Old Yeller is a classic coming-of-age novel: it tells the story of a young boy realizing what it takes to come into one’s own and emerge from youth as a mature, well-rounded individual. Each coming-of-age tale prioritizes different aspects of adult behavior as the true marker of maturity. Within the world of Old Yeller, responsibility, and the capacity to selflessly shoulder others’ burdens, are what define adulthood.
Travis’s coming-of-age journey begins when Papa leaves on a cattle drive to Kentucky; Travis believes that he’s capable of handling “whatever need[s] to be done while Papa [is] gone.” He immediately sets to work: he reprimands his younger brother Little Arliss when he gets into trouble, cuts wood, plows the cornfields, and hunts for deer. Travis is proud of his hard work—and with each task he accomplishes, he feels more emboldened to take on bigger responsibilities. He goes on to defend his family from a pair of fighting bulls, and he even spends nights sleeping outside with Old Yeller, a stray dog he finds, in order to keep wild animals from eating the Coateses’ corn crop. And when more and more animals are infected with hydrophobia (rabies) after a plague breaks out across the countryside, Travis is forced to put down beloved farm animals and aggressive wild animal intruders alike. Travis’s joy in taking on more and more responsibilities for his family signals that he’s growing up and coming into his own as an adult. He shoulders pain and frustration, inconvenience and dire straits, all without complaining. Travis finds himself increasingly burdened by the pain of killing diseased animals—but he continues voluntarily shouldering each new burden.
Travis’s coming of age is only complete when he proves that can shoulder not only physical responsibilities but emotional ones: he must put down Old Yeller after the dog is bitten by a rabid wolf. Up until this point, Travis’s responsibilities have multiplied, evolving from small duties like keeping animals out of the corn and hunting for deer to larger responsibilities like defending his family from raging bulls and sows infected with hydrophobia. The ultimate test of Travis’s responsibility, however, comes when Mama tells him that if he can’t shoot Old Yeller, she will. Travis knows that someone must bear the trauma of putting down Old Yeller. He sees his mother crying as she recognizes what must be done—and decides that just as he has shouldered the burden of protecting his family from physical threats, so too must he now protect them from the emotional burden of killing the family pet. Travis proves that he’s a true adult as he shoulders this unimaginable responsibility and shoots Old Yeller himself.
After this traumatic incident, Travis shows what he’s learned throughout his coming-of-age journey when he decides to take Arliss and Arliss’s new puppy out on a squirrel hunt. Travis has learned about himself, his family, and the world around him during his father’s absence—and he realizes that adulthood is defined by one’s ability to take responsibility for others and to assume duties that are often hard or painful. Thus, although Travis recognizes that Arliss and the pup are still “mighty little,” he thinks it’s time for the pup to “start learning to earn his keep.” This thought process signals that Travis has come to see responsibility as a marker of maturity and independence. Travis has had to shoulder a lot over the course of his own coming-of-age journey—and now, he knows that the only way to encourage someone else on that journey is to show them what it means to take responsibility.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Coming of Age and Responsibility ThemeTracker
Coming of Age and Responsibility Quotes in Old Yeller
"What you're needing worse than a horse is a good dog."
"Yessir," I said, "but a horse is what I'm wanting the worst."
"All right," he said. "You act a man's part while I'm gone, and I'll see that you get a man's horse to ride when I sell the cattle. I think we can shake on that deal."
He reached out his hand, and we shook. It was the first time I'd ever shaken hands like a man. It made me feel big and solemn and important in a way I'd never felt before. I knew then that I could handle whatever needed to be done while Papa was gone.
I'd hit her but hadn't made a killing shot.
I didn't like that. I never minded killing for meat. Like Papa had told me, every creature has to kill to live. But to wound an animal was something else. Especially one as pretty and harmless as a deer. It made me sick to think of the doe's escaping, maybe to hurt for days before she finally died.
That day when I saw [Little Arliss] in the spring, so helpless against the angry she bear, I learned different. I knew then that I loved him as much as I did Mama and Papa, maybe in some ways even a little bit more.
So it was only natural for me to come to love the dog that saved him.
After that, I couldn't do enough for Old Yeller. What if he was a big ugly meat-stealing rascal? […] None of that made a lick of difference now. He’d pitched in and saved Little Arliss when I couldn’t possibly have done it, and that was enough for me.
"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."
A boy, before he really grows up, is pretty much like a wild animal.
In a way, it sort of hurt my pride for a little old girl like Lisbeth to come in and take over my jobs. Papa had left me to look after things. But now I was laid up, and here was a girl handling my work about as good as I could. Still, she couldn't get out and mark hogs or kill meat or swing a chopping axe. . .
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!"
We couldn't leave the dead bull to lie there that close to the cabin. In a few days, the scent of rotting flesh would drive us out. Also, the carcass lay too close to the spring. Mama was afraid it would foul up our drinking water.
"We'll have to try to drag it further from the cabin and burn it," she said.
"Burn it?" I said in surprise. "Why can't we just leave it for the buzzards and varmints to clean up?"
"Because that might spread the sickness," Mama said. "If the varmints eat it, they might get the sickness, too."
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.
"But Mama," I said. "We don't know for certain. We could wait and see. We could tie him or shut him up in the corncrib or some place till we know for sure!"
Mama broke down and went to crying then. She put her head on my shoulder and held me so tight that she nearly choked off my breath.
"We can't take a chance, Son,” she sobbed. "It would be you or me or Little Arliss or Lisbeth next. I'll shoot him if you can't, but either way, we've got to do it. We just can't take the chance!"
It was going to kill something inside me to do it, but I knew then that I had to shoot my big yeller dog.
Once I knew for sure I had it to do, I don't think I really felt anything. I was just numb all over, like a dead man walking.
Quickly, I left Mama and went to stand in the light of the burning bear grass. I reloaded my gun and called Old Yeller back from the house. I stuck the muzzle of the gun against his head and pulled the trigger.
Days went by, and I couldn’t seem to get over it. I couldn’t eat. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't cry. I was all empty inside, but hurting. Hurting worse than I'd ever hurt in my life.
I started to holler at them. I started to say: "Arliss! You get that nasty pup out of our drinking water."
Then I didn't. Instead, I went to laughing. I sat there and laughed till I cried. When all the time I knew that I ought to go beat them to a frazzle for messing up our drinking water.
