Danny Malloy, Samurai on Pawselin Prairie

by M. A. Hugger

Overview

After spending three years at the Hamm School and Farm for Juveniles, Danny Malloy is ready to go back and live with his mom. But first, his probation officer tells him, he must make a go of it with the Nowells, his fifth foster family.

In the beginning, Danny is tempted to run away, but he discovers that Mrs. Nowell makes the best pepperoni pizza. He begins to find his way at the Nowells’s home, which sits on the edge of a river bank overlooking the Mississippi River in southeastern Minnesota. His goals are to keep his faithful pet, Dog, and to find a girlfriend. Along the way, he makes lasting friendships and finds exciting adventures, like playing volleyball on Party Hill in the middle of the Mississippi River, stalking a bear in a corn field, and catching deer poachers on a “no moon” night.

Written in the style of Mark Twain, Danny Malloy, Samurai on Pawselin Prairie narrates Danny’s coming-of-age story that includes his experiences of love and heartbreak.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781475945829
Publisher:	iUniverse, Incorporated
Publication date:	09/10/2012
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	152
File size:	244 KB
Age Range:	3 Months to 18 Years

Read an Excerpt

Danny Malloy, Samurai on Pawselin Prairie

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By M. A. Hugger

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 M. A. Hugger
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-4581-2

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Chapter One

Danny Malloy

Jenny, Danny's probation officer, could be a Samurai. She is strong, quick and has earned several levels of black belt. She tells stories about Musashi Miyamoto, the most famous Samurai of all. Miyamoto set a goal to be the best swordsman in his world and was never defeated. He lived to be an old man and wrote a book. Jenny said, "After Miyamoto and the Samurai conquered all their enemies, the people of Japan lived in peace. To be Samurai was to be special, one of the elite. Many of the warriors became the artists and writers of their culture."

Jenny made Danny think up haikus. She said he must learn to use his brain when making choices. The haiku had to be about a problem or a choice, and what he wanted to happen. Sometimes he looked in the Webster to count out the fifteen syllables. Before Jenny he'd never heard of a syllable. Jenny called his haiku thinking, moogling.

Jenny praised Danny for being smart—not just street smart but intelligent. She said he could grow up and choose to be a writer like Laird or Eastman, the guys who invented the Ninjas. Danny loved the Ninjas, the Ninja turtles. He saved the plastic action figures in a box buried under his bed: Donatello, Michelangelo, Raphael and Leonardo. Danny dreamed of being a super hero. He liked Leonardo the best of the anthropomorphic turtles. Leonardo used two katanas, known as the Samurai Sword.

Danny took his box of turtles with him when he was sentenced to the Hamm School and Farm for Juveniles. At Hamm, the older guys made fun of the turtles and of Danny for his hero worship. The Hamm guys were beyond Ninjas and into tattoos, cars and motorcycles. Several guys boasted of burglaries, more serious trouble than "borrowing" or skipping school, Danny's crimes. After one night of teasing, Danny buried his masked turtle men behind the Hamm barn. Even though the turtles were buried, Danny remembered Donatello, Michelangelo, Raphael and Leonardo. They were more colorful than Jenny's black-garbed, green-faced Samurai. Danny watched the turtle movies but he chose to learn about the Samurai, real warriors, stronger, wiser and not made up, not like the Ninjas.

Jenny urged Danny to set goals. During his three years at Hamm, he set goals to be good, to go to school, to not get angry when the older guys razed him or tugged down his jeans. He even learned to clean the Hamm barn without choking on the smell of manure.

Danny set a goal to go home. He wanted to live with his mom, but first Jenny said he had to learn to live with his foster parents, the Nowells. Jenny said, "Living with the Nowells would be like a Samurai learning the lay of a land to conquer." He must follow their rules, be pleasant and not run away. He must learn to listen. Jenny taught him how to quiet and clear his mind. She called it 'listening to ants'.

"Listening to ants is a Samurai's way to pay attention." Jenny cautioned, "Remember what's said. Know your own feelings." She laughed when she said, "Be Samurai: watch, wait, listen and get along with the natives."

When Jenny left him at the Nowells, his fifth foster home, he planned to run away. The Nowells seemed old. Mrs. Nowell had silver-gray hair and bright blue eyes. She wore jeans, tennis shoes and danced in her kitchen. However, Danny soon discovered she made the best pepperoni pizza. Her husband, Mr. Nowell, stood tall and straight as if he still wore a Marine uniform. He wore cowboy boots and grunted. The Nowells' house sat on the edge of a river bank overlooking the Mississippi River.

Nights on the river were spooky, too quiet, with too many stars, too close. Danny felt scared some alien in a spaceship would swoop down, seize him, and do strange things to his body. Besides the quiet at Nowells, there were no street lights, no horns, no sidewalks and way too many birds: owls, eagles, crows, egrets, herons, bitterns and wrens.

After a few weeks on the river, Danny learned to listen for the beavers slapping their warnings or fish jumping for May flies. He recognized the mating songs of the Chorus frogs, the Leopard frogs and the Spring Peepers. He buried his river night fears like they were Ninjas.

Dragon, Dog and Chicken

Danny sits on the Nowells' deck with a frosty mug of root beer close by. It's the last Friday afternoon in August, the end of summer. The day is hot. Danny moogles, quieting his mind and thinking:

I'm glad I stayed. I like living at Nowells, riding Yago, a palomino, going fishing and hanging around with Walter and Anne. Walter is tall, smart and handsome, the star quarterback on the school's football team. He wears his hair long; has an earring in his left ear. All the girls love him. He could get a date with any girl, in any grade at our high school.

Anne is my spirit sister. Unlike her twin, Anne cuts her hair short, wears two earrings and plays basketball. When I came from Hamm, she saw in a vision I needed smokes. She "borrowed" her aunt's cigarettes, called them 'smoke sticks', and gave them to me. Anne said sharing tobacco is the Dakota way of showing respect. I got her respect and then gave up smoking.

Danny wiggles his barefoot toes. He wears swim trunks. He peels off his Twins tee and throws it under his chair. He strokes the few hairs on his chest. He's grown body hair since being at Nowells, almost enough on his chin to shave. He looks across the river to his green dragon atop a Wisconsin bluff, three miles across the Mississippi, near Alma, Wisconsin. The dragon is not real but an image made of shadows and trees on the bluff. The dragon is a Samurai symbol. The dragon reminds him, "be Samurai."

Danny accomplished his goal and stayed with the Nowells through the summer. Jenny is pleased though the first few weeks he did lots of moogling and thinking haiku. He fought a war in both his mind and his belly to stay or to run.

"I got it together," what the old lady-witch scolded. Three years ago, Judge Judith Fredrickson sentenced him to the Hamm Farm and School for Juveniles, said he needed help making choices. He'd been arrested for stealing and skipping school. He hadn't robbed a bank, though he'd "borrowed" a haki sak from Target, and apples from the Speed Shop close to home. He'd missed classes. 'Truant' the principal said. Danny protested unfair. He needed a dad at his sentencing, someone who would fight for him, someone not afraid to talk.

He'll see the judge again in December when the foster-care money runs out. Jenny says he'll have to go home, but he's changed his mind. He needs a new goal. He doesn't want to live with his mother. He's not sure she wants him.

The way I see it, he moogles, my mom caused the trouble. She needed his help to do her job at Joes' Bar. After closing hours, he washed ashtrays and swept the floor. Then they'd go home, eat pizza, hotdogs or popcorn, and watch the late TV shows. Often he didn't get to bed until three or four in the morning, and couldn't get up at seven for school. If he did get to school, he slept through his classes. Sleeping led to trouble with the principal at the middle school, who then reported him to the county social worker. The social worker visited his mom and made her cry. Then the local cop got a complaint from the Speedy Shop because Danny "borrowed" stuff, mostly apples, bananas and barbeque chips, cause his mom didn't cook and he was hungry. That made the social worker visit again and then the cop put him in jail.

A mosquito buzzes the deck and sings close to Danny's ear. He slaps the insect away and sips his root beer. He looks at his dragon and moogles: I've stayed out of trouble and been good. Now Jenny and the judge will make me I go home, but I like it here. If I didn't have Dog, I'd just run away. Wonder if Miyamoto hadda dog?

Dog jumps on the deck, braces his legs and skids. His ears stand alert. The coyote-like dog holds a chicken between his teeth, a dead, pink chicken. Yellow legs stick out of the bird's pink-pillow body. A chill grips Danny's belly. He clutches his stomach and breathes deep.

Dog struts around the deck shaking the chicken. When he tires, he drops the bird at Danny's feet, wags his tail, and wiggles a dance. His white teeth capture a grin. Danny reaches for the chicken but Dog growls, crouches and begs Danny to play.

"Forget it." Danny sits back. His legs jiggle as he moogles: Dog causes more problems than I ever imagined. In June, Anne and me biked out on Highway 61 and found a big, black Snapper, gravis, with eggs, intent on crossing the four lanes of traffic. We tried to move her, but the turtle put up a fight and got run over by two semi trucks. Anne insisted the turtle was, 'an ancient mother who deserved respect' and should be buried. So, we biked to Nowells and borrowed a spade. Mr. Nowell marks his tools with a spot of green paint. We returned to the highway, buried the turtle and then found a dead lady, a Mrs. Chester, who lived on Snake Creek Valley road.

We learned later from Sheriff VanOort the woman died of a heart attack, but someone had taken her money and buried her purse. The spade I'd forgot when we found the dead body, was missing. VanOort suspected me to be the thief.

Then later in summer, we, Anne and me, were on her turtle mission again. This time to save baby Blandings that cross the road, from the Weaver Dunes to McCarthy Lake. Instead of rescuing turtles, however, Anne chased off into the dunes after a rare butterfly. In the dunes, she discovered the Norwegian's tent camp and Mr. Nowell's spade. The spade was important.

I claimed the spade and the guy confessed to burying the purse. But, he said, Mrs. Chester gave him the money.

He intended to leave the Dunes, was moving on, and couldn't take Dog. Then he gave me Dog's leash. The Norwegian called the dog, Dog.

Dog sits on the deck, looks at Danny and then at the chicken. Dog cocks his head, stands and plants his feet, ready to play tug-a-war.

"Give me the chicken," Danny yells. He grabs for the bird, but Dog is faster and leaps off the deck. A chase begins. Dog runs in circles between the chrysanthemums that grow by the edge of the deck and the lilac bushes that border the crest of the river bank. Dog slows down and teases Danny to catch him. When Danny reaches for the chicken, Dog tosses the pink bird high into the air. He bounces on his back legs expecting the bird to fly. Then Dog catches the chicken by a yellow leg and runs.

Danny heads to the kitchen. He retrieves a hot dog, and with the meat stick in hand, he coaxes Dog near. Danny grabs the chicken, wraps it up in his tee and heads across County Road 24 to the horse barn. Mr. Nowell would scold about a dead chicken, especially a dead, pink chicken. Danny can hear him: "Dead is dead, dead is not good." Then, he would grunt. Mr. Nowell rarely swears, doesn't yell, but gives orders like a general in boot camp. When Nowell talks like a general, Danny shivers, nods yes and doesn't give lip. Even Dog sits quiet. Dog prefers Mrs. Nowell.

Danny digs a hole in the pine woods behind the barn and buries the bird. He uses the spade found at the Norwegian's tent camp. Dog whines; he watches over the bottom half of the split barn door. The Nowells' three horses crowd behind Danny as if to ask, "Hey you, whatcha doin?" Yago bumps his nose against Danny's arm, snorts into his back jean's pocket, seeking a treat. Danny grunts and pushes the horses away. He covers the chicken's grave with sand and dead pine needles. He recrosses CR 24, slams the backdoor, showers, puts his tee in the wash and raids the refrigerator for a slice of cold pizza. The refrigerator door is taped shut; since Dog stole a turkey and ate it.

Dog begs for the last bite of pepperoni and then settles into Mr. Nowell's beige leather, sofa-chair. Nowell doesn't approve of Dog sitting in his chair.

Nowell says, "Dog needs his own space, a dog house." When Dog is not tied to a backyard tree, he takes over the house. He scatters raw-hide bones on the living room floor. He chews slippers, sofa pillows, and magazines, bars of hand soap and rolls of toilet paper. He hides forbidden treasures under Danny's bed. He's nosy and watches everything, always on alert if someone opens the refrigerator door. He is especially fond of Mrs. Nowells' body cream.

Danny awakens Sunday morning. He stretches and yawns. He listens for a train sound from across the river, the rumble of his dragon reminding him to be Samurai. Sunlight invades the bedroom.

"What the hell?" He blinks. "There's that damn chicken on my bed."

Dog jumps on the bed and thumps his tail on the bed cover. The chicken rests in a sprinkle of sand and pine needles.

"How did you get the chicken into the house?" Danny scolds. "How do I get it out?" He holds the bird up by a leg. Touching the leg makes him shiver. The chicken has a small, pinkish-red comb. Its legs have three toes in front with a fourth in back for balancing on branches. The two black eyes are dead, wide open.

"What makes a chicken pink," he asks Dog, "I thought chickens are white." Dog grins and jumps to the floor. "Just the insides, I guess," Danny says. "I've only seen chicken nuggets." He chuckles at his joke, opens his dresser drawer and sorts through his tees. "What one do you want?" He looks at the bird and chooses a yellow shirt. He wraps the bird and slips it under his underwear. Dog watches and whines.

"Shut up!" Danny kneels and squeezes Dog's nose to muffle the sound. "Don't cause trouble. If Mrs. Nowell comes in, she'll go through my dresser drawers like she did when she checked for smoke sticks. She'd be surprised to find a chicken."

"What's this chicken doing in your dresser drawer?" Danny mimics his foster mom's voice.

"What chicken?" He feigns surprise.

"This pink chicken!"

"You'll have to ask Dog," he mimics again.

Danny sits on his bed and looks at Dog, eye to eye. "You're probably the killer. You hunted squirrels all summer, but a dead, pink chicken will make Nowell grunt. If the Nowells think you're bad, I could lose you." Suddenly, tears burn his eyes. "If I lost you, I'd run away and when I got caught, the old lady judge would send me to Hamm. My mom would cry and Jenny would be disappointed and where would you be?" Danny lifts his arms as if he could reach for an answer.

Dog jumps on the bed, cuddles under the covers and rests his head on the pillow. Danny lies beside him. He listens to another train sound from Wisconsin, wraps his arms around Dog and moogles: I wonder what Miyamoto would do? I wonder if Miyamoto had a dog. I wonder if he ever wrote a haiku.

Dog gotta chicken A really dead pink chicken I gotta problem

The Burial

After a Sunday dinner of fried chicken, which Danny can hardly eat without thinking of the dead, pink bird, he and Mr. Nowell watch the Twins and the Brewers play baseball on TV. Danny listens while Nowell points out how the teams strategize, talk together behind the pitcher's mound, set up plays, and look for an advantages. His brain bats five hundred: How do I get the chicken out of the house? What do I do with it? Burying the bird didn't work. Danny presses his hands on his thighs to stop their jiggling.

He remembers: Walter told me the Dakota didn't bury their dead. Hung them in trees for the vultures. Danny imagines the chicken dangling from a tree with big black birds circling around, but he knows it won't happen. The river bank trees are too fat to climb. I'd need a ladder.

If I had money, I'd put the bird in a box and send it to Hamm. That'd be a great joke, but I'd hafta spend money and find a box. I've got to do something. Soon the damn chicken will smell. Mrs. Nowell will be suspicious, and she'll be checking my dresser drawers.

"A homerun for the Twins and they win," the announcer yells on the TV.

Danny hoots. Mr. Nowell moans. Danny leaps to his feet, puts his hands on his hips and dances a few jig steps like the Irish Dancers do on TV. "I always bet on the Twins," he boasts. "Put your buck in my pocket." He pats his pocket and watches Mr. Nowell open his billfold and pay out his dollar.

"Think I'll go canoein'." Danny's words spill out without his thinking or moogling. He retreats to his bedroom, grabs the bird wrapped in his yellow shirt, runs down the three flights of river-bluff steps, and stops on the Nowells' dock. He tips their canoe into the water, unwraps the chicken and plunks the bird into the boat. He steps over Dog, who has collapsed on the dock, panting. Danny tosses the yellow shirt up on the river bank.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Danny Malloy, Samurai on Pawselin Prairie by M. A. Hugger Copyright © 2012 by M. A. Hugger. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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