Fuzzy's last hunt

I told you about ol' Fuzzy, Pappy's little Elkhound, earlier. As I put it before, he wasn't worth much for a huntin' dog. But Pappy was bound and determined to make him the best coon-dog in the state. Of course, I was expected to help in any way possible. Here's the story of Fuzzy's ruination as a coon dog.

Me and Pappy had the dogs roadin' all season, that is, we turned 'em out on the old strip roads and followed 'em in the truck. Pappy couldn't get around like he used to, so the truck was a necessity.

This cool Friday evnin', Pappy wanted to go to one of the hollers we hadn't been to all season. Elk 2 Mile Hollow ain't exactly 2 miles long. It's more like 30 miles of bad attitude and worse road, if ya could call it road, than ya can imagine. But Pappy and me both knew there was coons up there, so off we went, with our best dogs and Fuzzy. God help us!

Those dogs we're talkin' 'bout were Big Joe, my huge black 'n tan hound, our kill and cold trail dog, Susie, my little Redbone hound, and Pappy's blue tick hounds, Spot and Speck who ya could hear tree for ever' bit of ten miles. Fuzzy was there, too, but I was tryin' real hard not to pay any attention to him, as was the other dogs. Hell, even they knew he wasn't a coon dog.

In any case, we took off for the deep part of the holler, where the big'ns lived. Well, the evenin' went on without the dogs cuttin' a single track. Fuzzy was behind the truck, as usual, and the rest was doin' their damndest to find a ringtail. Pappy was just about to comment on how well Fuzzy was doin', when Susie throwed her nose in the wind. My eyes lit up like Roman Candles when they all done it-- that is, except for Fuzzy who was still suckin' exhaust fumes. I was right, and sure enough, in 10 minutes they was treed up the hill a ways in a big stand of beech.

There ain't a sound prettier on Earth, than them four barkin' up a tree. Fuzzy was taggin' along, wonderin' what all the excitement was about. We got to the tree, and them dogs was carryin' on somethin' fierce. We found the coon's eyes, and let me tell you, them was the biggest set of eyes I'd ever seen in a tree. I wasn't even sure it was a coon. Looked more like bobcat to me. But Pappy said it was a coon, and we started tyin' dogs. Since it looked so big, I was gonna tie Susie and the little jip blue tick, and leave the real work to Joe and Spot.

Pappy said, "go ahead an' hold 'em all, and we let Fuzzy have this'n."

I said, "Pappy, do ya really think that's a wise idea? That's an awful big coon up there, an' I don't think Fuzzy'd want none of 'im."

Pappy said that as soon as he'd takin' a couple good licks off that ol coon, he'd want to hunt all the time.

I told 'im I wasn't so sure, and neither was the rest of the dogs. Naturally, I did like I was told and held all of 'em, but I kept a loose collar on Joe, just in case.

Pappy's always been good with that little .22, and he barked that ol' coon out slick as ya please. When that coon came out from the fork of that tree, I swallered hard, just lookin' at 'im. Man was he big! You could tell he was old and knew what he was doin'. He even came down from the tree, all confident like. Even Pappy was lookin' a bit peaked. That coon was the daddy of all the big'ns ever caught. Least ways, he looked it.

Well, he come down, and to ever'body's surprise-- includin' the other dogs'--Fuzzy jumped right into the scrap. Fuzzy was lookin' real good for a while, but that crafty ol' coon knew what was what. He grabbed hold of Fuzzy, and down over the hill they went, end over end. When they come to the bottom, that's where the coon's age and experience really showed. When they landed, Fuzzy must've thought, that ol' coon had run off, 'cause he was standin' there, lookin' around. That coon hadn't gone nowhere. He was layin' under Fuzzy on his back, in a real awkward position. Now in all the years I've been huntin, I ain't never seen a coon pass up an advantage, or a dog in so bad a predicament. That ol' coon looked up, and seen his escape from this young'n. He reached up with all four paws, and grabbed 'im for dear life. Then he clamped down on Fuzzy's future family.

Poor ol' Fuzzy! I never heard a dog scream like that before. Fuzzy didn't know what to do, and for that matter, neither did anybody else. If I'd let Joe go, he'd grabbed the coon and pulled. I didn't have the heart to do that to Fuzzy, he was in enough trouble as it was. A little bit draggin' through the leaves persuaded the coon that Fuzzy had had enough. When the coon let go of Fuzzy, I let go of Joe. Joe got the job done, but not without more trouble than I ever seen him have with a coon.

When it was over, we couldn't seem to find Fuzzy. I assured Pappy he was back at the truck, nursing his wounds. That's where we found him alright, under the truck whimperin'. When he caught wind of that coon again, he got scared to death. Can't say's I blame him, that damn coon not fightin' fair an all.

We got ever'body home all right, includin' Fuzzy. We took care of his wounds, and checked 'im out. He'd be just fine, though he wasn't exactly crazy about leavin' the back porch when he healed up. Like I told Pappy, that dog's done for as a coon dog. As evenin's past, there was always one dog missin' from our hunts. Pappy said it was takin' a little longer for his battle scars to heal, and he'd be all right, as soon as we got 'im back in the woods and his confidence up.

It's been almost ten years, since that night ol' Fuzzy tangled with that big coon. Pappy's long since past away, too, takin' with 'im the hope that Fuzzy would one day be a great coon-dog. The other day, I ran into the ol' boy I gave Fuzzy to, for his kids to have as a house-dog. He made a fine kid's dog as he put it. The kids love 'im, and he loves all the attention. "There's just one thing, though, that bothers me," he said. "I can't pry that dog out of the house after dark with a crow bar. He seems to be afraid of the dark."

I looked at 'im with a big grin and said, "he just might be, Ray, he just might be."

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