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Unit 1: Exploring our Individuality: Where have your expeditions led you?

“Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.”
Andre Gide quotes (French writer, humanist and moralist, 1947 nobel prize for literature, 1869-1951)

“I see my path, but I don't know where it leads. Not knowing where I'm going is what inspires me to travel it.”
Rosalia de Castro quotes (The most outstanding modern writer in the Galician language, 1837-1885)


“Life is uncharted territory. It reveals its story one moment at a time.”
Leo F. Buscaglia quotes (American guru, tireless advocate of

“Life is either a great adventure or nothing.” Hellen Keller


“It is only in adventure that some people succeed in knowing themselves - in finding themselves.”
Andre Gide quotes


“I am not an adventurer by choice but by fate.”
Vincent van Gogh quotes (Dutch Painter, one of the greatest of the Post-Impressionists, 1853-1890)


“Adventures are to the adventurous”
Benjamin Disraeli quotes


There are two kinds of adventurers: those who go truly hoping to find adventure and those who go secretly hoping they won t.”
Rabindranath Tagore quotes (Indian Poet, Playwright and Essayist, Won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913, 1861-1941)
Similar Quotes. About: Adventure quotes.


“Adventure is worthwhile.”
Aristotle quotes (Ancient Greek Philosopher, Scientist and Physician, 384 BC-322 BC)
Similar Quotes. About: Adventure quotes.



“Adventure must start with running away from home”
William Bolitho quotes

Unit1: day 2 um, um, um...

Hook: Farris Beuler Scene
Write: What would help you learn in school?
Pair share, group share
Brainstorm a List!
My expectations: Um, Um, Um song...
Journal: Underline, write questions, ANNOTATE TEXT, highlight!
Write a question or 2...
pair share and choose a good one to write on sticky note
Bring to circle with you...socratic circle
My 4 class rules...TAPE THEM IN!
FINAL THOUGHTS in Journal: what I might not know about other students...
WRITE ME A LETTER! TELL ME ABOUT YOU! WHAT MAKES YOU LEARN!
Have my letter...

Unit 1 What makes me who I am?

Things to do: video, print opening stuff, poems, get notebooks ready, I am a PPT modeling, journal model, camera ready

Greatest adventure video! Use sleepy Jean

“Life is either a great adventure or nothing.” Hellen Keller What is your adventure?
Introduce inquiry question


If you are a Dreamer...Come in, Come in!
TAPE IN poem , Discuss (SET UP NOTEBOOKS)
Experience
PPT MODELING
Brainstorm
In Journal
Share
Introduce partners for 1 minutes, then share ideas and circle best!
Publish
Need pretty paper: write best, draw etc. and share aloud!
Action
Use action! In tableau
Photo
Take a picture! *Name pointing game!HW: syllabus and parent survey done together!

Survivor

games: http://www.party411.com/theme128games.html





get or make their team "logos" so team members are readily identifiable. These activities are followed by a “treasure hunt” that lures them off to your party room for the first real game.





The first game has each team cooperating to keep a ball in the air and off the ground. Have each member of the team grab an edge of a towel or blanket. Place a beach ball in the middle. After "Ready, Set, Go!" each team will bump their ball into the air by lifting the blanket quickly on their edge. The goal of the game is to get as many "bumps" as possible in the time given without letting the ball touch the ground. This means you really have to work together!
Another fun survivor party game that challenges the mind is called "Stranded on an Island.." Players sit in a circle with the party person going first. They will say "If I were stranded on an island, I would hope to have...." and then name something that begins with "A" that would be helpful to have on an island. (An ax, for example.) The next person in line repeats the full line, the word beginning with "A," and a new word beginning with "B." Play continues around the circle until someone can't remember one of the words. They are out of the circle and play continues, skipping them. The survivor of this game is the last one in the circle.





I'm a survivor: Beyonce


http://www.top40db.net/Lyrics/?SongID=1014&By=Year&Match=





Reba Survivor:


http://www.lyrics007.com/Reba%20McEntire%20Lyrics/I





surviving Everest:


http://www.mounteverest.net/expguide/survivalrules.htm





have a game afterward of reading comp.

Maya Angelou survivor poems:
http://www.math.buffalo.edu/~sww/angelou/poems-ma.html

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-know-why-the-caged-bird-sings/

Nature vs. Nurture:
http://genealogy.about.com/cs/geneticgenealogy/a/nature_nurture.htm

definitions of strength:
http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&defl=en&q=define:strength&sa=X&oi=glossary_definition&ct=title


“Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.”
Mahatma Gandhi quotes

Audre Lorde:
When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.
-->Frances de Sales:
Nothing is so strong as gentleness. Nothing is so gentle as real strength.
-->John L. Lewis:
The labor movement is organized upon a principle that the strong shall help the weak. The strength of a strong man is a prideful thing, but the unfortunate thing in life is that strong men do not remain strong. And it is just as true of unions and labor organizations as is true of men and individuals. And whereas today the craft unions of this country may be able to stand upon their own feet and like mighty oaks stand before the gale, defy the lightning, yet the day may come when those organizations will not be able to withstand the lightning and the gale. Now, prepare yourselves by making a contribution to your less fortunate brethren... Organize the unorganized!
Louis Pasteur:
Let me tell you the secret that has led me to my goal: my strength lies solely in my tenacity.
-->Mohandas K. Gandhi:
If your heart acquires strength, you will be able to remove blemishes from others without thinking evil of them.
-->Pearl S. Buck:
I am comforted by life's stability, by earth's unchangeableness. What has seemed new and frightening assumes its place in the unfolding of knowledge. It is good to know our universe. What is new is only new to us.
-->Rachel Carson:
Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts.
-->Theodore Bikel:
All too often arrogance accompanies strength, and we must never assume that justice is on the side of the strong. The use of power must always be accompanied by moral choice.
-->Victor Hugo:
People do not lack strength, they lack will.
-->Vita Sackville-West:
I worshipped dead men for their strength,Forgetting I was strong.

Pirate maps:

http://images.google.com/images?hl=en&q=pirate+maps&gbv=2


“The church says the earth is flat, but I know that it is round, for I have seen the shadow on the moon, and I have more faith in a shadow than in the church”
Ferdinand Magellan quote

http://www.eyewitnesstohistory.com/magellan.htm



http://www.socialstudiesforkids.com/articles/worldhistory/magellan1.htm
Magellan's bio written easy



Magellan

http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/mod/1519magellan.html



Famous explorers
http://www.elizabethan-era.org.uk/famous-explorers.htm



National Geographic online explorers
http://magma.nationalgeographic.com/ngexplorer/0403/adventures/



The Edge of the world
http://www.geocities.com/TimesSquare/Arcade/2574/unexplaces.html


Atlantis
http://www.unmuseum.org/atlantis.htm



Atlantis article 2
http://www.buzzle.com/articles/the-lost-city-of-atlantis-fact-or-fiction.html

ideas from pictures!

Draw yourself in the middle of the page

stick figure
Sketch as I talk about :

Fav. places
Places you like to explore!

Conflicts, problems, things you wonder, don't know, puzzles you have to figure out

People who matter, pets (past and present), family, friends, enemies

sad things

happy things

dreams, goals, what you want

WRiting TIME!
concrete poetry:


http://www.ugcs.caltech.edu/~dalryaug/poems/index.shtml?00/121600.shtml

DAY 4: FUN WITH WORDS

Day 3 we read Jaberwoky, and made words lists in our writers notebooks.

WORD LIST: Make them
Cut them out
put them in an envelope
Trade and make poems!

Day 3:How do writer's get ideas from words?

Opening: shel silverstain poem of nonsense maybe

Words that I like!

http://readingyear.blogspot.com/2007/03/silly-words-day.html wird words from a class

Hunt for words: work in groups to scavenge for words!
Dictionary
Poetry
Encyclopedia
newspapers

Contest for the neatest words!

Writing time!

How do writer's use relationships?

Free write: minilesson
Dear Dad,
I miss eating frozen yogurt and
driving to the peach farm.
I miss throwing the pit out the window.

Inga

Dear mom,
I know you nag me because you love me,
so I even miss
IT'S E FLAT, DO IT AGAIN!
and DID YOU USE YOUR NOSE SPRAY?

Inga

Read the rest of the book
Write our poems, review what workshop should sound like/look like
Share

Today we will set up our BLOGS!
We need a name that represents you!

Day 2: How do writer's use their surroundings to get ideas?

Review rules
Free write: Messy Room Poem! Silverstein

Messy Room by Shel Silverstein
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!

My room is tiny, filled with painted furniture I get from thrift stores and re-do. I think one day it willl make me millions. I'm still coming up with a name for my business. I want to constantly sell my home furnishings. If someone buys my bed, I'll sleep on the floor till I paint a new one.

I have paintings of Klimpt. I love him. And sketches I drew in Europe. I have pictures, mostly of the past. College and high school and my family. People I miss. Chipper, my stuffed dog sits on m bed. My old toybox holds my blankets, and my top drawer is filled with t-shirts I don't wear but can't bare to get rid of.

Write and share!
Mini Lesson:
The things we carry: Tim OBrian read aloud
Writer's use lists for ideas and to show things! DETAIL!!!!
Stuff game-list addition-name game!
Brainstorming list: What do you carry? What is in your bookbag? Your pocketbook?
Play the game and write a class poem!
*In the future I would use HOmeroom poems with this

I will bring mystuff and ask people what they can tell about the person. ( me ) We will respond an a piece of construction paper.



Workshop Time:
Make a list of things that represent you. Things in your room!

Things in your room
Things in a drawer
Things your mother always tells you
Things you dream about
Things that make you mad
Your favorite dinner
Sounds you like

Comforts:

my coker hoodie. too small. too dirty
my pink heart, holey socks
a long run with a bouncing pony tail
a milk dud
Virginia Woolf
4 layers
dried cranberries
2 purple jellybeans in a row
Gorbochuv on my feet
my mama, even on the phone

-Inga Puffer

Day 1:Where do writer's get their ideas?

Where do writer's get their ideas?

-Welcome to class! Use tickets for seating chart! Take pictures of seating!
-Every day we will have 3 minutes to prepare, a quick write, a mini lesson, and workshop time
Quick Write!
-When I am Alone... poem
-Free write
-Show them my own free write

Mini Lesson! Overview
1. Give out notebooks! Make a big deal out of them! Write names inside!
2. Paste in Writing Rule #1: If you'r brain tells you you have nothing to say, tell it to shut up!
Get ideas from your own Unique Life. You are a wierdo...embrace it.
Use details that are unique! Show students how to use the glue/tape and paste successfully.
3. Hand out poem "When I am Alone..."
4. What ideas do you notice...use monkey to call on people
5.Every day we will diving board write! Here is mine...
6.Let students write and share!
Write together Questionaire
1.When I am alone...
Write Your own poem:When I wake up! When I go to bed. When I watch the Patriot's play football etc.
Author's chair! W/ best idea critiques
Writing Survey

Workshop: independent writing! keep pencils moving, whisper if you need to talk, and start something new when you are finished with one piece.
Prewrite with a list or a bubble map or just start writing!
Share...publish if time
Writer's chair


I'm hardly ever alone. I live with 2 roomates, Ms. Paradis and a librarian names Misty. We are together a lot. When I am alone, then, sometimes I have a hard time knowing what to do. I call someone on the phone to have someone to talk to.

But it is important to be alone, I think. Sometimes I go sit in my closet so I can clear my head. Sometimes when I am alone I pretend to be a dragon, pullng my head all the way underneath the covers. I read. I write in my journal. I pray. I talk to the Cat Gorbachev. I clean with bleach. Misty hates it when I do that.

pick out something good:
I pretend I am a dragon
I clean with clorox

Every morning
I wake up at 5:45 and fumble for my cell phone alarm
so Laura doesn't wake up.
I plan my day in the shower.
I shake, shake, shake out my hair
And crawl back in bed to read, but
fall
asleep.

I toast a bagel and pour my coffee-skim milk, splenda...
until
it
pops
up.

I Grab my 4 bags, my bagel, my coffee, my keys,
then out the door,
and, oh, my lunch.

Then
down
the
three
flights
of stairs,
while spil-
ling coffee and chewing my bagel, and nearly drop-
ping
everything.
Defrost and off to school wondering if the copy machine will work today.

-Inga Puffer

Sharon Creech Walk Two Moons Excerpt

"We have to go back. I forgot something."The lady with the wild red hair opened the door and came out onto the porch."In the back of my closet," I said, under the floorboards. I put something there, and I've got to have it.""Don't be a goose. Come and see Margaret."I did not want to see Margaret. I stood there, looking around, and that's when I saw the face pressed up against an upstairs window next door. It was a round girl's face, and it looked afraid. I didn't know it then, but that face belonged to Phoebe Winterbottom, a girl who had a powerful imagination, who would become my friend, and who would have many peculiar things happen to her.Not long ago, when I was locked in a car with my grandparents for six days, I told them the story of Phoebe, and when I finished telling them--or maybe even as I was telling them--I realized that the story of Phoebe was like the plaster wall in our old house in Bybanks, Kentucky.

- From Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech

Poetry Class Plan

writer's notebooks first and journaling (with poetry)
messy room-
http://www.eliteskills.com/c/13910


How to capture ideas (steal from the world)- Use Sharon Creech Heartbeat and Soup w' website of inspiration (where it came from)
-teach diving board writing!

Sharon Creech poetry website and excerpts

http://www.sharoncreech.com/excerpt/12.asp
GRANNY TORRELLI MAKES SOUPBy Sharon CreechDrawings by Chris RaschkaFor my granddaughterPearl Bella BenjaminIn memory of my grandmotherMarianna Fiorelli Licursiand my motherAnna Maria Licursi Creech
1. SoupThat Bailey... Bailey, that Bailey! He said to me, Rosie, get over yourself!It was not a compliment.I said, Bailey, you get over your own self.Which shows you just how mad I was, to say such a dumb thing.
I'm Mad ... Bailey, who is usually so nice, Bailey, my neighbor, my friend, my buddy, my pal for my whole life, knowing me better than anybody, that Bailey, that Bailey I am so mad at right now, that Bailey, I hate him today.
Granny Torrelli Says ... My granny Torrelli says when you are angry with someone, so angry you are thinking hateful things, so angry maybe you want to punch them, then you should think of the good things about them, and the nice things they've said, and why you liked them in the first place.Granny Torrelli is always so reasonable, so calm, so patient, except maybe for the time a man tried to get into her house, pretending he was the meter reader, and she smashed the door on his foot and picked up a broom and opened the door again and beat him on the head with it and told him she had a gun (which she did not really have) and would use it if she had to.Then she told him he was a pitiful excuse for a human being, going around like that trying to take advantage of old ladies (even though she normally does not like anyone else to call her an old lady).
Why I Liked Bailey... Why I liked Bailey in the first place: Bailey was always there, born next door to me, one week after me, the two of us just two babies growing up side by side, our mothers together, and me and Bailey together, on the lawn, on the porch, on the floor, playing with pots and pans and mud and worms and snow and rain and puddles.Help Bailey was what our mothers said to me. Help him, will you, Rosie? And I did. I always helped Bailey. He was my buddy, my pal, my friend. Went to the zoo, went to the park, had birthdays together.What a smile that Bailey had! He was smiling mostly all the time, his hands waving out in front of him, sweeping the air. Freckles on his face, sticking-up hair very soft, very quiet Bailey boy, but not too quiet, and not pushy, not selfish, not mean, not usually.I pretended he was my brother, only he was better than a brother because I chose him and he chose me.So why does he go and be so spiteful? Why does he say Rosie, get over yourself! and why does he say that in that cold voice and slam the door in my face as if I am nobody?
Granny Torrelli Makes Soup ... Granny Torrelli comes over, says she's in charge of me tonight. She wants soup. Zuppa! she calls it. She says it like this: ZOO-puh!She starts rooting in the refrigerator, selecting celery (That's your green, she says), carrots (That's your orange, she says), onions and mushrooms (That's our white, I say.)She reaches in the freezer, snatches some chicken, flips it into the microwave, zaps it to defrost. Seizes the big red pot, fills it with water, tosses in salt and pepper and a dash of soy sauce.Hands me a knife. We chop, chop, chop, fling it all in the pot, such a good smell bubbling in the kitchen.And then she says it: Okay, Rosie, what's going on with you? I say, Nothing's going on with me.She says, You maybe can fool other people with that smart head of yours, but you can't fool Granny Torrelli. I love Granny Torrelli, always making good things, always so calm, so patient, always telling me about my smart head.Granny Torrelli Makes SoupCopyright © 2003 by Sharon CreechJoanna Cotler BooksAn imprint of Harper Collins Publishers

Journal Entry: Absolutely normal chaos

http://www.sharoncreech.com/novels/03.asp
link to inspiration for books by SharonCreech

Absolutely Normal Chaos
Chapter OneDear Mr. Birkway, Here it is: my summer journal. As you can see, got a little carried away. The problem is this, though. I don't want you to read it. I really mean it. I just wanted you to know I did it. I didn't want you to think I was one of those kids who says, "Oh yeah, I did it, but I lost it/my dog ate it/my little brother dropped it in the toilet. But please Pleeeassse Don't Read It! How was I to know all this stuff was going to happen this summer? How was I to know Carl Ray would come to town and turn everything into an odyssey? And how was I to know about Alex...? Sigh. Please Don't Read It. I mean it. Sincerely,Mary Lou Finney
Tuesday, June 12 I wish someone would tell me exactly what a journal is. When I asked my mother, she said, "Well, it's like a diary only different." That helps. She was going to explain more, but. Mrs. Furtz (the lady who just moved in across the street) called to say, that my brother Dennis was throwing eggs at her house, and my mother went berserk so she didn't finish telling me. How am I supposed to write a journal if I don't even know what one is?I wouldn't be doing this anyway, except that Mrs. Zollar asked me to. She's an English teacher. She asked us to keep a journal this summer and bring it in (in September) to our new English teacher.So, new English teacher, I guess I better say who I am. My name is Mary Lou Finney. I live at 4059 Buxton Road in Easton, Ohio. I have a normally strange family. Here's our cast of characters, so to speak:Sam Finney (whose age I am not allowed to tell you) is the father. He is a pretty regular father. Sometimes he likes us and sometimes we drive him crazy. When we are driving him crazy, he usually goes out in the garden and pulls some weeds. When he is at work, he is a geologist and spends his days drawing maps.Sally Finney (whose age I am also not allowed to tell you or anyone else) is the mother. She also is a pretty regular mother. Sometimes she drools all over us and sometimes she asks my father if there isn't something he can do about us. When we are driving her crazy, she usually cries a little. When she is at work, she is an oral historian and spends her days tape-recording stories that elderly people tell her. I think that by the time she gets home to us, she is a little tired of hearing people talk.Maggie Finney (seventeen years old) is the oldest daughter. She's my sister. She is your basic boy-crazy, fingernail-painting, mopey ole sister with whom I have the misfortune of sharing a room. She does not like me to touch her things.Mary Lou Finney (thirteen years old) is the next oldest. That's me. I don't know what I am. I am waiting to find out.Dennis Finney (twelve years old) is the kind of brother who will climb a tree with you one minute and tell on you the next. He gets into a fair amount of trouble (such as getting caught throwing eggs at Mrs. Furtz's house, breaking windows with apples, etc.), but he is okay other than that.Doug Finney (better known as Dougie) (eight years old) gets lost in the middle of everyone else. He's skinny as anything and follows everybody else around. He's quiet and more serious than the rest of us, so nobody minds him tagging along, but he calls himself the "poor little slob."Tommy Finney (four years old) is the spoiled-baby type kid. We think he's cute as anything, and so he gets away with murder. He's the messiest eater you've ever seen.This journal is not as hard as I thought. I just hope I am doing it right. It would be terrible to do it all summer and then take it in and have someone look at it and say, "Oh, but this isn't a journal, dear."I tried to ask Mrs. Zollar a million questions about the journal when she gave it to us, but Alex Cheevey said, "Geez. We don't want to know too much about it. Then we'll have to do it right. Can't you ever keep quiet?"And now I will reflect on that. I used to think Alex Cheevey was cute, because his skin is always a little pink, like he's just been running a race, and his hair is always clean and shiny, and once we had to do an oral report together and even though I did most of the work, he patted me on the back when we were done, as if he realized what a good job I did, and he is certainly the best player on the basketball team and so graceful when he runs and dribbles the ball. But now, as I reflect on it, I see he is really a jerk.

Heatbeat

HEARTBEATBy Sharon CreechFOOTFALLSThump-thump, thump-thumpbare feet hitting the grassas I run run runin the air and like the airweaving through the trees skimming over the groundtouching downthump-thump, thump-thumphere and therethere and herein the soft damp grassthump-thump, thump-thumpknowing I could fly fly flybut letting my feetthump-thump, thump-thumptouch the earthat least for now …MAXSometimes when I am runninga boy appearslike my sideways shadowfrom the trees he emergesrunningfalling into thump-thump stepsbeside me.Hey, Annie, he saysand I say, Hey, Maxand we runfastand smoothand easyand we do not talkuntil we reach the park and the red benchwhere we rest.Max is a strange boythirteena year older than I amdeeply seriousdetermined.He's in traininghe saysin training to escape.BEFORE I WAS BORNMy mother saysI was running running runninginside her before I was even born.She could feel my legs whirlingthump-thump, thump-thumpand she says that when I was bornI came out with my legs racingas if I would take offright then, right thereand dash straight out of her life.She says it made her laughand it scared her, too,because she'd only just met meand didn't want me to race away quite so soon.She says I've beenrunningrunningrunning ever since-or nearly ever since-I ran before I crawledI ran from dawn to duskAnd sometimes at night she would see my legs still restlessas if I were runningin my sleepthrough my dreams.I tell her not to worrythat I will always come homebecause that is whereI get my start.

Go Ask Alice excerpt

Go Ask Alice
By Anonymous
Simon Pulse Copyright © 1998 Anonymous All right reserved.ISBN: 9780689817854
September 16
Yesterday I remember thinking I was the happiest person in the whole earth, in the whole galaxy, in all of God's creation. Could that only have been yesterday or was it endless light-years ago? I was thinking that the grass had never smelled grassier, the sky had never seemed so high. Now it's all smashed down upon my head and I wish I could just melt into the blaaaa-ness of the universe and cease to exist. Oh, why, why, why can't I? How can I face Sharon and Debbie and the rest of the kids? How can I? By now the word has gotten around the whole school, I know it has! Yesterday I bought this diary because I thought at last I'd have something wonderful and great and worthwhile to say, something so personal that I wouldn't be able to share it with another living person, only myself. Now like everything else in my life, it has become so much nothing.
I really don't understand how Roger could have done this to me when I have loved him for as long as I can remember and I have waited all my life for him to see me. Yesterday when he asked me out I thought I'd literally and completely die with happiness. I really did! And now the whole world is cold and gray and unfeeling and my mother is nagging me to clean up my room. How can she nag me to clean up my room when I feel like dying? Can't I even have the privacy of my own soul?
Diary, you'll have to wait until tomorrow or I'll have to go through the long lecture again about my attitude and my immaturity.
See ya.

Glass Castle Rat excerpt

Rats! (another Glass Castle excerpt)
Around that time, probably because of all the garbage, a big, nasty-looking river rat took up residence at 93 Little Hobart Street. I first saw him in the sugar bowl. This rat was too big to fit into an ordinary sugar bowl, but since Mom had a powerful sweet tooth, putting at least eight teaspoons in a cup of tea, we kept our sugar in a punch bowl on the kitchen table.This rat was not just eating the sugar. He was bathing in it, wallowing in it, positively luxuriating in it, his flickering tail hanging over the side of the bowl, flinging sugar across the table. When I saw him, I froze, then backed out of the kitchen. I told Brian, and we opened the kitchen door cautiously. The rat had climbed out of the sugar bowl and leaped up onto the stove. We could see his teeth marks on the pile of potatoes, our dinner, on a plate on the stove. Brian threw the cast-iron skillet at the rat. It hit him and clanged on the floor, but instead of fleeing, the rat hissed at us, as if we were the intruders. We ran out of the kitchen, slammed the door, and stuffed rags in the gap beneath it.That night Maureen, who was five, was too terrified to sleep. She kept on saying that the rat was coming to get her. She could hear it creeping nearer and nearer. I told her to stop being such a wuss."I really do hear the rat," she said. "I think he's close to me."I told her she was letting fear get the best of her, and since this was one of those times that we had electricity, I turned on the light to prove it. There, crouched on Maureen's lavender blanket, a few inches away from her face, was the rat. She screamed and pushed off her covers, and the rat jumped to the floor. I got a broom and tried to hit the rat with the handle, but it dodged me. Brian grabbed a baseball bat, and we maneuvered it, hissing and snapping, into a corner.Our dog, Tinkle, the part-Jack Russell terrier who had followed Brian home one day, caught the rat in his jaws and banged it on the floor until it was dead. When Mom ran into the room, Tinkle was strutting around, all pumped up like the proud beast-slayer that he was. Mom said she felt a little sorry for the rat. "Rats need to eat, too," she pointed out. Even though it was dead, it deserved a name, she went on, so she christened it Rufus. Brian, who had read that primitive warriors placed the body parts of their victims on stakes to scare off their enemies, hung Rufus by the tail from a poplar tree in front of our house the next morning. That afternoon we heard the sound of gunshots. Mr. Freeman, who lived next door, had seen the rat hanging upside down. Rufus was so big, Mr. Freeman thought he was a possum, went and got his hunting rifle, and blew him clean away. There was nothing left of Rufus but a mangled piece of tail.