. The dog licked her arm.

By the time the farmhouse and barn came into view, Ginger was loping. They slowed to a trot as they neared the door.

Daddy! Help!

Exhausted, Trixie slid out of the saddle and into Momma’s arms. Help Dusty, she sobbed.

Daddy lifted the dog gently from the saddle and carried him into the house. Trixie felt herself being lifted up and carried also.

Trixie awoke sometime later, blinking in the dim light of the bedside lamp. She jerked upright as the memory of the day’s events crashed over her. Dusty raised his head and squirmed closer to her on the bed, licking her hand. She wrapped her arms around him and drifted back to sleep.

KVR

Honorable Mention, AWC 2019

Old Dogs, Old Men and Tall Tales

One of my first memories of Granddad is pulling up in his front yard when I was four years old. I climbed out the rear passenger window of Mom and Dad’s car, onto the back of the waiting Redbone hound we called Runt.

Runt’s back came up even with the window of the car. Needless to say, he was a big dog. I rode him from the car to the front porch with Granddad laughing his deep belly laugh the entire way. It made me smile and feel special, because I already knew from stories my dad told how much Granddad’s hunting dogs meant to him. Being able to ride one of his favorite hounds like a pony and not get threatened with a razor strap meant it must be okay.

Son, you’re gonna be too big to do that one of these days, he said. But only if we can figure out what to feed you to make you grow.

He was right. In less than a year, I grew enough Runt didn’t want me on his back anymore. He never growled or barked at me or tried to bite me. He moved away and pushed me around with his oversized head and nose. We became best friends for several years. Granddad never allowed Runt in the house, but it didn’t matter which door I used to go outside, Runt was there waiting for me.

When I was seven or eight, Granddad and Daddy decided to go squirrel or rabbit hunting behind the house. It’s