Small Town Living by Bob Brown
The dogs went wild. I took the stick and banged the tree. The howls of 4 very excited coon hounds echoed across the valley, of my little town in Upstate NY. A full-grown coon stared back at me from its perch in the tree. The dogs barked and jumped at the tree, in a gleeful frenzy. With a gun in one hand and stick in the other, and a grin as big as Texas. I egged them on. This was a glorious morning!
…
As long as I can remember I have always wanted to live in the country. I grew up in suburbia, where the houses sat on tree lined streets with houses, packed in orderly rows and people did orderly things. I despised it. I wanted no part of it. I dreamed of living in the country. Wide open spaces, woods… fields, and hills… and no people, or at least not very many. When I grow up, that’s where I’ll live. I remember making that vow to myself at age 11.
When I bought my first house at the age of twenty two; it was a rundown old place, but had everything I ever wanted.
I told my wife I had only a few requirements, “I want a place where can’t see my neighbors. I want a place to swim and I want to be able to shoot in the backyard.”
The house could always be changed but not the location.
Like any country boy I had a dog, or dogs in my case. Black and tan coon hounds were what I raised. Back in the eighties, coon hides averaged about 18 to 20 dollars apiece. On a good night I might get two or three. It may not sound like much in today’s economy, but back then it would buy groceries and give me money for gas. Coon hunting was more than just a hobby, it was a way that I supplemented my income.
I have had dogs that were pets, and dogs that were hunting dogs, they are not the same. There is something special about hunting together with your dog. If you have one you get it. If you have one that just warms up a spot on the floor, you wouldn’t understand it. Training a dog, and relying on it to produce an income brings the relationship to a whole different level. Very different than getting the family dog to come when he is told, to sit and stay. It’s pretty cool to be able to take a dog that loves hunting as much as you do, and make an income at the same time.
…
The sun was just starting to rise when the dogs went off. A coon hound has a different sound when they have a coon treed. Because they have lifted their heads to look up, it sounds very different than when they are trailing one. Lying in bed is not the place I am used to hearing them tree. It made no sense that a coon would wander into a yard full of dogs. The rhythmic chop of the two dogs treeing was music to my ears. My wife rolled over and glared at me, giving me the look.
The one that said, “You got be kidding me… or not again?”
I looked out our window and couldn’t believe what I saw. A coon was in the tree that separated the two dogs. Each dog had a cable run that lets them go back and forth, maybe 60 feet. The cables were anchored in a shared tree. The coon was in that tree. Two other young dogs were in the pen. They excitedly barked because the other dogs were, a chorus of hounds barked in excitement.
I grabbed a gun and ran downstairs. I raced outdoors and let the two younger dogs go. I grabbed a stick and beat on the tree encouraging the young dogs to join in. I shot up in the air, banged on the tree. As soon as they would start to quiet down I would start right back up again. They were born to do this, so was I.
I don’t have any neighbors, but I do live above the small village of Montour Falls. I really didn’t give much thought to how this might sound on a quiet spring morning. Four dogs barking up a storm, gun fire and some guy yelling and shouting. I don’t know what they thought, but someone obviously thought it would be a good idea to call the sheriff. I noticed him in one of the lulls of excitement. Standing on the other side of the bridge across the creek. He was looking up at me. He was shaking his head in disbelief. One hand on his hip the other over his eyes as if he were saluting me.
One part of the story I forgot to mention. In the excitement that morning I didn’t bother to put on any pants. When the Sheriff looked up, he saw a guy in his underwear. A gun in one hand, a stick in the other, surrounded by four dogs barking in a frenzy.
He was still shaking his head when he climbed back into his patrol car. As he pulled away all I could think of was. This is a glorious morning and I love living in the country.
I wrote this after looking at some old photos of past descendants. They had struck a pose for the camera defiantly staring back. I wondered what they were thinking, who were these people? This was written for a future generation, just to let them know...Grandpa really was a crazy old guy and this is how he thought.
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