I am looking for the coon hunt I have heard about since I was knee high. I want to go on one of the prolonged outings where you hear tales, smell of wood smoke and listen to the dogs with deep baying voices call men to a for certain in the hole varmint. I want to see the dogs, maybe ten or twelve of them, trying to climb up a tall tree, muscles straining and slobbers flying in the lantern light.
“Hold ‘em, Blue; get back, Rowdy.....”. And the dialogue continues in my head. Think on it a second or two and you might hear it.
I guess grown men don’t usually revert to dreams of youth until they hit that critical stage, second childhood. Well, I have not reached that terrible tier but I do occasionally revert. And, by golly, I’d sure enough go on a big hunt.
Sure, I know the country is fenced and mostly tamed by houses in almost every ten acres but I have coon tracks all over the feed room in my yearling barn. The corn sacks get ripped to pieces and I’d lay oddsthatthecoonsarethefattest in the nation. Maybe they will just turn up their toes and die from being grossly obese! Fat chance. Pun intended!
The little creek that runs in wet weather is about forty yards from that old shack I use for storage for the yearling feed. Don’t keep much in there, usually minerals and LA 200, ear tags and pen and other junk I don’t know where to put. I started stringing a line of corn along so I could pen the yearlings real easily about a month ago and they are waiting in the pen early each morning now.
I was up earlier than usuala couple of days ago and I watched the old ringtail leave his breakfast table.Yep, he scurried right through the herd, missing stamping feet and flying hooves like a prom, which I guess he is by now. He has a wealth of experience, about three hundred pounds of it under his belt. The silly yearlings just play at trying to stop the thief, enjoying their break from monotony while waiting on me to show.
I had a friend when I was a boy who was a fox hunter. He would tie a bedroll behind his saddle, load supplies, including dog necessities, on a pack mule and head out for a couple of weeks at a time. He told of meeting fellers at predetermined junctions and the wonderful times that ensued. They hunted fox or coon or whatever needed hunting. They ate a little of all they found. I wanted to go but my Pappy never allowed a two week trip with a bunch of old geezers!
It is my opinion, and everyone has one, there are a multitude of pests that could be coped with if we could employ the old and tried ways. Coyotes and skunks, coon and crop stealing deer, horse thieves. Oh, excuse me, please; I must have been day dreaming when I added the lastcategory.Theoldhuntsare long gone and so are the men who accomplished them.
I am regulated down to traps and the threats of my close relative if I come in smelling skunky. That thought sorta worries me so I’ve taken to hauling corn instead of storing it!
Bill is a pen name used by the Gravette author of this weekly column.
News, Pages 4 on 05/13/2010
Print Headline: OPINION? Everybody Has One!!