Cry baby

I've mentioned this elsewhere on the internet, probably in my defunct livejournal, but few books have made me cry real tears. I think at that point there were two: one of which I cannot remember. Little Women? Well, whatever. At this point, there is one more, because the fact that Harry Potter does not have parents will never stop being sad for me, no matter how many times J.K. Rowling uses it to manipulate me. Anyway, no matter how choked up the scene with the ghosts of Voldemort's last few victims made me, the only novel that has ever made me weep was Where the Red Fern Grows. I can't really remember why, except that the end was sad, with the dogs getting caught in the hunting traps and dying (I think), because I've only read the book once, and I can't remember anything other than that it was about a boy raising a pair of some kind of hunting dog puppies, and then the dogs died in the end. But I can remember sitting on the junked-out blue recliner in our breezeway at our first house in New Hampshire, some summer, reading it and just bawling. The tears would not stop. I should read it again, just so I can know what the book is actually about, but I'm kind of afraid of it now.

Nothing in my entire life has made me cry that hard, except maybe the only fight I've ever had with my mother. I think it deserves a re-read.