Summary:  Adam is determined to know why Ben Cartwright always refused his sons’ requests for a family dog.  This was written for the 2026 Lorne Green’s Birthday Challenge which required the author to write a Carwright story that included a dog in honor of Lorne’s love of dogs.  

rating: teen  word count : 2843 

 

Vows and Loopholes 

 

My father did not dislike dogs.  Many times, I had seen them bring a smile to his face.  He never mistreated a dog in any way or allowed any of his sons to do so.  Hoss cared for a number of woeful canines but only temporarily as Pa would not allow a dog to take residence on the Ponderosa.  No, Pa never disliked dogs, but the one thing easily attainable that Pa denied each of us was a dog of our own. We had asked separately, together, and -in Hoss’s case and mine- for the benefit of a younger brother.  Yes, we all had asked repeatedly, and each time Pa had given his unequivocal no without discussion or explanation or any allowance for whining, sulking, or disrespect.  Even when I asked to be allowed to give Little Joe a dog to ease my departure for college and his grief for Marie, I was reminded that the matter had been settled in the past and ordered to leave it alone once and for all.  I did until my twenty-third year when I finally learned the reason for my father’s refusal.  

~ACACACAC~ 

 

“Pa.” The force of my call cut through the blowing wind.  Pa paused and turned his gaze from the road ahead toward me.  “Line Shack Three is down that trail.”  

“And nearly two miles out of the way.”  

“It’s over fifteen miles to the house, and the snow is increasing.”  Pa hesitated.  I too would have preferred Hop Sing’s cooking and some brandy beside our roaring fireplace followed by my own comfortable bed, but I had become concerned we might be caught in a true white out.  

Pa shook his head.  “If Hoss were here…” My younger brother has an uncanny ability to predict the weather.  Both Pa and I would have deferred to his opinion on whether we would be able to reach home, but in his absence, we had to decide rather to rue an unnecessary night in a line shack or rue the poor choice of riding through and possibly being lost in a blizzard.  The wise course was obvious.  Pa shrugged, sighed, and turned Buck from the road and toward the trail.  

“All right then.”  Sport tossed his head as if to say he preferred to continue down the road to his warm stall, and I had to urge him more firmly to follow Buck.  By the time we reached Line Shack Three, we knew we had made the right choice.  

Actually, while Line Shack Three was older, it was preferable to most of our line shacks. It was larger, had two bunks instead of one and a stone fireplace instead of simply a Franklin stove.  It had a small porch and an enclosed shed for the horses.  We settled Buck and Sport comfortably making sure they had extra feed and water sufficient for more than a day and tied a rope to the shed door unfurling it as we stomped to the cabin and secured it to the post that held up the porch roof.  It was while I was tying off the rope that we heard a whimper and discovered a half-frozen dog cowering against the wall next to the door.  Covered in snow and shivering uncontrollably, he lay motionless and stared up at us with liquid brown eyes.  Pa carried him inside, leaving me to bring in our gear.  The dog received Pa ministrations while I started a roaring fire.  Then my father delegated the cooking chores to me.  As I gathered the makings for our supper, I found just enough disturbance to know that someone had recently occupied this line shack for a short time.  Some standard supplies had been used.  This did not upset me nor Pa when I told him.  We expected that those in need of shelter would take advantage of it and did not begrudge a reasonable stay.  We had made use of shelter belonging to others a number of times though we always left payment for any supplies used.  No, the only thought that disgruntled me was that whoever had stayed in Line Shack Three had most likely abandoned the dog there.  The dog had obviously not been eating well as his ribs showed despite his long and curly white coat.  He was a friendly fellow who had thanked Pa for water, food, and an old blanket next to the fireplace with dozens of licks and nudges before settling at Pa’s feet with a soft huff that imitated a contented sigh.  I watched Pa and his interactions with the dog that evening without many comments except for some subtle praise of the dog who Pa and I began calling Buddy and a few disparaging remarks about his former owners.  It was not until I was frying bacon for our breakfast that I broached the subject foremost on my mind.  

I turned each piece of bacon in the frying pan and then turned toward Pa.   Buddy stood with his head in Pa’s lap as Pa stroked his fur and played with his ears.  

 

“We’ll have to take him with us.  He’s not feral enough to survive on his own this far out.” 

 

Pa nodded.  “He’ll be a fine-looking dog when he’s cleaned up and fills back out.  There’s no doubt he’s friendly and well-behaved.  It shouldn’t be too hard to find him a good home.” 

“I could find him a good home with no effort at all.” Pa understood my meaning immediately as I knew he would.  

“Adam.”  I had heard that tone many times in my life; this time it did not deter me.  

“Little Joe is old enough to take over his care. One thing Joe is never irresponsible about is animals.  Hoss…”  

“No.” There was that unequivocal response.  

“But…”  

“Adam, have you forgotten that this matter has been discussed before and that I do not intend to discuss it again.”  

“No, I haven’t forgotten, nor have I forgotten that you are my father, my boss, and the owner of the home in which I live, but I’m old enough that a request for at least an explanation should not be viewed as impertinence or disrespect.”  

“And if I feel ignoring my request is disrespectful?”  

“Not your request but your dictate.”  My tone was becoming impertinent.  I drew in a deep breath.  “If I anger you, I’ll deal with the consequences.  Why can we not discuss the boys having a dog?  Shouldn’t I have the opportunity to refute your… uh, to respond to any concerns you have?”  

“It is not a matter of concerns.”  Pa sighed. 

“What is it a matter of?”  

“Vows, an irrevocable vow.”  

“A vow?”  I could feel my eyebrow rise.  

Pa pointed toward the frying pan.  “The bacon is about to burn.”  

I glanced at the pan; the bacon was about to burn.  “It’s just getting crispy.” I watched Pa’s eyebrow rise. I took the pan from the fire and set it aside and then took a seat across from Pa.  “Perhaps I wasn’t old enough to understand the first time I asked or dozens of times thereafter, but I’m not a child anymore and would like to understand.”  

Pa’s fingers drummed the table, and Buddy nudged his knee and licked his hand.  Pa patted his head and scratched his floppy ears.  “It’s fine, boy.”  He looked into my eyes. “You shall always be my child, but there really is no reason not to tell you.   I suppose the reason I haven’t before is mainly that the reason comes from a time that is filled with pain I don’t care to revisit.”  

I almost said that if it pained him to speak of it, we could let it rest, but there had been so many times when I had not asked about the past because I knew the memories brought him pain that I told myself this once I was due.  

Pa’s gaze went to the single, small window where heavily falling snow could still be seen.  “We’ll be here for a good while.  Finish breakfast, and after we eat…” Pa sighed as if a burden had settled on his shoulders.  “After we eat, I shall explain.”  

I returned to cooking.  During breakfast we said little and discussed nothing of importance. I did notice Pa sneaking Buddy several bites of bacon though the dog had been fed before I began cooking.  When breakfast was over, I put extra wood on the fire, poured both Pa and myself a second cup of coffee, and then sat down across from my father and waited for him to begin his explanation.  

“My mother was very close to her oldest sister.  Aunt Mae lived a five-minute walk from us, and there was seldom a day when we did not see her and my cousin Charlie.  Charlie was a year older than I and two years younger than John.  He fit so well between us that we became a trio, and he was as close to John and me as we were to each other.”  Pa stopped speaking.  

“I don’t remember you mentioning him before.”  

“No, I suppose you don’t.  I have seldom spoken of him though I think of him often.”  Pa looked down and then took a sip of his coffee.  

“Dogs came and went in our lives.  Some attached themselves to John, some to me, and some to Charlie.  The last belonged to Charlie who named him Boone after Daniel Boone.  He was a good dog.  My uncle often said he trusted Boone to keep us boys out of trouble.”  Pa cleared his throat and took another sip.  “We were seldom without Boone when outdoors or in our homes.  Boone was even allowed to sleep in Charlie’s bed.”  Pa sighed.  “He was a good dog was Boone.  So, we were surprised the day that Boone bite Charlie, not just a nip but a full bite.  It was the next day before it became clear why he had acted in so inexplicable a manner.”  

My mind considered possibilities while the silence grew between us.  “Rabies?” 

“Rabies.  We never learned how he had become infected; it didn’t matter really.  What mattered was that Boone had bitten Charlie.  It took two weeks for the first symptoms to appear.  At first, we tried to deny them.  It was not as if there was anything to be done. Eventually the truth could not be denied. What followed was a slow journey into hell for Charlie, my aunt, my uncle… all the family close enough to see and hear.”  Pa’s voice trembled in a way I had seldom heard before or since, I saw tears filling his eyes though he managed to prevent them from spilling over.  I rose, retrieved the whiskey we kept there for medicinal purposes, and poured a large measure into Pa’s coffee.  Then I poured a dose into my own.  

“You don’t know, can’t know.  My God, I pray you will never have a reason to know.  His suffering was beyond… ” Pa’s voice faltered, and it seemed he had no words extreme enough to express the depth of his cousin’s suffering.  “At the end he was tied to the bed, and his screams could be heard outside the house.  Even hiding in my bed that night I still heard them.  For months after the funeral, I heard them often.  In truth, I still hear them sometimes in my dreams.”  

“Pa…”  I was moved to stop his recitation, but he looked directly into my eyes as if to say that I had demanded an answer, and there was no turning back.  

“Grief overwhelmed us all, but Aunt Mae was nearly unrecognizable in its grasp.  I heard my mother tell my father that she feared for her sister’s sanity, for her very life.  John and I knew that though she loved us deeply, the sight of us, alive and healthy, now pained her.  We did not know the fear it brought her, not until she came to our home four days after the funeral.”  Pa grew silent and swallowed most of his whiskey-laced coffee.  He sighed. “It is enough to say that before my uncle came and took her home, John and I had both made to her an irrevocable vow to never keep a dog as our own, to never allow one to reside permanently on our property, to never allow a child of ours ownership of a dog.  We held our hands on our family Bible and repeated the words that brought her a small measure of comfort.  I was fifteen, Adam, and I knew what I vowed and what that vow meant.”  

I cleared my throat softly.  “I’m sure you did.”  He heard the but that I did not speak though it was in my mind.  

“Adam.”  I knew that tone.  It admonished and demanded.  

“You made your vow to Great-aunt Mae, not to God.  Am I wrong to think that she has passed on?”  

“No, she did not live even a year more.”  He directed his gaze directly into my eyes.  “She did not release me from my promise.”  

“She might have if she had had time to overcome her grief.”  

A wry grin slipped onto Pa’s face but disappeared quickly.  “You know, perhaps the strongest reason I did not tell you when you asked before you left for college was that I knew you would look for the loopholes.  I have no intention, Adam Stoddard, of getting around that vow by way of a loophole.”  He rose and turned away from me. “Temporary care is as close as I’m willing to go.”  

 We spoke of other things after a while, and the snow stopped in the late afternoon.  We decided it best to leave the next morning which we did taking Buddy with us. 

 

~ACACACAC~ 

 

We were greeted warmly upon our arrival home.  There had been concern, of course, but Hoss, Little Joe, and Hop Sing had trusted that we would have the good sense to find shelter in a blizzard.  Buddy’s presence brought excitement to both my younger brothers.  They looked at me with a gaze that asked if they should request that he become our dog.  I shook my head, and they read my eyes correctly, so they did not mention that the Ponderosa would be an excellent home for Buddy.  Buddy, though, did not hesitate to follow at Pa’s heels everywhere that Pa went and to settle at Pa’s feet when Pa took his place in his favorite leather chair.  Perhaps, he knew that his fate was in Pa’s hands, but I believe that he simply had chosen Ben Cartwright to be his person.  Dogs do attach themselves to the person of their own choice.   It was late, and well after the boys had been sent to their beds.  The fire was dying, needing to be fed or banked for the night, when I spoke.  I did not need a preamble; they were never needed between Pa and myself.  

“I don’t think it’s a matter of loopholes.”  

Pa turned his gaze, and it settled upon me with a physical weight.  “Then what is it a matter of?”  

“Love.  You said Great-aunt Mae loved you.” 

“She did.”  It was an unequivocal statement.  Pa sighed.  “I believe she still does.”  

“You’ve always told me that my mother, though she is in heaven, loves me still and wants what is best for me.” 

“Yes, she does.”  He looked at me for a few seconds, and his right eyebrow rose.  

“I think…”  I sighed and shifted nervously.  “Just consider it, Pa.  Would a woman who loved you as Aunt Mae did deny you something that would bring only love into your life and the life of her great-nephews?  Her grief might ask it of you, but her grief only, and her grief has surely passed.  Her love, well, I believe her love would release you from your vow.”  

“Adam.” His tone was simply weary.  

“I’ve asked Mama Inger for a sign before when I needed to know what she would tell me.  She’s never failed me.  You might ask for a sign from Great-aunt Mae.”  

I slipped up the stairs without further comment.  Pa remained downstairs for at least an hour more.  

 

~ACACACAC~ 

 

Pa never actually told me whether he had received a sign from my great-aunt, simply accepted my reasoning, or just conceded my loophole. Whichever is true, when Hoss mentioned finding a home for Buddy, Pa said that there was no rush.  We did not rush.  In fact, no attempt was ever made to find Buddy another home. While Pa never actually said that Buddy was his dog, anyone with eyes could see he was.  Hoss and Little Joe accepted that while Buddy considered us family, Pa was his person, first and foremost.  Buddy lived a happy life from then on and brought a great deal of happiness into our lives.  When he was laid to rest five years later, it was under a tree in Hop Sing’s orchard.  There was grief at his loss, but I still thanked Great-aunt Mae for allowing us his presence in our lives. 

 

Author’s note:  I have no medical expertise of any kind and apologize if any medical information is incorrect.