Yeller
The novel’s opening paragraph is an exercise in imagery. The image being conveyed is that of its title character. From the instant one begins reading, the dog is uppermost in importance and the decision by the author should not be ignored or underestimated:
“We called him Old Yeller. The name had a sort of double meaning. One part meant that his short hair was a dingy yellow, a color that we called `yeller’ in those days. The other meant that when he opened his head, the sound he let out came closer to being a yell than a bark.”
Pea Vine
In fact, any time an author expends energy covering a single subject in detail using imagery, it is important to pay attention. What may seem unlikely to have much significance early on could wind up being very important later on. Or, in this case, something that is barely just mentioned, almost on passing, early on will wind up later in the story being revealed as much more significant:
“There was a little pea vine that grew wild all over the hills during wet winters and bloomed pale lavender in the spring. Cattle and horses could eat it, mixed with grass, and get fat on it. But sometimes when they got too big a bait of it alone, it poisoned them. Generally, they’d stumble around with the blind staggers for a while, then gradually get well. Sometimes, though, the pea vine killed them.”
Lisbeth
A shiftless fat slacker named Searcy doesn’t hold much fascination for the young narrator except for one thing. He’s got an eleven-year-old granddaughter who both fascinates and unnerves the young boy. She will later show up in the sequel as well:
“She would hang around and watch what boys did...But she never wanted to mix in or try to take over and boss things. She just went along and watched and didn’t say much, and the only thing I had against her was her eyes. They were big solemn brown eyes and right pretty to look at; only when she fixed them on me, it always seemed like they looked clear through me and saw every- thing I was thinking. That always made me sort of jumpy, so that when I could, I never would look right straight at her.”
Hydrophobia
By the end of the book’s second paragraph, the reader already knows Old Yeller is going to be killed by the narrator. The mystery, of course, is why this tragic fate is bearing down on a boy and his dog. The answer turns out to be hydrophobia. Or, as it is more commonly referred to today, rabies. The boy learns of the horrors of this incurable condition from those who have seen it before:
“Not until they have already gone to foaming at the mouth and are reeling with the blind staggers. Any time you see a critter acting that way, you know for sure. But you watch for others that aren’t that far along. You take a pet cat. If he takes to spitting and fighting at you for no rea- son, you shoot him. Same with a dog. He’ll get mad at nothing and want to bite you. Take a fox or a wildcat. You know they’ll run from you; when they don’t run, and try to make fight at you, shoot ’em.”
