Clever Magazine, Summer '09 "A Coon Hunt " (www.clevermag.com)

Wanna read the latest from Clever Magazine?
Click here and return to the coverpage!

A Coon Hunt

by Dee Walmsley

“C’mon dawg, moon’s up, time fer us to git us some vittles for the ol’ stew pot.” The coonhound stretches, glad to be free of his chain. A Tennessee moon lights the sky and the trail leading up Pike Mountain. The dog runs ahead, sniffing scents and marking trails along the way.

“Durn fine time to goes huntin’ with this here cold,” reasons the dog. “Cain’t smell a thang, let alone a coon.”

Tossing his gun over his left shoulder the hunter follows the dog along the trail. Blue knows the trail well, and so he should. He’s been tracking this territory since he was but a pup in his mother’s womb. An owl’s voice echoes throughout the trees, whoo, whoo, whoo-whoo-whoo. Five hoots confirms it’s a great horned owl. The night air is fresh, crisp and scented with cedar.

Raccoon sniffs the air, scratches his belly then hangs all four legs back over the tree branch and waits. “That darn fool dog is back again looking for a chase. Never fails, full moon always brings out the crazies. Oh well, guess I’d best lay down the trail and let the games begin,” mumbles Raccoon, backing down the old fir. Waddling up the trail he stops, scratches his pesky fleas and scents the forest floor. Then making a hasty exit back towards his favourite fir, he circles three times making each circle larger than the last. Back on the trail he rubs his belly on the fallen cedar releasing more musk before running through the hollow log and up the massive maple.

Blue’s baying fills the air. The dog has picked up Raccoon’s scent.

The hunter whispers “Good dawg Blue, go git em,” as he releases the leash.

“I’m not howling at the coon, ye ol’ fool, I’m howling ‘coz my head aches, my eyes are watering and mah nose is a itchin’ somethin’ awful,” thinks Blue. He sniffs the ground, finds a blade of grass and lifts his leg releasing a spurt of hot liquid from his endless reservoir. Then after pawing at the soft earth, he trots off down the trail. A rabbit’s dying squeal announces owl’s kill.

Sniff, sniff….achoooo! Blue sits, his drooping brown eyes tear from the sneeze, then licking his nose he tosses his head setting off a tremor that ends in his tail and he’s off!

Raccoon naps, building stamina. His eyes search the night sky. Twinkling stars reflect in his black eyes as his nose relays the message that dog has picked up his trail. Head first, he silently slips down the tree and prepares for the chase.

Blue sniffs out the spot where Raccoon sat scratching fleas. Two stray freeloaders catapult into their new furry forest. He’s found the scent and welcomes the return of his olfactory tracker by baying at mother moon. Head to the ground he lopes along the trail to the majestic fir where he circles three times, marks the tree with his stream then sniffing the air, bolts for the fallen cedar.

“Ah can smell thet varmit now,” howls Blue, nose sniffing the mossy log. “He’s up to his ol’ tricks agin’ hidin’ out in thet holler log. I’ll just mosey on over there like I ain’t interested and catch him nappin’.”

Blue is onto something. He has changed his tactics. His nose is no longer shoveling its way through the woods. He seems to be out for a midnight stroll with his proud head held high, and tail stretched to the stars.

Raccoon sits in the thicket waiting, every nerve ending taut with excitement. He watches as dog runs through his hollow log and sniffs the maple’s roots. Like a musician anticipating the drop of the baton, he waits. His button eyes twinkle with excitement, his whiskers twitch in anticipation, and then as dog’s nose finds the fresh scent he is off and running!

Blue, shivering from cold and old age, grows tense as the coon’s odor invades his brain. A flash of fur catches his eye as Raccoon exits the brambles. Instantly the motion transmitted to the brain sparks the dog into action.

“Thar he goes!” The silent woods come alive to the sounds of predator and prey thrashing through the underbrush.

Raccoon heads for the creek, skips across the stepping stones, jumps ashore, runs halfway up the nearest tree, then quickly backtracks, only this time he swims back to shore, saunters down the trail and climbs his favourite tree. And there he sits like a spectator, watching dog.

Blue gallops around the blackberry brambles even though Raccoon’s scent is deep inside. He remembers the last time he fenced with his adversary and ended up full of thorns.

“I kin smell his sorry self, all the way to the creek and I’m closin’ in on him now,” he muses while gingerly approaching the slippery wet stones. He carefully makes his way to shore where he immediately picks up a whiff of Raccoon.

“Got him!” Blue sits ‘neath the tree, throws back his head and bays to the moon. Blue signals that he’s treed the raccoon. Like a child playing hopscotch, the hunter jumps the creek.

He greets his dog. “ Hey thar, Blue, good dog. Sit boy, whilst I hooks up yer leash.”

Blue inhales two milk bone biscuits fetched from his master’s jeans as the hunter shines his flashlight into the branches. Blue’s eyes follow the light.

A flying squirrel peeks out of an old woodpecker hole then withdraws his head back into the safety of his den. There is no raccoon to be found.

Man and dog walk side by side down the trail.

“Looks like that old wizard outfoxed you again Blue. Never ye mind, bud We’ll git him one of these nights. Let’s go home. This hunt has me hankerin’ fer some shine.”

A lonely cloud embraces the moon, lingers for a while then passes on.

Raccoon silently moves higher up the tree, and as man and dog pass beneath he covers his eyes with both hands. No sense in taking any chances. He is too high for Blue’s old nose to pick up his scent, but one shine of the flashlight on his twinkling eyes would surely give him away. Raccoon watches the pair walking back down the mountain trail, and then chirring to his self, he stretches out and surveys his kingdom one more time before sleep dims the light in his coal black eyes.