Bart Meets Ol’ Scratch

by Kevin Callahan 

This story is an adaptation of a tale by Earl Hamner Jr., an American television writer and producer. Hamner’s story was adapted from a script he wrote for the Twilight Zone. Over the years there have been several similar stories written about a man and his dog, this is mine.

Bart Meets Ol’ Scratch

It was a beautiful Fall weekend in my hometown. We’d traveled from our home two hours distant to visit with relatives, and as usual, we’d brought along Bart, the dog. As a last-minute thing, I had also tossed in my hunting outfit a few shells and my favorite little .410 double-barrel. Now, I’m getting up in years, and I don’t hunt much these days. Certainly, Bart is no hunter even though he is half bird-dog. That half seems well hidden. Regardless I thought to take him on a pleasant stroll on the farm and let him sniff Mother Nature. Who knows what might happen?

With a hearty goodbye, Bart and I motored off the few miles to the country. Like most farm country around here, the land is gently rolling hills. Row crops are laid out in symmetrical shapes with the occasional ditch lined with trees. As is my habit, when we reached our destination, I paused in the driveway and drank a final cup of coffee while I surveyed the land. Land with which I was intimate since I’d walked every inch for the past half-century.

Out of the car, girded for battle, I ‘loosed the hound, hefted my slim shotgun, then we began our trek down the tree-lined fence row. An action I have repeated more times than I can remember. Now, we were not hunting in the true sense of my experience. No, I merely wanted Bart to run, and if there were an off chance that we bumped into a pheasant or a covey of quail, more’s the better. The most likely scenario was that Bart would sniff the weeds, run far ahead, and chase his tail in complete abandon. That was fine with me.

Slowly we strolled to the bottom of the valley. Slow is the only way I walk these days. Then, across the creek and into a deep, tree-lined ditch where I hoped to flush a bird. The ditch trended uphill, and as I walked, I navigated over and around fallen trees and through brambles. It wasn’t long before I felt like a bit of a sit-down. I fished my pipe and pouch from my vest. It was my favorite short pipe just right for holding between your teeth as you walked. Tamping down the aromatic blend, I slid down against a small tree and lit up.

The next thing I knew, I awoke. I came to realization slowly, pipe slack in my mouth. Looking around for Bart, there he was laying not far, eyes bright and ears perked expectantly. “Well, old boy, I expect I took a bit of a snooze. We’d better get on the move, or Mom will have our hides.”

Snatching up my gun, I rose and stepped off. Nothing looked familiar. My eyes cast about for a landmark. “Curious,” I thought. Calling Bart, we turned towards what should have been our path back. Contrary to our previous walk, the land was level and an easy path. Though I couldn’t countenance what was happening, I had little choice but to keep on the path.

Shortly, we saw the path diverge, but that way was choked with large, thorny brambles and could not be accessed.

Ahead, to my surprise, I could see on both sides of the lane beautiful split rail fencing lined with multi-colored flowers leading to a gate. Above the entrance hung a sign: Welcome, To All Who Enter–Never To Depart. I was stopped short by a voice, “Howdy, friend.” A man dressed like a country farmer leaned against the gate post.

With a voice like honeyed ham, he asked, “been walkin’ long? You ‘pear a bit tuckered.”

“Ye, yes,” I replied. “We seem to have lost our way. I don’t recall any such place like this around here. Would you have a drink of water? I’m might thirsty, and so’s my dog.”

Just for a moment, the stranger’s smile faltered. “Well, sure enough, y’all come on through the gate, and we’ll fix you right up and set you on the path.” His smile seemed to hold a thousand tiny lights as he gestured to the entrance.

I made to step through, but Bart growled and barked his deep bark, then sat down, blocking the gate. The man’s countenance dropped, and fire came into his eyes.

“Now, friend, I’m affeered you cain’t bring no dogs in here. ‘Taint allowed.”

“No dogs?” I croaked. “Then this is not the place for me.” Turning smartly on my heel, I called Bart. He bound ahead. I spied the path previously blocked by thorny brambles; it was now a clear grassy path. I went the only way I could, down the trail.

Soon enough, I spied another fence and another gate. Above this entrance, it read: Welcome To All Who Enter And Come To Rest. Once again, a fella was leaning against the gate. To my surprise, he spoke, but not to me.

“Well, hello there, Bart. I see you brought your master safely to our gates.”

Taken aback, I asked, “say, what kind of place is this anyway? The last feller I talked to said he doesn’t like dogs and won’t allow them in.”

The old man chuckled, “I see you met ol’ Scratch. He’s a tricky one, all right. If’n you’d have stepped through that gate, you’d have found it a bit hotter than you’re used to. Bart was there to keep you on the correct path.”

“I, I don’t understand,” I stammered, but recognition was beginning to dawn on me. “Are you…?

“Ha! No, no, I’m not HIM. My friends call me Pete. Speaking of friends, I have a few waiting to see you.” With that, he gestured inside the gates. To my shock and delight, lined up looking excited and wagging their tails were all my past hunting companions.

“Why there’s Lab, and Boots, Jake, Droopy, Duke, good ‘ol Scooter, oh, my dear Cromwell, and sweet Mingo too. Oh. How I’ve missed you!” I stepped forward then stopped. “Come on, Bart, meet new friends.”

Pete spoke, “I’m afraid Bart will not be going with you today.”

“What?” I barked a bit sharply.

“You see, Bart is not finished with his work. He’s only lived half of his life, but you will see each other again. Even as you are with Bart right now, he is lying next to your mortal remains waiting for those searching for you. He must stay to take care of the loved ones you have left behind.”

Bart walked over to me and put his head on my leg. I bent down, we looked into each other’s eyes, exchanging our silent thoughts. I turned to Pete, then back; Bart was there no more. Tentatively I stepped through the gate, but once inside, the cares of the world vanished. I felt lighter and years younger.

“You go on ahead and hunt with your old friends. Later, you will see many people you love and who love you. They’ve watched over you your whole life.”

I hefted my shotgun and set off over beautiful fields lined with golden grasses and greenery. I spent a long time with my “boys.” Each would go on point in turn, a bird would flush, and I would knock it down. Each one retrieved to hand, but to my surprise, each bird would shake, open its eyes and run off unharmed. No matter how many times I reached into my pocket, there were waiting shells.

Soon I came upon a sturdy tree, sat down, and let my pups crawl all over me. Bart had done his job warning me against ol’ Scratch and bringing me to my forever reward. I could hardly wait to see him again.