Buddy and the Stuck Waterwheel

Every morning Buddy woke to the same three sounds.

First came the river rushing past the stones below the bridge. Next came the deep wooden turn of the waterwheel. Last came the steady grind of grain between the millstones.

Rush. Turn. Grind.

"All is well," Buddy would say.

Those sounds meant the mill was working and the flour sacks were filling. Soon Buddy could carry fresh flour to Honey for her next batch of bread.

Buddy walked through the warm mill and checked each sack with his nose. The room smelled of grain, old wood, and cool river water. Sunlight slipped through the shutters and turned the flour in the air to pale gold.

Rush. Turn. Grind.

Then the wheel made a new sound.

Clunk.

Buddy lifted his head. "That is not your usual song."

The wheel groaned and scraped against something heavy. Then it stopped.

Without the wheel, the whole mill seemed to hold its breath.

Buddy stood still and listened. Beneath the splash of the river he heard a wet slap against wood. A frightened thump followed.

"Someone needs help."

Buddy pulled the mill's brake lever so the wheel could not turn without warning. Then he followed the narrow path down to the riverbank.

At first he saw only water and stones. Long green river grass twisted in the current. Then a broad tail broke the surface and struck the lowest wooden paddle.

A giant catfish was trapped beside the wheel.

It was longer than Buddy from nose to tail. Thick cords of grass wrapped around its fins and body. More grass had wound around the paddle. Every struggle pulled the fish tighter against the wheel.

Buddy stepped into the shallows. Cold water soaked the fur around his paws.

"Easy, friend. I see you," Buddy said. "Do not fight the grass. Let me loosen it."

The catfish thrashed again. Water splashed over Buddy's face and chest. He planted his paws against the slippery river stones and waited.

"You are strong," he said. "Save that strength for the river."

The fish gave one frightened shiver. Then it became still enough for Buddy to see where the grass crossed its nearest fin.

Buddy found a loose strand of grass away from its fin. He gripped the strand between his teeth and bit through it.

One green cord drifted free.

The catfish kicked again, and Buddy stepped back before its tail could knock him over.

"That is all right. We can wait."

He did not pull the fish or force the wheel. He studied the tangle and found the next safe strand.

One by one, the tight cords loosened. The current carried each cut strand away from the catfish and past the silent wheel.

At last one thick loop remained around the catfish's tail. The river tugged at the fish, but Buddy waited until the tail rested against the riverbed.

"Almost there," he said. "Hold still for one more breath."

He caught the loop between his teeth and bit through the last tough fibers.

The giant catfish surged forward.

For one breath Buddy saw its dark back beneath the water. Then the fish swept under the bridge and into the deeper river.

"Deep water is that way," Buddy called. "Try not to visit the wheel again."

His tail gave one slow, happy sweep.

The work was not finished. Tangled grass still clung to the wooden paddle. Buddy cleared every strand and checked beneath the wheel for anything else that might be trapped.

Only then did he return to the mill and release the brake.

The wheel creaked forward.

"Slowly now," Buddy said.

Rush. Turn. Grind.

The old sounds filled the mill again. The gears moved, the stones turned, and a soft stream of flour fell into the waiting sack.

Buddy left a trail of wet pawprints across the floor and settled in a patch of sunlight. He was tired, and flour dusted his damp fur.

"The mill is safe. Our river friend is free. Honey will have flour for her bread."

He rested his chin on his paws.

"That is a good morning's work."