In Old Yeller, 14-year-old Travis is left alone with his mother and younger brother to be the man of the house, while his father, whom he calls Papa, heads off on a cattle drive. With Papa gone, Travis must continuously reckon with his fears. As Travis hunts deer, breaks up bull fights, tags wild hogs, and confronts an epidemic of hydrophobia throughout the Texas Hill Country, he must constantly choose between surrendering to fear or mustering bravery. Eventually, he remembers that “Papa had told me right from the start that fear was a right and natural feeling for anybody, and nothing to be ashamed of.” This suggests that, once one learns to accept fear as a “right and natural feeling,” one can see fear not as an impediment to bravery but as a necessary and instructive part of life.
When Travis doesn’t properly respect his own fear, it leads to disaster for both him and his dog, Old Yeller. As Travis and Old Yeller head out one afternoon to tag Coates family’s wild hogs, Travis experiences a familiar “blood-chilling” sensation. He knows that tagging hogs is dangerous work—and in spite of his mother’s fears about him doing it without Papa for the first time, Travis insists that he’s up to the challenge. Travis claims that he’s “used to the feeling” of being afraid and doesn’t let it bother him—and when he gets word that some hogs he missed tagging during his first outing are hanging around a bat cave far out in the countryside, he heads out to tag them with stubborn excitement. On this outing, Travis finds himself in the midst of a stampede—a hog slashes his left calf with its tusk, while Old Yeller sustains terrible wounds fighting off a pack of the ferocious pigs. In this instance, Travis refuses to heed his fearful instincts about tagging hogs. In the end, he and Old Yeller are hurt as a result of his prideful stubbornness, and his refusal to understand that his fear is natural and helpful. Though Travis and Old Yeller recover from their injuries, Travis’s stubbornness when faced with a dangerous task teaches him that true bravery comes from accepting and integrating one’s fear rather than ignoring it.
Later on, when there’s an outbreak of hydrophobia (rabies) among animals in Travis’s community, Travis allows fear to consume him. When he first hears about the spread of hydrophobia from Old Yeller’s original owner, Burn Sanderson, he feels a “scare run through [him]” from head to toe. Though Burn Sanderson urges Travis to be brave and to find a way to “handle whatever comes up” in his father’s absence, Travis remains petrified of the idea that not only could nearby animals catch the disease—but that he, Mama, or Arliss could, too. Travis’s paralyzing fear of hydrophobia distracts him and takes up a lot of his energy. He is so preoccupied by horrible mental images of people—and animals—losing their minds slowly and painfully that he loses sight of how fear is natural and even instructive, finding himself focused on what could happen rather than what’s actually happening around him. This leads to Old Yeller being bitten by a rabid wolf, something that could perhaps have been prevented if Travis hadn’t been so preoccupied and consumed by his fear of what could happen. This illustrates the idea that overly fixating on fear, much like ignoring or suppressing it, can have disastrous consequences.
After Old Yeller is bitten, Travis is forced to integrate his fear and learn from it in order to act bravely. His worst fear has come true: his fear of hydrophobia was “right and natural” all along. Now, however, Travis must face his fear in order to be brave and save his family. Travis’s fear of Old Yeller spreading hydrophobia to him, Little Arliss, or Mama ultimately leads him to an extraordinary and painful act of bravery: he shoots and kills Old Yeller in order to protect himself and his family. In this way, Travis’s fear of hydrophobia isn’t an impediment to his bravery—rather, it’s what allows him to muster up the courage to kill Old Yeller. As painful as this is, Travis at last realizes that fear is a healthy and instructive part of life, and that he’s right to fear what could happen to Old Yeller—and to his family—if he ignored that fear. With this, the book suggests that fear shouldn’t be seen as shameful or cowardly, because it’s an emotion that’s necessary to recognize and heed. Only then can a person be truly brave rather than ignorant, prideful, or stubborn.
Bravery vs. Fear ThemeTracker
Bravery vs. Fear Quotes in Old Yeller
A big diamond-back rattler struck at Papa and Papa chopped his head off with one quick lick of his scythe. The head dropped to the ground three or four feet away from the writhing body. It lay there, with the ugly mouth opening and shutting, still trying to bite something.
As smart as Bell was, you'd have thought he'd have better sense than to go up and nuzzle that rattler's head. But he didn't, and a second later, he was falling back, howling and slinging his own head till his ears popped. But it was too late then. […] He died that night, and I cried for a week.
We sat and ate and listened to [the bulls]. We could tell by their rumblings and bawlings that they were gradually working their way down through the brush toward each other and getting madder by the minute.
I always liked to see a fight between bulls or bears or wild boars or almost any wild animals. Now, I got so excited that I jumped up from the table and went to the door and stood listening. I'd made up my mind that if the bulls met and started a fight, I was going to see it.
But I was too excited about the fight. I didn't see the danger in time. I was still aside the top rail when the struggling bulls crashed through the fence, splintering the posts and rails, and toppling me to the ground almost under them. […] The roaring of the bulls was right in my ears. The hot, reeking scent of their blood was in my nose. The bone-crashing weight of their hoofs was stomping all around and over me, churning up such a fog of dust that I couldn't see a thing.
Every night before Mama let him go to bed, she'd make Arliss empty his pockets of whatever he'd captured during the day. Generally, it would be a tangled-up mess of grasshoppers and worms and praying bugs and little rusty tree lizards. […] Sometimes it was stuff like a young bird that had fallen out of its nest before it could fly, or a green-speckled spring frog or a striped water snake. And once he turned out of his pocket a wadded-up baby copperhead that nearly threw Mama into spasms.
This sure looked like a case of hydrophobia to [Bud] Searcy, as anybody knew that no fox in his right mind was going to jump on a hunter.
Which reminded him of an uncle of his that got mad-dog bit down in the piney woods of East Texas. This was way back when Searcy was a little boy. As soon as the dog bit him, the man knew he was bound to die; so he went and got a big log chain and tied one end around the bottom of a tree and the other one to one of his legs. And right there he stayed till the sickness got him and he lost his mind.
"You're not scared, are you, boy? I'm only telling you because I know your papa left you in charge of things. I know you can handle whatever comes up. I'm just telling you to watch close and not let anything—anything—get to you or your folks with hydrophobia. Think you can do that?"
I swallowed. "I can do it," I told him. "I'm not scared."
The sternness left Burn Sanderson's face. He put a hand on my shoulder, just as Papa had the day he left.
"Good boy," he said. "That's the way a man talks."
Papa had told me right from the start that fear was a right and natural feeling for anybody, and nothing to be ashamed of.
"It's a thing of your mind," he said, "and you can train your mind to handle it just like you can train your arm to throw a rock."
Put that way, it made sense to be afraid; so I hadn't bothered about that.
Now, I knew that Spot wouldn't get well, and this bull wouldn't, either. I knew they were both deathly sick with hydrophobia. Old Yeller had scented that sickness in this bull and somehow sensed how fearfully dangerous it was.
I thought of Lisbeth and Little Arliss down past the spring. I came up out of my chair, calling for Mama. "Mama!" I said. "Bring me my gun, Mama!"
I went off to the spring after a bucket of fresh water and wondered when Papa would come back. Mama had said a couple of days ago that it was about that time, and I hoped so. […] This hydrophobia plague had me scared. I'd handled things pretty well until that came along. Of course, I'd gotten a pretty bad hog cut, but that could have happened to anybody, even a grown man. And I was about to get well of that. But if the sickness got more of our cattle, I wouldn't know what to do.