The boys are going to Camp - I

7 am, and Jarred tossed his sleeping bag and duffel bag into the trunk of Mr. Meyers' car. Stephen's gear was already in, and he was in the back seat fidgeting with his flash light. "Dad, can we stop at the store and pick up some batteries? My flash light is dead." Mr. Meyers rolled his eye's, nodded a quick yes, turned on the headlights and started the engine. Jarred jumped and slammed the hard to close trunk lid and hopped in the back seat. The boys were off to Camp Wunnie Brydare. Unlike the stories that were told by the older kids to scare the younger ones, camp was a lot of fun. Two weeks of swimming, and campfires, and hiking, and boat races, and crafts of every kind. None of that beaded bracelet stuff, or ceramic ashtrays. Real out doors type stuff. Like building your own camp stool with just some twine, tree branches, and a hatchet. And it was sturdy and strong. Some of the older boys in the neighborhood have the stools they made from years ago. Anyway, there would be nature scavenger hunts, where they would look for animal bones and bird feathers, specific tree leafs and seeds. In Gruberville, as I'm sure it was in other towns, summer camp was one of those things the teen boys looked forward to every year. For those just turning twelve there was a steady fear in them from the stories, until about the second or third day when you were let in on the secret. And then you were sworn to keep the secret "Until you Die". It was all for fun. Still there was an actual mock kind of ritual on the last night, where they drank fruit punch and were told that should they ever tell any tale that did not scare the heebie jeebies out of those who listened (younger boys), the fruit punch would turn into blood and thus turn them into a hermit. Hairy body, long fingernails, dear hides for clothes, and really smelly. The story telling was pretty much the only consistent tradition that Camp Wunnie Brydare had. Major Brian Brydare had told stories to his grandsons for two years while he worked on the camp. Bears, the Hermit, and a variety of other tall tales that came and went through out the years. Hard telling just how much of the stories were true. And no one really expected the tradition to be what it is today. It just some how grew and stayed around.

Mr. Meyers dropped Stephen and Jarred off at the High School parking lot, where the bus would take them from there to camp. Quite a few boys from town were going. This would be Jarred and Stephen's second year, so excitedly they looked around for any new guys. At first glance they saw only one new kid there. But then Camp W.B. had visitors from around 6 counties. So there were bound to be more new comers, or sometimes referred to as Fresh Lunch Meat (for the bears) that would be coming. Earlier Stephen has said "Wouldn't it just stink if there were no new kids there?" "There better be some there." Jarred said looking ever so forward to a night or two of torturing other kids. After all the boys were tortured on their first visit. Mr. Meyers tossed Stephen a pack of batteries saying "Don't go wasting those now. They have to last for two weeks." He turned back toward the bag from the hardware store, and spoke under his breath "Eh, who am I kidding?" and reached in and pulled out another pack of the "D" sized and tossed them out the window. "You guys be good." He smiled. Then with a dramatically quick drop of his brow he added "OR ELSE." He smiled again, told the boys he loved them, and drove off. Just about every other boy heard Mr. Meyers say those three words "I Love You." But there wasn't a single boy there that would say a word about it. They all new that their dads did the same thing, and it was nothing to be embarrassed about. "All right you Turkeys" came from behind the bull horn. "Load up your gear and lets get rolling." It was Brian Brydare the 3rd. He was driving the bus. Being one of Major Brydare's grandsons who was first to stay at the camp, he truly enjoyed running the show now that The Major was retired. "Who's this?" Brian asked reaching down to scratch my head. "It's our dog, Henry." the boys chimed in unison. "You two don't look like brothers!?!" He said inquisitively. I moved my head a little to the left to help him get that one good spot. My left paw began it's happy dance...'There ya go. That's a good boy. Keep on a-scratchin'. "We're not brothers." they replied still in perfect step with each others voices. "We just both share Henry." Brian raised an eyebrow, and then waved his hands toward the bus door. Strange, he thought. They don't look alike but they sound like twins.

The bus load of boys rounded several curves going up and down hills. They crossed a total of 11 bridges, passed by 21 churches, and saw a grand total of 75 deer. I still wonder about that total. After all, I was hanging my head out the window I could smell them deer long before those boys could see 'em, and I only remember smelling about 46. So I'm thinking that this might be one of those "I caught a fish thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis big" exaggerations. But boys'll be boys. They sang song after song. Twenty three rounds of row, row, row your boat. Thankfully only one round of "99 Jugs of root beer on the wall" was bellowed out. I don't think I could have taken even one more bottle. By the time it was down to 40 bottles, Eddie McGumfrey's voice was crackin' and squeekin' and turning my ears inside out. I buried my head between Stephen and Jarred on the seat. I think one of them had too much protein for dinner the night before, but my ears were more important at that moment. "What's a matter boy?" Jarred asked. Stephen reached down and gave me a quick neck massage, but all I could think was, I wanted the so called singing to stop.

Two hours and 26 minutes later we arrived at Camp. Cabin assignments were called out like role call. Mr. Brian would most often split up the towns kids and intermix them in the cabins so they could get better acquainted with other boys and not form home town groups. However he decided to keep Jarred and Stephen together because of me. They were given instructions on the location and use of scooper's. And since I had come with a good report about being such a good camper, scooping was pretty much "it" on the rules for me. We were sent off to Cabin "A" for Antler. It was decorated with every kind of antler and horn you can imagine. And luckily for the boys, it was the closest cabin to the community bathroom/showers. There was Cabin "B" for Bear. That one had a huge stuffed Black Bear toward the back. And Cabin "C" for Camouflage. Each cabin represented a name and each was also to be your team names for future competitions. So you had The Antlers, The Bears, The Cami's, The Dogs, (Also known as the Devil Dogs, a nick name given to the Marine Corps by the Germans.). I should have been in that cabin. There was The Echo cabin, named for the infamous echo in the Hermit Cave, and finally The Forest cabin. Six large cabins in all. Each with 21 bunks and a foot locker for each. Ten sets of bunks for the boys and one for the Cabin Counselor. The Major had liked the military feel of things. When it came to keeping things tidy, the Major insisted it be done like the Corps. In the center of the grounds was the Main Building. It was the rec center, chow hall, and storm shelter (which was in the food cellar). And then there were the rules............

Henry the Dog.