Coon hunting

Today is my daddy’s birthday. I need to go get him a gift or something. He can’t stand to have someone buy him a gift. If I ask him what he would like for his birthday or Christmas he’ll respond with something like, “If you HAVE to get me anything, a piece of fruit would be nice.” So, today, I plan to stick a candle in an apple and take it to him.

I’d like to share with ya’ll a little tidbit about me and my dad. I’m the oldest of 4 children. Mom had us all within 6 years. I wonder how she kept her sanity! LOL

My dad is an eccentric sort of fellow. He enjoys backpacking, camping, and just about anything outdoorsy. When I was growing up, his hobby at the time was what we called coon hunting. I still vividly remember my first hunt with him.

I recently found a poem of sorts that my dad had written and I’d like to share it with ya’ll. It really describes our nights in the woods.



“Music of the Night Woods”
by S. Gilford Bush

The night is bright, the air is cool, and the wind lay down.
We loaded the mules, Ruth and Seymour, followed by the hounds.
We picked this night, with much delight, of a full moon
to enjoy the sport of pursuing some raccoon.

As my daughter and I pull out of the driveway and head for the woods,
I think to myself, “What will it be tonight?
A waste of time or a hunt turned good?”.
We continue driving on for thirty minutes or more;
anticipation and excitement starting to soar.
We enter the woods and turn down the old, familiar road,
then to the end as far as we can go.
Off with the engine, and out for a listen,
not wanting to turn the dogs out on some one else.
We hear no other, and the dew on the grass is now starting to glisten.

We quickly turn loose the hounds, Eagle, Beulah, and Cricket, too;
putting them down a ditch that runs through to the old slough.
It isn’t too long before we hear the hound Cricket,
open with a bark in the middle of a thicket.
There’s no telling what she’s running, she’s young you know.
It could be a ‘dillo or maybe a toad.
Now she seems to be on the old logging road.
She’s quiet at last and I begin to wonder,
“Where are Eagle and Beulah? Have they gone yonder?”
It’s now been a while, ten minutes or more,
so I say to my daughter, “Let’s unload the mules, Ruth and Seymour.”

And we ride down the old logging road, hoping to hear,
Maybe they’ve struck and gone too far,
when down deep in the woods we hear Eagle’s cry, loud and clear!
Tightening saddles and getting the lights, we’re ready to start.
It sounds like Eagle has struck a good track and now Beulah is in there, too!
Do I hear Cricket? Is she coming back to us?
No, she’s definitely in there with the team,
coming along real well, it would seem.

Now, it’s picking up and the race is on!
They’re headed northeast and will soon be gone.
We prod the mules, can’t take too long, they’re moving on.
They have old ringtail on the run!
We stop and listen to the music. Oh! What a thrill!
I wonder, “Should I have brought my gun?”
They’re gaining on him now, closing in for the kill.
Now they’re headed north into water and bad terrain.
Alas, do I hear thunder in the West?
Yes, I see lightening also! I sure hope it doesn’t rain!
Who cares what weather comes, this is the best!
Through the briars we go, hoping to not stir up a wasp nest!

We stop and listen; it’s been thirty minutes now or maybe an hour.
Seems as if the race is still on and now headed west.
I know they’re across some water.
“Oh, well, I guess we get to go swimming, too!” I jest.
We’ve been in some bad places before, so it really doesn’t matter.

Do I hear a change of the tone? It’s been awhile and I think they’re due.
Yes, I do believe that’s a locating moan, come from my dogs of blue.
As I speak, I notice a change again as Eagle and Beulah begin to tree.
I hope its right and they remain. Now I hear Cricket and we hurry to see.
Through the mud, briars, water, and vines
we go to our destination of the beautiful treeing sound.
They’re definitely locked up tight; it would seem so,
as we get close to see what they have found.

On top of a ten or twelve foot long snag,
lay a huge ‘coon with eyes of bright!
I’ve seen some beautiful things in my life but, Oh, what a sight!

Eagle, Beulah, and Cricket, too;
All treeing solid, looking for fur to chew!
We hook the dogs up and start out.
We’ve had a good hunt, that’s what it’s about.
There’s never two times that it’s all the same,
when we come out to chase this elusive game.
Back through the briars, vines, and muck;
then to the old logging road and back to the truck.

Now after many hunts I have come to believe,
as we look back at the raccoons we did leave,
Not to measure the enjoyment of the hunt by the amount of game you kill,
But rather, by the music, to be blunt, and lest we forget, the dog’s skill.

Happy Birthday Daddy!!