“Woof! Woof! Woof! Bark!”
The barking echoed through the air.
It was late autumn, the season for harvest.
The fields gleamed golden under the sunlight.
Old Zhou whistled softly.
The little yellow dog he had picked up long ago had grown strong and sturdy.
In its mouth was a plump field mouse.
The dog trotted back and placed the mouse at Old Zhou’s feet.
Then it lay down there, wagging its tail so hard it left a blur, as if proudly presenting a treasure, and barked once more.
Old Zhou laughed, rubbing the dog’s head fondly. “You, you dog catching mice!”
The big yellow dog didn’t understand the words but jumped up, planting its paws on Old Zhou’s arm, barking loudly and licking his face with wild enthusiasm.
Old Zhou laughed heartily but scolded at the same time, “Damn it! That stink again—have you been sneaking off to eat crap?”
Furious, Old Zhou grabbed his iron knife and chased the big yellow dog around.
The knife handle was carved with a dog’s head—once it was a fierce weapon used in battle, but now it was only used for cutting grass and wheat.
Since returning from the battlefield, the big yellow dog had become his close companion.
When Old Zhou came back with the dog, he noticed several boys around twelve or thirteen years old lined up along the ridges between the fields, digging around.