My father and I always race for the mailbox when the time rolls round for the H-T-T to come. We both enjoy it and always read the coon stories first.
I will relate one that occurred on the evening of March 12, 1918, near Perry, a small town in Michigan. The party consisted of my father, two of his friends and myself.
For dogs — my father has a black and tan coon and skunk hound named "Sport." He is unexcelled in these parts for both.
Mr. Taylor, one of our friends, has a black and tan female hound name "Jip." She is a very good on coon but does not like the fragrant odor of a skunk. We carried a flashlight, revolver, lanterns and gun.
We started on this trip about 7:30, going about one and a half miles northeast of our house to a piece of timber known as Osborn's woods. We started nothing here and proceeded north about one mile to the Looking glass River. The flats were covered with water and the track, which they struck, was hard to follow, the only trace being when he came up on dry land. We tried to call them but they wouldn't come. Finally, we shot the gun and they both came in a hurry. We never call them off a track because they won't come. We then started toward home.
When we were about twenty rods from the house the dogs barked. We were in the-cat zone and thought it was a cat so we went in and went to bed. The other two men started toward their homes also. The dogs continued to bark so the men turned and followed them a little ways but finding it so late they returned.
The next morning the conversation over the telephone between my father and Mr. Taylor was something like this — "Seen my dog?" "No, you seen mine anywhere?" "No." "Well, I guess we better look for them, maybe they've got something up." "All right, good-bye." "Good-bye."
Accordingly, Mr. Taylor's son and father started out, as Mr. Taylor was called away that morning. They found the dogs coming a little way off and they were very tired. That afternoon father decided to find out what the dogs had been running. He got Mr. Palmer, our next door neighbor, to go with him. Sport didn't care to go as he was tired but when he got down the road a little way he started off at a brisk gait and went directly to the place.
It was an old elm stub about ten feet high and broken square off at the top. Mr. Palmer shinned up the tree and when he looked in he said, "Gollies!" it's just full of "em." Father handed him the revolver and he shot them and then took a forked stick and twisted into them and pulled them out. There was what they had been running, three nice No. 1 coon. That is pretty good as coon are a scarce article around here. Last season we caught seven coon, nine skunk and several muskrats.
Hollis Clark, Shiwasse Co., Mich
Hunter-Trader-Trapper. October: 1921,
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