“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.

The silvery moon lights the sky and the trail leading up Pike Mountain.  The dog runs ahead of me, sniffing scents and marking trails along the way.

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

I sling my gun over my left shoulder follow old Blue along the trail.  He knows these woods well and so he should. Shucks, he’s been hunting here since he was knee high to a grasshopper.

We slowly transcend the mountain.  An owl’s voice echoes throughout the trees, whoo, whoo, whoo-whoo…whoo.  I listen and count; five whoo’s confirms it’s a great horned owl. The cedar-scented air is fresh and crisp as   my dog and I walk the well-worn trail.

……………………….

Raccoon sniffs the air, scratches his belly, then hangs all fours 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 better 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 fi,r he circles three times making each circle larger than the last.  Back on the trail he scents the fallen cedar 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.

 “Good dawg Blue, go git em,” I urge, releasing the dog.

“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’ something’ awful.”

I wait as Blue 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 tells me that the owl is now feasting.

Sniff, sniff….achoooo!  I laugh aloud at the sneezing dog before me.  Blue sits looking at me with watery brown eyes licking his nose.  He tosses his head instigating 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 firs,t he silently slips down the tree and prepares for the chase.

Blue sniffs out the spot where Raccoon sat scratching fleas. He’s found the scent and welcomes the return of his olfactory tracker by baying at mother moon. I watch as 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.

“I 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’.”

I think Blue is onto something.  He has changed his tactics.  His nose is no longer shoveling its way through the woods, why he looks like he is out for a midnight stroll.  Look at him tail held high along with his proud head.

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 awaiting the drop of the baton he sits, and then as dog’s seeking nose sniffs the fresh scent he is off!

Old Blue shakes his cold and age as the coon’s scent invades his brain. “Thar he goes!”

I jog along the trail, listening to 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 Raccoons scent is deep inside.  He remembers the last time he was 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,” Blue thinks as he gingerly approaches the slippery wet stones. He carefully makes his way to shore where he immediately picks up Raccoon’s scent. “Got him!” Blue sits ‘neath the tree and bays to the moon.

I arrive at the creek just as Blue signals that he has a raccoon treed.  Hopping over the stones I greet my faithful friend.  “Good dog Blue, sit boy while I put on your leash.”  Reaching into my pocket I extract two milkbone biscuits, which Blue inhales. I then shine my flashlight into the branches.  Blue searches with the light.  A flying squirrel peeks out of an old woodpecker hole then slowly withdraws his head back into the safety of his den.  There is no raccoon to be found.

“Looks like that old wizard out-foxed you again Blue.  Never mind. We all got our exercise. Now let’s go home.”

A lonely cloud embraced the moon, lingered for a while then passed on.

Raccoon silently moves higher up the tree and as the man and dog pass beneath, he covers his eyes with both hands.  No sense in taking any chances.  Blue’s old nose wouldn’t pick up his scent at this height but one shine of the flashlight on his twinkling eyes would surely give him away.  Raccoon watches the pair walking side-by-side back down the mountain trail, then chirring to himself he stretches out and surveys his kingdom once more before sleep dims the light in his coal black eyes.

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