The Coon Hunt - (How NOT to do it!)
Margie was standing at the kitchen sink, her hands in the hot soapy water, finishing up the last of the dishes from dinner. Taking the last sauce pan out, she pulled the plug, then rinsed it in the other sink setting it into the drainer.
She rinsed out the dishcloth in the rinse water and hung it on the rack behind the sink to dry. Watching the water spin as it rushed down the drain.
George came up behind her putting his arms around her waist, then kissed the nape of her neck, showing under her bun, with a pencil holding her long hair in place.
“The kids are all asleep, want to go do something with me?” he asked her.
She slipped off her apron after drying her hands, then hung both apron and towel on the wall peg beside the stove. “I suppose it depends on what ‘something’ is.” She joked to him.
He stammered a bit, “Well..”
“Ok, definitely not something too fun then. What is it that you want me to do?” She said, sighing inwardly.
“You remember I told you I was going hunting with Otis?” he asked, not looking at her.
“Yes, you said coon hunting. What happened?” She could read him like a book.
“Otis’s, best dog got into a fight and can’t run. He backed out on me.”
Margie stared at him, waiting on him to continue. Thinking, ‘talking to this man is like trying to get a caveman to learn English.’ “Is the dog gonna live? Is Otis ok?” she finally asked him.
“Aww yeah, both gonna be fine.” He finally said in his country drawl.
Margie was tired, she had chased three kids, done four loads of laundry and hung it out on the clothesline, brought them in, folded it and put it all away, made three meals, and cleaned all day. She didn’t have time for his long-drawn-out sentences.
“George? What is it that you want me to do with you?” She didn’t mention how tired she was. It was useless, he, like all men, thought a home ran itself, meals magically appearing, the good housekeeping fairy lived in all homes, wives simply sat around doing nothing all day long. It was useless to try to explain.
“Well.” He began, then stopped again.
“George, for heavens sake man, spit it out!” Margie said, as she grew impatient with him.
“Ya wanna go with me instead?” he finished in a rush.
“Go where George?” she asked puzzled.
“Huntin of course. I told the dogs we was goin.’ So wanna go with me? Kids are asleep, they won’t miss us.”
Outwardly Margie smiled at him. Inwardly she was picturing taking her 14” iron skillet and hitting him over the head with it, to knock some sense into him.
“George, I will, but I intend to tell the kids, at least Annabelle, so she will be on the lookout for any problems. She is old enough to take care of stuff. Give me a few minutes, to get ready, you can go get the dogs ready. After all you promised ‘em.” She turned and went to Annabelle’s room, waking her gently.
“Your Dad and I are going to go out hunting. We probably won’t be gone too long. Just wanted to let you know in case one of the little ones wakes up.” She whispered to her.
Annabelle sat up, looking at her mom like she had totally gone mad. “You! Are going hunting with Dad?!”
Margie put her hand lightly over Annabelle’s mouth. “Hush, you’ll wake the others. Besides, your Dad won’t want to stay out long, not with me. I’m not one of the ‘fellas.’ Just listen for the others. I’m sure it will be fine.” Kissing Annabelle on the forehead, she pulled the covers back over her and tucked her in.
She met George outside, where he handed her a belt with a battery on it, and a helmet to put on her head, with a light on the front.
“Don’t turn that on until the dogs start treein’.” He warned her.
Pulling the pencil from her bun, she put the hat on, buttoned up her jacket, and followed him and the pack of dogs.
“Shoookie Charlie! Sgetem boy!” he yelled at his lead dog.
Charlie took off like he’d been shot, the rest of the 3 dogs followed on his heels, all barking like they were being chased by the devil dog himself.
Margie followed along behind George and the dogs.
After what seemed to be forever of trampling through tall tufts of grass, and starter trees she couldn’t see in the darkness, George stopped abruptly in front of her. She ran into him.
“Quiet Margie. Hear ‘em? They’ve caught the scent of a coon. Now we’re off.” He started off towards the sound of the dogs barking.
Margie was saying silent prayers that her legs held out under her.
The barking changed pitch and speed. Once again George stopped dead in his tracks in front of her, this time though, he did turn around to catch her before she ran into him.
“They got one treed! Let’s go! Hurry up Margie. Don’t be so slow.”
Suddenly the barking sound he said was them treeing a coon, stopped. Now they were trailing he said, because the barking changed.
Margie simply nodded and kept following George.
Three more times the dogs barked that they were treed. Margie thought someone had fed them something wrong and they didn’t know what they were doing.
Even George was wondering if they were chasing something different. But stoutly stated. “Ol Charlie ain’t never let me down. You wait. He’s got a big un up that tree.”
Following their barks, they finally reached the tree. All four dogs were staring up at the tree, where the coon had supposedly taken safety from them. They were barking their heads off.
George turned on his headlight. “You too Margie. Turn it on, see if you can see that coon up there.”
George let out a whoop. “Hot dog Charlie! You done good ol boy!” He patted Charlie on the head. “See Margie! See! There’s two coon up there! Good boy Charlie!”
“George?”
“Yeah Margie?”
“There are two more over here on this side.” She told him. Looking up at the reflection of 2 more sets of red eyes in the tree looking down at her.
George let out a louder whoop and pounded on Charlie and the rest of the dogs. “You dogs are gonna eat high on the hog when we gets home!”
Margie was afraid he was going to hurt them with his happy pets. “Now what George?” she asked. Hoping to distract him from praising the dogs so energetically.
“We shoot em!” He replied as he loosened the strap holding the rifle from his shoulder.
Margie just nodded. Then took a step back. Last thing she needed tonight was him to shoot a coon and it to fall and hit her.
He lined up his shot, then pulled the trigger. The coon moved at the very last second. Then fell from the tree limb.
It hit the ground, still alive, just missing its nose, then took off like its tail was on fire.
Charlie took off after it. Barking his head off, the other dogs followed his lead. Not to be out done, George wasn’t about to let that coon escape. He ran off following the dogs, who were following the coon.
Margie stood and watched them go, the headlight on George’s head bobbing along, then it disappeared.
The coon had made it to the creek, where it had cut a steep gully about six foot deep. The coon jumped into the water, the dogs stopped on the edge of the bank, looking for a different way down. George came up behind the dogs, saw the coon escaping down the creek, and kicked the dogs off the edge to get the coon.
When George did that, he lost his balance and fell off with them. Where they all landed in a heap in just over ankle deep water.
Charlie in the lead, with the others trying to get on each side of the poor coon. George got to his feet, put his rifle to his shoulder, and pulled the trigger. SNAP. Nothing happened, just a dry click. “CRAPOLA!” George flipped the rifle around so that he held the barrel now in his hands and waded into the mele with the coon and the dogs. He hit it over the head and knocked it silly. Then cut its throat, cut a tree limb off. And threaded it’s hind legs through the tree branch. Hefting the branch over his shoulder.
He climbed the bank out on to the level, where George sat the coon down. The dogs finally rejoined him, after finding a simpler way up the embankment. George got the rifle unjammed. Then picked up the coon and started back.
Meanwhile. Back at the tree.
Margie watched as they all ran off, unsure what she was supposed to do. She didn’t have a gun. The only thing she had was the light on the helmet. She could hear a scurrying sound behind her.
The coons were coming down the tree, the dogs and the man with the gun were gone, now was the time for escape! Who cared about the woman there, it was clear she was no threat to them.
Margie took a deep breath, in the time it took for her to breathe in, she had figured her way to save the night. As well as the hunt.
Shining the light at the tree, the coons stopped. She opened her mouth. And began to howl like the dogs had been doing when they treed the coons earlier. ARRRR ARRRR AROOOOOOOOOOOOO. At the first howl from her, they all three scampered back up the tree. Probably wondering what kind of critter, she was. Looked like a human female but sounded like a huntin’ dog. They stayed put though.
Margie just kept howling every time they acted like they wanted to climb down.
George was laughing so hard by the time he got back to the tree he could barely even walk.
“By golly Margie! You tree better than ‘ol Charlie can!” He slapped her on the shoulder. Tossed the coon on the stick down, then shouldered the rifle. “Back up there honey bunch, don’t want to tangle with one, if its still kickin when it hits the ground.”
Margie was more than happy to comply. Her throat was dry, she had a headache, and her neck was stiff from staring up in that tree.
George didn’t miss this time. As each one hit the ground, they stayed there. Guarded by a dog.
Taking out his knife, George did the same for them as he had for the first one earlier. Then he put them all together on the same branch. Slinging his rifle and the branch over one shoulder. He put his other arm around Margie. “Best night ever Babe! You’re wonderful! Thank ya. Let’s go home.”
The trip home was much quicker, for one, they could use the lights, and see where they were going, and two, they no longer needed to follow the sounds of barking through the woods.
Margie hung up her jacket. Handing the headlight set up to George. Then went in to sit at the kitchen table.
Annabelle came in, “Mom, you ok?”
“Just pour me a glass of tea will ya Annabelle. My throat is parched.”
“Sure Mom. How’d it go?” she asked hesitantly, certain that she would be told that her father was upset, and they hadn’t gotten anything.
George came bursting through the back door singing. “A hunting we will go! A hunting we will go! Ho Ho my dearie oh! A hunting we did go!” He grabbed Margie and kissed her soundly on the mouth. Then practically skipped from the room.
Annabelle just stood there with her mouth hanging open.
“My tea dear?”
She rinsed out the dishcloth in the rinse water and hung it on the rack behind the sink to dry. Watching the water spin as it rushed down the drain.
George came up behind her putting his arms around her waist, then kissed the nape of her neck, showing under her bun, with a pencil holding her long hair in place.
“The kids are all asleep, want to go do something with me?” he asked her.
She slipped off her apron after drying her hands, then hung both apron and towel on the wall peg beside the stove. “I suppose it depends on what ‘something’ is.” She joked to him.
He stammered a bit, “Well..”
“Ok, definitely not something too fun then. What is it that you want me to do?” She said, sighing inwardly.
“You remember I told you I was going hunting with Otis?” he asked, not looking at her.
“Yes, you said coon hunting. What happened?” She could read him like a book.
“Otis’s, best dog got into a fight and can’t run. He backed out on me.”
Margie stared at him, waiting on him to continue. Thinking, ‘talking to this man is like trying to get a caveman to learn English.’ “Is the dog gonna live? Is Otis ok?” she finally asked him.
“Aww yeah, both gonna be fine.” He finally said in his country drawl.
Margie was tired, she had chased three kids, done four loads of laundry and hung it out on the clothesline, brought them in, folded it and put it all away, made three meals, and cleaned all day. She didn’t have time for his long-drawn-out sentences.
“George? What is it that you want me to do with you?” She didn’t mention how tired she was. It was useless, he, like all men, thought a home ran itself, meals magically appearing, the good housekeeping fairy lived in all homes, wives simply sat around doing nothing all day long. It was useless to try to explain.
“Well.” He began, then stopped again.
“George, for heavens sake man, spit it out!” Margie said, as she grew impatient with him.
“Ya wanna go with me instead?” he finished in a rush.
“Go where George?” she asked puzzled.
“Huntin of course. I told the dogs we was goin.’ So wanna go with me? Kids are asleep, they won’t miss us.”
Outwardly Margie smiled at him. Inwardly she was picturing taking her 14” iron skillet and hitting him over the head with it, to knock some sense into him.
“George, I will, but I intend to tell the kids, at least Annabelle, so she will be on the lookout for any problems. She is old enough to take care of stuff. Give me a few minutes, to get ready, you can go get the dogs ready. After all you promised ‘em.” She turned and went to Annabelle’s room, waking her gently.
“Your Dad and I are going to go out hunting. We probably won’t be gone too long. Just wanted to let you know in case one of the little ones wakes up.” She whispered to her.
Annabelle sat up, looking at her mom like she had totally gone mad. “You! Are going hunting with Dad?!”
Margie put her hand lightly over Annabelle’s mouth. “Hush, you’ll wake the others. Besides, your Dad won’t want to stay out long, not with me. I’m not one of the ‘fellas.’ Just listen for the others. I’m sure it will be fine.” Kissing Annabelle on the forehead, she pulled the covers back over her and tucked her in.
She met George outside, where he handed her a belt with a battery on it, and a helmet to put on her head, with a light on the front.
“Don’t turn that on until the dogs start treein’.” He warned her.
Pulling the pencil from her bun, she put the hat on, buttoned up her jacket, and followed him and the pack of dogs.
“Shoookie Charlie! Sgetem boy!” he yelled at his lead dog.
Charlie took off like he’d been shot, the rest of the 3 dogs followed on his heels, all barking like they were being chased by the devil dog himself.
Margie followed along behind George and the dogs.
After what seemed to be forever of trampling through tall tufts of grass, and starter trees she couldn’t see in the darkness, George stopped abruptly in front of her. She ran into him.
“Quiet Margie. Hear ‘em? They’ve caught the scent of a coon. Now we’re off.” He started off towards the sound of the dogs barking.
Margie was saying silent prayers that her legs held out under her.
The barking changed pitch and speed. Once again George stopped dead in his tracks in front of her, this time though, he did turn around to catch her before she ran into him.
“They got one treed! Let’s go! Hurry up Margie. Don’t be so slow.”
Suddenly the barking sound he said was them treeing a coon, stopped. Now they were trailing he said, because the barking changed.
Margie simply nodded and kept following George.
Three more times the dogs barked that they were treed. Margie thought someone had fed them something wrong and they didn’t know what they were doing.
Even George was wondering if they were chasing something different. But stoutly stated. “Ol Charlie ain’t never let me down. You wait. He’s got a big un up that tree.”
Following their barks, they finally reached the tree. All four dogs were staring up at the tree, where the coon had supposedly taken safety from them. They were barking their heads off.
George turned on his headlight. “You too Margie. Turn it on, see if you can see that coon up there.”
George let out a whoop. “Hot dog Charlie! You done good ol boy!” He patted Charlie on the head. “See Margie! See! There’s two coon up there! Good boy Charlie!”
“George?”
“Yeah Margie?”
“There are two more over here on this side.” She told him. Looking up at the reflection of 2 more sets of red eyes in the tree looking down at her.
George let out a louder whoop and pounded on Charlie and the rest of the dogs. “You dogs are gonna eat high on the hog when we gets home!”
Margie was afraid he was going to hurt them with his happy pets. “Now what George?” she asked. Hoping to distract him from praising the dogs so energetically.
“We shoot em!” He replied as he loosened the strap holding the rifle from his shoulder.
Margie just nodded. Then took a step back. Last thing she needed tonight was him to shoot a coon and it to fall and hit her.
He lined up his shot, then pulled the trigger. The coon moved at the very last second. Then fell from the tree limb.
It hit the ground, still alive, just missing its nose, then took off like its tail was on fire.
Charlie took off after it. Barking his head off, the other dogs followed his lead. Not to be out done, George wasn’t about to let that coon escape. He ran off following the dogs, who were following the coon.
Margie stood and watched them go, the headlight on George’s head bobbing along, then it disappeared.
The coon had made it to the creek, where it had cut a steep gully about six foot deep. The coon jumped into the water, the dogs stopped on the edge of the bank, looking for a different way down. George came up behind the dogs, saw the coon escaping down the creek, and kicked the dogs off the edge to get the coon.
When George did that, he lost his balance and fell off with them. Where they all landed in a heap in just over ankle deep water.
Charlie in the lead, with the others trying to get on each side of the poor coon. George got to his feet, put his rifle to his shoulder, and pulled the trigger. SNAP. Nothing happened, just a dry click. “CRAPOLA!” George flipped the rifle around so that he held the barrel now in his hands and waded into the mele with the coon and the dogs. He hit it over the head and knocked it silly. Then cut its throat, cut a tree limb off. And threaded it’s hind legs through the tree branch. Hefting the branch over his shoulder.
He climbed the bank out on to the level, where George sat the coon down. The dogs finally rejoined him, after finding a simpler way up the embankment. George got the rifle unjammed. Then picked up the coon and started back.
Meanwhile. Back at the tree.
Margie watched as they all ran off, unsure what she was supposed to do. She didn’t have a gun. The only thing she had was the light on the helmet. She could hear a scurrying sound behind her.
The coons were coming down the tree, the dogs and the man with the gun were gone, now was the time for escape! Who cared about the woman there, it was clear she was no threat to them.
Margie took a deep breath, in the time it took for her to breathe in, she had figured her way to save the night. As well as the hunt.
Shining the light at the tree, the coons stopped. She opened her mouth. And began to howl like the dogs had been doing when they treed the coons earlier. ARRRR ARRRR AROOOOOOOOOOOOO. At the first howl from her, they all three scampered back up the tree. Probably wondering what kind of critter, she was. Looked like a human female but sounded like a huntin’ dog. They stayed put though.
Margie just kept howling every time they acted like they wanted to climb down.
George was laughing so hard by the time he got back to the tree he could barely even walk.
“By golly Margie! You tree better than ‘ol Charlie can!” He slapped her on the shoulder. Tossed the coon on the stick down, then shouldered the rifle. “Back up there honey bunch, don’t want to tangle with one, if its still kickin when it hits the ground.”
Margie was more than happy to comply. Her throat was dry, she had a headache, and her neck was stiff from staring up in that tree.
George didn’t miss this time. As each one hit the ground, they stayed there. Guarded by a dog.
Taking out his knife, George did the same for them as he had for the first one earlier. Then he put them all together on the same branch. Slinging his rifle and the branch over one shoulder. He put his other arm around Margie. “Best night ever Babe! You’re wonderful! Thank ya. Let’s go home.”
The trip home was much quicker, for one, they could use the lights, and see where they were going, and two, they no longer needed to follow the sounds of barking through the woods.
Margie hung up her jacket. Handing the headlight set up to George. Then went in to sit at the kitchen table.
Annabelle came in, “Mom, you ok?”
“Just pour me a glass of tea will ya Annabelle. My throat is parched.”
“Sure Mom. How’d it go?” she asked hesitantly, certain that she would be told that her father was upset, and they hadn’t gotten anything.
George came bursting through the back door singing. “A hunting we will go! A hunting we will go! Ho Ho my dearie oh! A hunting we did go!” He grabbed Margie and kissed her soundly on the mouth. Then practically skipped from the room.
Annabelle just stood there with her mouth hanging open.
“My tea dear?”