“DAWN, CLAW, TALON, AND THE ROBBER BARONS”
By Priscilla B Shuler
Why my masters moved away and left me, I’ll never know. But that’s what they did. One day here, and the next day gone! The keen instincts that I have as an Australian Border Collie had prepared me for such a possibility. You see, I’d already made good friends with the old couple next door. They had often called me over when they had extra people food to give to me. I love the beef bones with chunks of meat clinging on. And the country ham and redeye gravy, that’s the best. But, I also have a preference for chicken fixed any way.
But here I am, getting ahead of myself. When I realized my masters were not coming back, I began sleeping on the porch of the old couple next door. I figured they needed someone to guard
their property and alert them when someone drove into their yard. It didn’t take much effort for them to accept my presence. They already knew my name and even made a nice bed for me in the corner of the garage, in front of the big white monster. Speaking of that… I don’t like the monster. At my first home, their monster was outside and away from where I slept, so I didn’t notice it as much. But this one makes a growling noise every time these new master’s get inside and it whisks them off to who knows where. I worry every time they are taken away, because my previous masters were never brought back.
I remember right after I came to guard this new territory, the master’s grabbed me and shoved me into the white monster and it took us to an awful place. There, a stranger with white hands groped me all over and then let stinging insects bite me. I don’t know what happened next, but I felt myself floating up over a building somewhere. Then, I heard the joyful sounds of brothers and sisters as they came into view. I actually saw the Rainbow Bridge and saw all kinds of animals romping and playing and having a wonderful time.
Every animal knows about the Rainbow Bridge. It’s the forever land where the Great Master takes care of every one of us. There is food aplenty and never any stinging or biting insects or mean masters to hurt us. I was just beginning to trot toward the bridge, to cross over, when suddenly I heard my name being called. Who is that calling me? I very much wanted to continue toward the happy land with the lush green hills and beautiful woods and flowers, where I could meet old friends and make new ones.
There it is again… calling me. I felt myself lose sight of that beautiful land, and heard the creaking of a door opening somewhere. I ventured to open one eye and saw my new master’s faces peering at me through bars and wire. I huffed a mild snort and closed my eye. Then I felt myself being lifted gently into the arms of Lady Master as she wrapped me within the warm folds of my blue blanket. I nestled close and breathed in her smell. She always smells like good food and it makes me feel safe. Anyway, I hardly remember the ride in the white monster, but I knew when we arrived home by the sounds of the birds. There are always birds
around my property.
Lady Master laid me on my soft bed in front of the silent, white monster and I fell back into a deep sleep again. The night seemed to pass quickly and before long I heard the Masters
stirring around in the house and could smell the mouth-watering odor of bacon. I knew it wouldn’t be long before a nice plateful of breakfast would be brought out for me, so I tried to stand up. I was still weak and hurting inside, but was soon able to move gingerly out of the garage and make my way across the large back yard toward the pond.
I checked out all my territorial marks and freshened each place where I was able. As I came back toward the house I saw Lady Master bringing morsels of chicken to place on the high shelf. She pitched one small piece to me and I caught it mid-air. As soon as she’d placed the food onto the shelf, I looked up as Claw and Talon swooped in to clutch the offerings and fly off. They lit high up in an old leafless oak tree to have their breakfast.
Ever since I’ve been knowing them, these new masters have fed Claw and Talon during the frigid weather, when their food is scarce. Understand now, these large birds are Red-Shouldered Hawks and are very shy of humans. But the gentleness of my master’s voices and the noninvasive way they provide food has won them over.
Claw and Talon sit on limbs of the beech tree just a few yards off the patio and call - in their high scream - to alert Lady Master of their hunger. They know that within a few minutes she’ll bring their breakfast out and place it on the high shelf.
I’ve seen them swoop down to grasp a gizzard with Lady still standing there. She doesn’t move. Just stands still as they come and go, flying off to the tall oak beyond the pond, at the edge of the deep woods.
The raucous crows are called Robber Barons by my masters, and seem to be always near by. They send out the feeding calls to each other every time the Lady Master brings out the morsels. They fly in by groups, taking turns to zoom in on the tasty chunks. Within a few seconds it’s all devoured. By the time Claw and Talon show up again, all their food has been eaten. I’ve seen Lady Master running out and trying to shoo away the Robber Barons, but it’s a losing battle for her.
I’m now thinking that this may also be part of my job here, keeping the food safe for the pair of hawks. I reckon I’ll spend the time it takes for me to guard the high shelf whenever there’s food up there. I guess I’d better be on the lookout as much as possible to help my master.
I scout the property constantly to warn away anything I catch venturing into my territory. The other day a family of turkeys was down by the pond for a drink of the cool water. I lay hidden in the tall grass and watched them. I don’t usually bother the animals when they come to the pond, only if they begin coming toward the patio. That’s when I stand up. Usually, that’s all it takes for them to head for the woods.
At night it’s difficult for me to get my beauty sleep. I’m awakened several times most every night to chase the woodland creatures who come onto my territory to forage for the tender greens in Lady Master’s flower garden or Gentleman Master’s vegetable patch. Of course, while the weather is very cold, there isn’t much there for them to get, and this does make my job a little easier.
But now that the winds blow cold and the rain stings with fingers of ice, I find it even more difficult to sense when an intruder comes searching during the dark hours. I try to nestle
deep within the folds of the thick, blue blanket and nap while I can. When the wind whistles around the big white monster, I like to think it’s there protecting me too. It never moves or makes a sound. Now that I think of it, the white monster only growls when Masters come outside and touch it. That’s when I run and vacate the garage as quickly as I can.
Whenever the monster takes my masters away, I always watch to see which way they go. That way I can guess which way they’ll return from. I stay on the alert for the sound of the monster and always run to greet them. Strictly for their benefit, I race before the white monster, then off to circle the fringes of my territory to assure them that I’m on duty for their protection.
Sometimes they bring a nice container of wonderful food. Lady Master always touches my head and makes nice sounds as she places the container down in front of me. If I’m feeling particularly happy, I’ll dance a small jig and yip two or three times. This antic seems to please her greatly and she smiles and laughs and says more of the nice sounds.
When I awoke this morning to the sound of the slamming screen door at the kitchen, I knew Lady Master was headed out to the high shelf with food for Claw and Talon. I ran as fast as I
could to get there before she could get back in the house. I wanted her to see that I was taking my new job seriously. She leaned down and clapped her hands at me and laughed and touched the top of my head.
She had placed six chicken gizzards on the shelf, so I stood still and heard the high scream of the hawks as they thanked her for their breakfast, and then to watch as Claw and Talon swooped in to each grab a chunk and head back out to their favorite tree.
Lady Master left me in charge and she went back into the house and closed the door. I stood very still and listened. Very soon I heard the Robber Barons talking to each other and they began to mock the high scream of the hawks. But, they didn’t fool me. I could see Claw and Talon from where I stood, so I knew they were not making those sounds.
Before I knew what was happening though, a blur of black wings swept down and grabbed a gizzard. Just as another was diving toward the shelf, I began jumping and barking. I thwarted the thievery with very little effort. I was able to keep the robbers at bay until the hawks came and finished their breakfast. I pranced around the yard, just beyond the patio, where I knew Lady Master would see that I was attentive to my new job. Claw and Talon were very happy with my efforts, too. They screamed their thanks from the tall oak beyond the pond.
I really love having a lot to do all year long. In my line of breeding, we shepherds have the need to guard and tend to territory. We know where our borders are and as long as we are healthy, we are diligent and capable of maintaining order within those confines.
Sometimes I feel I am needed back up at the place where my previous masters lived. A new young couple have moved in there and they have two tiny people who play out in the back yard that I used to keep. I stand at my new border and watch. I bark loudly when I see one of the tiny ones toddling toward me. I’m begging them to call me to come protect them, but the young lady comes and calls the tiny people inside. She shoo’s at me. I wag my tail and prance so she can see how healthy and ready I am to help guard them. But she never calls me. Patience is one of my best virtues, so I’ll be prepared when they do need me.
The winter is nearly past now, and Claw and Talon come less often lately. Their natural food supply has become more available since the sun has begun to melt away the cold from the ground. I’ll miss scattering the Robber Barons from the high shelf, but the temperate weather of Spring brings greater responsibility as far as they are concerned. You see, they actually follow Gentleman Master as he plants the corn seeds in neatly furrowed earth.
Whenever my masters are working in their gardens, I am constantly marching the area. My sense of smell keeps me on the alert for all predators who desire to partake of the succulent plants.The rabbit families seem to prefer the tender shoots of lettuce, but they’ll devour anything from the gardens that’s green. At night the deer and raccoons come to drink from the pond and I catch them sniffing the air and glancing toward the verdant gardens. They can detect my presence easily, and they don’t venture toward that area. Of course, if they are very young, they don’t know about me yet, and those are the ones I have the most trouble with. Each year there’s a new crop of babies that are led to the pond. They try to come to the gardens, even against their mother’s warnings. I lower my head and tip steadily toward them, growling as I go. They stand still, as if they are statues. But when I get too close, they turn and fly back to the safety of the deep woods. This little game makes me happy and keeps me on my toes.
My greatest joy lies in doing my job well. My masters seem to appreciate my efforts too. They provide me with a clean, comfortable place to rest at night. The food couldn’t be better. And when the summer storms come with frightening lightning and booming thunder, they’ll open the door and allow me inside. I lay on the thick rug in the cozy room where my master’s rattle papers and watch a large black box with very little people running through it.
All told, my life here could hardly be better, but sometimes I recall the Rainbow Bridge and the joyous sound of my brothers and sisters running happily through that wonderful place. I do hope that the Great Master will have a spot picked out for me to guard for Him. I don’t think I could enjoy life without work. After all, work is what keeps us young. Don’t you think?
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Friday, January 1, 2010
The Hunter
A fictional story written by Priscilla B. Shuler
Me and my older brother, Duke, who was twelve, and Eddie, who was soon to turn twelve, had been together all day. (Eddie is Uncle Norton’s and Aunt Julia’s son.) We’d been out scouting the neighborhood, seeing how much benign devilment we could accomplish in the remaining hours before we’d all have to pack to leave, and get back to our respective homes in Alexandria.
Coming to the family home in South Carolina for the Thanksgiving reunion was the highlight of any year that we could actually make it. For the three previous years we’d been in France and besides, I’d have been too young to be included in Uncle Norton’s plans before now.
“Vince, Oh Vince! Come on out here, boy!” Hearing my favorite uncle hollering for me was like a well of joy flooding my soul. I’d heard ‘em all - Uncle Norton, Uncle Theodore and Daddy - talking at breakfast this morning about the possibility of a ’coon hunt this evening, and I’d been praying they’d include me.
He was calling me from the porch of The Little House out behind Memom’s big house. The Little House was built for overflow when all of her children came home at the same time. Uncle Theodore, whose wife had been dead many years, was staying out there during this visit, while our family and Uncle Norton’s family were in the large upstairs bedrooms of the big house. I went bounding out of the bathroom, while stuffing my shirt down in my pants, ran through the kitchen, and banged out the back door, and across the lawn toward the gathering. Duke and Eddie were standing with the men near an old truck.
‘Uncle’ Henry Kelly was up in the bed of the truck with three hound dogs, that appeared almost as excited as I was.
I stopped, close up next to Daddy. He laid his hand on my shoulder and asked, “Do you think you’re up to a little ’coon hunting this evening, son?”
My heart was pounding wildly, and all I could do was nod my head and try to look serious. I glanced at Duke and Eddie, and they were grinning like ‘possums. We boys had been talking of just this possibility while we were out playing earlier.
“Go tell your mama to get some huntin’ clothes on you. We’ll be leaving as soon as you’re ready,” said Daddy.
Mama had some old clothes (most of which were too large) laid out in an upstairs bedroom, and it didn’t take two minutes for me to get changed. Some old knee-high rubber boots were held onto my feet by about four pair of heavy socks. Without questioning I put on everything that was there, and bounded back down the stairs and through the house at break-neck speed. Mama called, “You stick close to your daddy, now!”
Jostling in the back of the truck with ’Uncle’ Henry, and fighting off the dog’s wet noses and tongues, kept us all in gales of laughter. It was so wonderful to be included on such an adventure. I hoped we wouldn’t get home ‘til Christmas.
As I looked up, all of a sudden I realized that there was no more open sky. In fact, the trees were so thick around us, that their limbs were brushing the sides of the truck, as we plowed onward, deeper into the Wateree River Swamp. The darkness felt almost liquid as it enveloped us. We finally came to a stop in a large clearing.
The dogs went crazy, jumping over the sides, circling and barking excitedly, and then running off into the darkness. ‘Uncle’ Henry was getting all the stuff out of the truck and while he was busy, Daddy and Uncle Norton told me and Duke and Eddie to.. “..always stay in sight.- no playing games - keep close.”
A few minutes after we’d each been given what we were supposed to tote (I had the box of bullets, which I slid into my right front pocket, Duke had the axe, Eddie carried extra batteries), we heard the dogs barking off in the distance.
With us boys walking behind Uncle Theodore, who had the lantern held high, and Daddy, Uncle Norton, and Henry bringing up the rear, we trekked toward the sound of the dogs. We walked for what must have been twenty minutes through thick undergrowth, crossing shallow creeks and stepping over fallen logs. Then the barking stopped. That’s when we stopped.
I stood silently, listening to Duke and Eddie whispering of needing to pee. The men were talking of whether or not to settle in where we were, when the dogs began barking pretty close by. Uncle Norton picked up the rifle, Uncle Theodore took the lantern, and Daddy had the flashlight. Henry had the tow sacks slung over his arm and said, “Fall in, boys.”
By the time the dogs sounded like they were just “right over there”, we came upon what looked like a wide, deep stream. Since Uncle Norton had the rifle, and I was carrying the bullets, he put me on his shoulders to ford the stream. We all waded into the icy black water together. I saw Duke and Eddie being held up by Daddy and Henry in neck-deep water. Uncle Theodore had already made it across, and was waiting for us.
From my vantage point, I could see we were quickly getting deeper than Daddy and Henry. Uncle Norton said, “Vince, hold the rifle up over your head with both hands. Looks like the water is a tad deeper here.”
As I took the gun from his upraised hands, he grabbed both my legs with his arms and held them tight to his chest. I was in disbelief when his head actually went under the water for about three or four seconds and then, thankfully, I could see the top of it emerging as we ascended the far bank.
Once we were all up on the bank, Uncle Theodore said, “Looks like we’re gonna hafta build a fire right now! You boys find some dry wood. Henry, you clear the area. We’re gonna go check out the dogs.”
I could hear the baying sound of dogs who’d treed a ‘coon. The men left us with Henry to get the fire built. Soon, their voices were out of earshot, and it sounded like the dogs were on the run again. I wondered if the rifle had any bullets in it, as I still had the box he’d given me, in my pocket.
With lotsa’ shaking, and teeth clinchin‘, we got the ground cleared away enough to where it was safe to build a fire, but I was wondering if the matches had gotten wet. Henry was jabbing long sticks upright in the dirt around the rocks where the firewood was laid. He then took his hat off his head and reached inside the band and took out a book of matches. He soon had a nice fire going and he told us to take off our wet clothes.
I thought I’d freeze to death for sure doing that. My teeth wouldn’t even keep shut they were chattering so hard. But I followed Duke’s and Eddie’s example, and stripped down to my shorts. We poured the water out of our boots and upended them on the sticks. We wrung as much water out of the clothes as we could, and slung them over the cross sticks that Henry had laid upon the upright ones.
Henry also stripped down, then laid on the tow sacks, and was asleep in five minutes. Time passed as we huddled as close in to the fire as possible without scorching ourselves. The smell was bad, but was even worse when Edward decided to pee into the edge of the blaze. Soon as he’d done it, Duke and I decided we had to. We were laughing so hard we actually forgot that we were on the far side of freezing.
Then Eddie - he was always up to doing something real bad - found a long thin straw and stuck it into the glowing ashes. He then slipped quietly over to the other side of the fire and slid that straw in between two toes on ‘Uncle’ Henry’s foot.
Duke and I had a conniption fit and began wrestling with Eddie to get over to take the straw out before it burned down. ‘Uncle’ Henry must have been woken up by our tussling and saw what was going on. He threw the straw into the fire and grabbed Eddie by the seat of his shorts, and tore up his behind. (Not really hard, but enough to embarrass him in front of us.) “I forgive you, young Eddie, but jus’ think of how bad I’d’a suffered wid a big ol’ blistah ‘twix ma toes,” Henry said.
Eddie actually began dropping big tears down his cheeks without making any sound, and then he slid both arms around Henry’s neck. “I love you ‘Uncle’ Henry. I’m sorry. I never thought about it hurting you.”
Henry sat back down, snuffled and wiped his nose on the back of his big black hand, and looked at us boys. “Allus think about what you want to be a-doin’ a’fore you does it. Now, turn dem clothes an’ try to git a’lilla shet’eye whil’s de gittin’s good.”
I dozed off and on, laying curled up on a thin bed of dry leaves. Turning over and over, I felt like a spitted hog. It seemed like many hours passed before we heard the men coming back. I could see Uncle Theodore behind the lantern with Daddy and Uncle Norton behind him. They had been all the way back to the truck and gotten a tarp.
They proceeded to set up a kinda wall to capture the heat from the fire. Then they stripped down too, while we piled on more wood. I listened in awe as the men talked of other times, like when they were taken out with Big Daddy, as boys, into this self same swamp. How the boar ‘coon had attacked ‘Old Capp‘ and how Henry’s wife had made some foul-smelling ointment to slather on the cuts, but it had done the trick. ‘Old Capp’ lived long enough to die of old age back in ‘56.
Off in the distance, I could hear the hounds yapping and barking and heading in our direction. The men grabbed their semidry clothes and pulled them on. Uncle Norton looked at me, and grinned, “Where’s ‘at box of bullets, son? I think we’re gonna need ‘em this time.”
I went to my pants, hanging by the fire, got the damp box and handed it to him. “Good boy! Don’t ever forget your bullets when you go a-huntin’, Vinny.” He reached over to scruffle the top of my head.
Henry roused and began to put on his clothes. “Git dressed, boys, while I outen the fire. We’re gonna go git us a ‘coon,” he said.
Within a very few minutes we were walking single file behind Henry, who was now carrying the lantern. The men had taken the large flashlight with them. We headed toward the ever increasing sounds of the hounds and the voices of the men.
“There he is, there! See his eyes!” cried Uncle Theodore, shining the light straight up in a huge hardwood. The ‘coon was walking along a limb, trying to make it over to another tree. “Shoot him b’fore he gets to that oak! It’s got a big hole and we might never git him out.”
“I need to get better sight of ‘im, Theo,” complained Uncle Norton.
“Here, give the damn gun to me, I’ll shoot ‘im,” Theodore answered.
“Okay, you’re so smart, you get the rascal, but don’t you mess up his fur. We can get a good price for that pelt.” said Uncle Norton, as he held out the rifle.
Theodore took the gun just as the ‘coon slid out of sight into the gaping black hole high up in the leafless oak.
“Henry, bring that axe! Now you chop away right here.” Uncle Theodore indicated the place on the tree trunk with the barrel of the rifle. Then looking to daddy, he said, “Arthur, hold the light on that hole. I’ll be ready when he comes out.”
Henry chopped at that tree for about fifteen minutes, and still no sign of that ‘coon . Pretty soon, the flashlight was aimed at the chopping; since they figured that the entire tree would have to come down before the ‘coon would come out. No one noticed that the dogs were barking again at a nearby tree. That is, until we heard Uncle Norton’s frantic voice. “Bring the light over here, quick! That ‘coon is wadded up here in the crotch of this ole’ saplin’!”.
Quitting the chopping, we ran the few yards, wavering the flashlight, to the new site. With one crack of the 22, Theodore got the ‘coon. I saw it fall like a rock. It hit the ground and was set upon immediately by the dogs. They mouthed it, sniffed it, picked it up and dropped it a few times, until the men pulled them away.
My insides were churning over the sight of such a wild and beautiful animal being taken down. I also knew that ‘men’ didn’t feel such sorrow. I steeled my feelings to accept this as part of my growing experience; taking my mind into a manly environment for safety.
Henry dropped the ‘coon into a tow sack, tied a small rope around the top and slung it over his shoulder, smiling to himself.
“You’ll get a good price for this ‘un, Henry,” said Uncle Norton, reading Henry’s mind. “Well, boys, it’s pretty late, and the dogs are tuckered, and so am I. We need to get home and outa these wet clothes. How ’bout us headin’ outa here?” said Daddy. “We don’t want our mamas frettin’ about us, now do we?”
Our return trip back to the truck took a little longer. We veered upland to cross that deep creek at a narrower point. The men had gone this way back to the truck earlier to get the tarp. We made it across in just knee deep water. I hardly noticed the cold, but I could feel my innards beginning to grind from hunger.
When we got back to the site where we’d had the fire, the dogs were asleep together in a pile. We went on toward the truck, still yet a good piece away. I could see some lightening of the darkness through the heavy woods toward the east. I’d had no idea we’d been out all night until then.
At the truck, Daddy got the horn and blew it several times. Before long I heard the dogs yapping toward us through the darkness. They jumped up into the truck bed and lay down.
Henry loaded up everything, and once we boys were settled down, he covered us with the tarp. I woke up when we pulled up to Henry’s house. We waved goodbye to him and his wife, who’d come out onto the porch. My stomach did a jig, smelling the ham she was cooking.
Some while later, we pulled into my grandmother’s backyard and went into The Little House to strip down in front of the oil heater and take our showers. All three of us boys showered together. I don’t think we got very clean, with all the elbows and knees, but we did the best we could.
Daddy and my two uncles were allowed in the big house to get cleaned up. Our fresh clothes had been laid out on the bunks and by the time I got dressed, Duke and Eddie were already out the door, headed across the backyard toward the big house. I stopped midway to watch, as the sun began to peek over the horizon, and to see the frost sparkling beneath my feet. I took a deep breath and blew smoke into the air and the intake of my second breath brought the unmistakable odor of sausage and ham. I was drooling by the time I slipped through the back door and entered the warm, comforting kitchen.
The long table was laden with food. There was a saucer of pressed butter, crusty biscuits, a quart jar of home-canned fig preserves, a big blue bowl of grits, a platter of sausages and ham slabs, a shallow pitcher full of red-eye gravy, and a large, low bowl of eggs, all fluffy and yellow.
Memom had poured milk for us boys, but I wanted a cup of that dark coffee. It smelled so good. But Daddy had told me before that I could have coffee, once I became sixteen, and not until then. This was another event to look forward to, now that ’coon hunting was ‘under my belt’.
Daddy said grace as soon as I was seated. I listened, in heaven, as talk around the table began about our hunting trip. Hearing the embellishments, roaring with laughter, reliving the crossing of the deep creek - all of it was almost better than the experience.
I had one of the best times of my life that night, but I found out some things which have made a difference in my life, too. Like how to treat other people, expecting no more of others than I do of myself. And especially not complaining of things which cannot be changed at the moment, but rather, finding the joy, even in discomfort.
I also found something else very important about myself. I am not cut out to be a hunter. I’m too soft-hearted. I’ve got too much empathy, too much caring about the wild things to desire to take away their lives. I guess maybe I was born a hundred years too late for the necessity of hunting for sustenance. And for that, I’m grateful to God.
Me and my older brother, Duke, who was twelve, and Eddie, who was soon to turn twelve, had been together all day. (Eddie is Uncle Norton’s and Aunt Julia’s son.) We’d been out scouting the neighborhood, seeing how much benign devilment we could accomplish in the remaining hours before we’d all have to pack to leave, and get back to our respective homes in Alexandria.
Coming to the family home in South Carolina for the Thanksgiving reunion was the highlight of any year that we could actually make it. For the three previous years we’d been in France and besides, I’d have been too young to be included in Uncle Norton’s plans before now.
“Vince, Oh Vince! Come on out here, boy!” Hearing my favorite uncle hollering for me was like a well of joy flooding my soul. I’d heard ‘em all - Uncle Norton, Uncle Theodore and Daddy - talking at breakfast this morning about the possibility of a ’coon hunt this evening, and I’d been praying they’d include me.
He was calling me from the porch of The Little House out behind Memom’s big house. The Little House was built for overflow when all of her children came home at the same time. Uncle Theodore, whose wife had been dead many years, was staying out there during this visit, while our family and Uncle Norton’s family were in the large upstairs bedrooms of the big house. I went bounding out of the bathroom, while stuffing my shirt down in my pants, ran through the kitchen, and banged out the back door, and across the lawn toward the gathering. Duke and Eddie were standing with the men near an old truck.
‘Uncle’ Henry Kelly was up in the bed of the truck with three hound dogs, that appeared almost as excited as I was.
I stopped, close up next to Daddy. He laid his hand on my shoulder and asked, “Do you think you’re up to a little ’coon hunting this evening, son?”
My heart was pounding wildly, and all I could do was nod my head and try to look serious. I glanced at Duke and Eddie, and they were grinning like ‘possums. We boys had been talking of just this possibility while we were out playing earlier.
“Go tell your mama to get some huntin’ clothes on you. We’ll be leaving as soon as you’re ready,” said Daddy.
Mama had some old clothes (most of which were too large) laid out in an upstairs bedroom, and it didn’t take two minutes for me to get changed. Some old knee-high rubber boots were held onto my feet by about four pair of heavy socks. Without questioning I put on everything that was there, and bounded back down the stairs and through the house at break-neck speed. Mama called, “You stick close to your daddy, now!”
Jostling in the back of the truck with ’Uncle’ Henry, and fighting off the dog’s wet noses and tongues, kept us all in gales of laughter. It was so wonderful to be included on such an adventure. I hoped we wouldn’t get home ‘til Christmas.
As I looked up, all of a sudden I realized that there was no more open sky. In fact, the trees were so thick around us, that their limbs were brushing the sides of the truck, as we plowed onward, deeper into the Wateree River Swamp. The darkness felt almost liquid as it enveloped us. We finally came to a stop in a large clearing.
The dogs went crazy, jumping over the sides, circling and barking excitedly, and then running off into the darkness. ‘Uncle’ Henry was getting all the stuff out of the truck and while he was busy, Daddy and Uncle Norton told me and Duke and Eddie to.. “..always stay in sight.- no playing games - keep close.”
A few minutes after we’d each been given what we were supposed to tote (I had the box of bullets, which I slid into my right front pocket, Duke had the axe, Eddie carried extra batteries), we heard the dogs barking off in the distance.
With us boys walking behind Uncle Theodore, who had the lantern held high, and Daddy, Uncle Norton, and Henry bringing up the rear, we trekked toward the sound of the dogs. We walked for what must have been twenty minutes through thick undergrowth, crossing shallow creeks and stepping over fallen logs. Then the barking stopped. That’s when we stopped.
I stood silently, listening to Duke and Eddie whispering of needing to pee. The men were talking of whether or not to settle in where we were, when the dogs began barking pretty close by. Uncle Norton picked up the rifle, Uncle Theodore took the lantern, and Daddy had the flashlight. Henry had the tow sacks slung over his arm and said, “Fall in, boys.”
By the time the dogs sounded like they were just “right over there”, we came upon what looked like a wide, deep stream. Since Uncle Norton had the rifle, and I was carrying the bullets, he put me on his shoulders to ford the stream. We all waded into the icy black water together. I saw Duke and Eddie being held up by Daddy and Henry in neck-deep water. Uncle Theodore had already made it across, and was waiting for us.
From my vantage point, I could see we were quickly getting deeper than Daddy and Henry. Uncle Norton said, “Vince, hold the rifle up over your head with both hands. Looks like the water is a tad deeper here.”
As I took the gun from his upraised hands, he grabbed both my legs with his arms and held them tight to his chest. I was in disbelief when his head actually went under the water for about three or four seconds and then, thankfully, I could see the top of it emerging as we ascended the far bank.
Once we were all up on the bank, Uncle Theodore said, “Looks like we’re gonna hafta build a fire right now! You boys find some dry wood. Henry, you clear the area. We’re gonna go check out the dogs.”
I could hear the baying sound of dogs who’d treed a ‘coon. The men left us with Henry to get the fire built. Soon, their voices were out of earshot, and it sounded like the dogs were on the run again. I wondered if the rifle had any bullets in it, as I still had the box he’d given me, in my pocket.
With lotsa’ shaking, and teeth clinchin‘, we got the ground cleared away enough to where it was safe to build a fire, but I was wondering if the matches had gotten wet. Henry was jabbing long sticks upright in the dirt around the rocks where the firewood was laid. He then took his hat off his head and reached inside the band and took out a book of matches. He soon had a nice fire going and he told us to take off our wet clothes.
I thought I’d freeze to death for sure doing that. My teeth wouldn’t even keep shut they were chattering so hard. But I followed Duke’s and Eddie’s example, and stripped down to my shorts. We poured the water out of our boots and upended them on the sticks. We wrung as much water out of the clothes as we could, and slung them over the cross sticks that Henry had laid upon the upright ones.
Henry also stripped down, then laid on the tow sacks, and was asleep in five minutes. Time passed as we huddled as close in to the fire as possible without scorching ourselves. The smell was bad, but was even worse when Edward decided to pee into the edge of the blaze. Soon as he’d done it, Duke and I decided we had to. We were laughing so hard we actually forgot that we were on the far side of freezing.
Then Eddie - he was always up to doing something real bad - found a long thin straw and stuck it into the glowing ashes. He then slipped quietly over to the other side of the fire and slid that straw in between two toes on ‘Uncle’ Henry’s foot.
Duke and I had a conniption fit and began wrestling with Eddie to get over to take the straw out before it burned down. ‘Uncle’ Henry must have been woken up by our tussling and saw what was going on. He threw the straw into the fire and grabbed Eddie by the seat of his shorts, and tore up his behind. (Not really hard, but enough to embarrass him in front of us.) “I forgive you, young Eddie, but jus’ think of how bad I’d’a suffered wid a big ol’ blistah ‘twix ma toes,” Henry said.
Eddie actually began dropping big tears down his cheeks without making any sound, and then he slid both arms around Henry’s neck. “I love you ‘Uncle’ Henry. I’m sorry. I never thought about it hurting you.”
Henry sat back down, snuffled and wiped his nose on the back of his big black hand, and looked at us boys. “Allus think about what you want to be a-doin’ a’fore you does it. Now, turn dem clothes an’ try to git a’lilla shet’eye whil’s de gittin’s good.”
I dozed off and on, laying curled up on a thin bed of dry leaves. Turning over and over, I felt like a spitted hog. It seemed like many hours passed before we heard the men coming back. I could see Uncle Theodore behind the lantern with Daddy and Uncle Norton behind him. They had been all the way back to the truck and gotten a tarp.
They proceeded to set up a kinda wall to capture the heat from the fire. Then they stripped down too, while we piled on more wood. I listened in awe as the men talked of other times, like when they were taken out with Big Daddy, as boys, into this self same swamp. How the boar ‘coon had attacked ‘Old Capp‘ and how Henry’s wife had made some foul-smelling ointment to slather on the cuts, but it had done the trick. ‘Old Capp’ lived long enough to die of old age back in ‘56.
Off in the distance, I could hear the hounds yapping and barking and heading in our direction. The men grabbed their semidry clothes and pulled them on. Uncle Norton looked at me, and grinned, “Where’s ‘at box of bullets, son? I think we’re gonna need ‘em this time.”
I went to my pants, hanging by the fire, got the damp box and handed it to him. “Good boy! Don’t ever forget your bullets when you go a-huntin’, Vinny.” He reached over to scruffle the top of my head.
Henry roused and began to put on his clothes. “Git dressed, boys, while I outen the fire. We’re gonna go git us a ‘coon,” he said.
Within a very few minutes we were walking single file behind Henry, who was now carrying the lantern. The men had taken the large flashlight with them. We headed toward the ever increasing sounds of the hounds and the voices of the men.
“There he is, there! See his eyes!” cried Uncle Theodore, shining the light straight up in a huge hardwood. The ‘coon was walking along a limb, trying to make it over to another tree. “Shoot him b’fore he gets to that oak! It’s got a big hole and we might never git him out.”
“I need to get better sight of ‘im, Theo,” complained Uncle Norton.
“Here, give the damn gun to me, I’ll shoot ‘im,” Theodore answered.
“Okay, you’re so smart, you get the rascal, but don’t you mess up his fur. We can get a good price for that pelt.” said Uncle Norton, as he held out the rifle.
Theodore took the gun just as the ‘coon slid out of sight into the gaping black hole high up in the leafless oak.
“Henry, bring that axe! Now you chop away right here.” Uncle Theodore indicated the place on the tree trunk with the barrel of the rifle. Then looking to daddy, he said, “Arthur, hold the light on that hole. I’ll be ready when he comes out.”
Henry chopped at that tree for about fifteen minutes, and still no sign of that ‘coon . Pretty soon, the flashlight was aimed at the chopping; since they figured that the entire tree would have to come down before the ‘coon would come out. No one noticed that the dogs were barking again at a nearby tree. That is, until we heard Uncle Norton’s frantic voice. “Bring the light over here, quick! That ‘coon is wadded up here in the crotch of this ole’ saplin’!”.
Quitting the chopping, we ran the few yards, wavering the flashlight, to the new site. With one crack of the 22, Theodore got the ‘coon. I saw it fall like a rock. It hit the ground and was set upon immediately by the dogs. They mouthed it, sniffed it, picked it up and dropped it a few times, until the men pulled them away.
My insides were churning over the sight of such a wild and beautiful animal being taken down. I also knew that ‘men’ didn’t feel such sorrow. I steeled my feelings to accept this as part of my growing experience; taking my mind into a manly environment for safety.
Henry dropped the ‘coon into a tow sack, tied a small rope around the top and slung it over his shoulder, smiling to himself.
“You’ll get a good price for this ‘un, Henry,” said Uncle Norton, reading Henry’s mind. “Well, boys, it’s pretty late, and the dogs are tuckered, and so am I. We need to get home and outa these wet clothes. How ’bout us headin’ outa here?” said Daddy. “We don’t want our mamas frettin’ about us, now do we?”
Our return trip back to the truck took a little longer. We veered upland to cross that deep creek at a narrower point. The men had gone this way back to the truck earlier to get the tarp. We made it across in just knee deep water. I hardly noticed the cold, but I could feel my innards beginning to grind from hunger.
When we got back to the site where we’d had the fire, the dogs were asleep together in a pile. We went on toward the truck, still yet a good piece away. I could see some lightening of the darkness through the heavy woods toward the east. I’d had no idea we’d been out all night until then.
At the truck, Daddy got the horn and blew it several times. Before long I heard the dogs yapping toward us through the darkness. They jumped up into the truck bed and lay down.
Henry loaded up everything, and once we boys were settled down, he covered us with the tarp. I woke up when we pulled up to Henry’s house. We waved goodbye to him and his wife, who’d come out onto the porch. My stomach did a jig, smelling the ham she was cooking.
Some while later, we pulled into my grandmother’s backyard and went into The Little House to strip down in front of the oil heater and take our showers. All three of us boys showered together. I don’t think we got very clean, with all the elbows and knees, but we did the best we could.
Daddy and my two uncles were allowed in the big house to get cleaned up. Our fresh clothes had been laid out on the bunks and by the time I got dressed, Duke and Eddie were already out the door, headed across the backyard toward the big house. I stopped midway to watch, as the sun began to peek over the horizon, and to see the frost sparkling beneath my feet. I took a deep breath and blew smoke into the air and the intake of my second breath brought the unmistakable odor of sausage and ham. I was drooling by the time I slipped through the back door and entered the warm, comforting kitchen.
The long table was laden with food. There was a saucer of pressed butter, crusty biscuits, a quart jar of home-canned fig preserves, a big blue bowl of grits, a platter of sausages and ham slabs, a shallow pitcher full of red-eye gravy, and a large, low bowl of eggs, all fluffy and yellow.
Memom had poured milk for us boys, but I wanted a cup of that dark coffee. It smelled so good. But Daddy had told me before that I could have coffee, once I became sixteen, and not until then. This was another event to look forward to, now that ’coon hunting was ‘under my belt’.
Daddy said grace as soon as I was seated. I listened, in heaven, as talk around the table began about our hunting trip. Hearing the embellishments, roaring with laughter, reliving the crossing of the deep creek - all of it was almost better than the experience.
I had one of the best times of my life that night, but I found out some things which have made a difference in my life, too. Like how to treat other people, expecting no more of others than I do of myself. And especially not complaining of things which cannot be changed at the moment, but rather, finding the joy, even in discomfort.
I also found something else very important about myself. I am not cut out to be a hunter. I’m too soft-hearted. I’ve got too much empathy, too much caring about the wild things to desire to take away their lives. I guess maybe I was born a hundred years too late for the necessity of hunting for sustenance. And for that, I’m grateful to God.
Living on the Wild Side
I inherited the acreage on which we built our home. It is wooded and in a rural area. We’ve contended with foxes eating the fruit which falls to the ground, squirrels robbing the plum and apple trees, crows taking lunch breaks in the compost pile, rabbits and deer munching the cabbages and beans, raccoons rifling the corn, moles devouring potatoes and skunks upturning garbage cans.
Now that we’re much older we’ve become unable to plow and tend a garden, and one would think we’d have had our fill of wild things invading our territory. We’ve fought the good fight, but not only have we lost the battle, we’ve joined the invaders.
We began scattering feed across the dam, on the far side of the pond, to aid in the procreation of wild turkeys, which come for water. We throw feed onto our patio for the doves and small birds in cold weather. During the warmer times, we keep several sugar-water bottles available for the hummingbirds. They return each year and wait on the back porch railing for us to come out with the first feeding of their arrival.
One morning we arose to find a Peregrine Falcon sitting, not three feet from our back door; perched on the railing. I told my husband, since this behavior was so unusual, we must not encourage it to stay. It was undoubtedly sick and may be dangerous to our health. We kept indoors and debated what to do.
He finally suggested we go and place a bit of meat on the edge of the Barbeque grill; getting nowhere near the bird. So, as my husband went outside, the hawk flew off, only to return once my husband had gotten back inside. The bird then flew across the porch and gobbled the small chunk of balogna.
We watched as it would try to capture the sparrows which were feeding on the patio. We placed more meat on the grill but he didn’t return to that area. Instead, he came to the other back porch, outside the dining room, and sat there on the railing.
Next morning, he was gone. We later spied him lying on the patio just off the porch. I went outside and lifted the, now stiff, bird. To my horror he was weightless. He had starved to death. When I turned him over, I saw why. He’d been blinded in one eye and lost his perception. He could not accurately determine his prey.
In sorrow, we buried him.
Then, just a few years ago, during a particularly long period of freezing weather a Cooper’s hawk lit in the leafless oak just beyond the patio. We knew he was eyeing the smaller birds feeding there. We quickly thawed some chicken pieces from our freezer and cut them into smaller, more manageable chunks.
We placed a couple of pieces on the top of the rail where our clothes line was fastened. We had the bluebird suet feeder attached to the other end of the same rail. Before I could get back in the house, the hawk had swooped to get his first piece of chicken and returned to a low limb in the oak. The bluebirds kept to the honey locust whenever the hawk was near, but they never seemed to fear the fact that their food supply was within two feet of where the hawks came. We soon discovered we were feeding a pair of them and decided to call them Vic and Maude, after my father and mother, who were great lovers of wildlife.
The hawks came only when they were having trouble finding their own wild game. We were privileged to see them in the early spring feeding their young in a high nest in distant hardwoods. That fall, only one returned. However, he brought his children and they relied on our offerings during the coldest temperatures.
Each winter, we look forward to see who will be coming. This time, we’re blessed to have a new pair, but we still refer to them as Vic and Maude. Just this morning, coming out of my bedroom, I heard the high scream coming from the oak. I quickly hurried to the dining room, which has French doors leading outside. I saw him, high up and still ‘calling’. As fast as I could, I thawed a small pack of chicken gizzards and within five minutes I was outside placing the meat on top of the rail. As I withdrew my hand, I saw him push off the limb and head straight for it. I stood very still as he swooped just over my head, and with pin point accuracy, lifted his breakfast. What a thrill! I finished placing the rest of the food and was coming back toward the house when I turned and saw Maude land on the rail and remain there as she held the meat with her talons and picked off beaksful. Soon, Vic was beside her and they finished off the meal together.
Back in my kitchen I was entertained to watch a very brave mocking bird flying around and pecking at the two hawks. They were completely unbothered by the mockers’ attempts to drive them away. After a few minutes, the frustrated mocker gave up and left.
We’ve been so blessed to live where we can freely interact with the wild life here. We’ve aged to the point that we even tolerate the field rats and squirrels who brave the open lawn to come to the patio for their turn at the table.
God provides the grandest entertainment of all - right in our own back yard.
Now that we’re much older we’ve become unable to plow and tend a garden, and one would think we’d have had our fill of wild things invading our territory. We’ve fought the good fight, but not only have we lost the battle, we’ve joined the invaders.
We began scattering feed across the dam, on the far side of the pond, to aid in the procreation of wild turkeys, which come for water. We throw feed onto our patio for the doves and small birds in cold weather. During the warmer times, we keep several sugar-water bottles available for the hummingbirds. They return each year and wait on the back porch railing for us to come out with the first feeding of their arrival.
One morning we arose to find a Peregrine Falcon sitting, not three feet from our back door; perched on the railing. I told my husband, since this behavior was so unusual, we must not encourage it to stay. It was undoubtedly sick and may be dangerous to our health. We kept indoors and debated what to do.
He finally suggested we go and place a bit of meat on the edge of the Barbeque grill; getting nowhere near the bird. So, as my husband went outside, the hawk flew off, only to return once my husband had gotten back inside. The bird then flew across the porch and gobbled the small chunk of balogna.
We watched as it would try to capture the sparrows which were feeding on the patio. We placed more meat on the grill but he didn’t return to that area. Instead, he came to the other back porch, outside the dining room, and sat there on the railing.
Next morning, he was gone. We later spied him lying on the patio just off the porch. I went outside and lifted the, now stiff, bird. To my horror he was weightless. He had starved to death. When I turned him over, I saw why. He’d been blinded in one eye and lost his perception. He could not accurately determine his prey.
In sorrow, we buried him.
Then, just a few years ago, during a particularly long period of freezing weather a Cooper’s hawk lit in the leafless oak just beyond the patio. We knew he was eyeing the smaller birds feeding there. We quickly thawed some chicken pieces from our freezer and cut them into smaller, more manageable chunks.
We placed a couple of pieces on the top of the rail where our clothes line was fastened. We had the bluebird suet feeder attached to the other end of the same rail. Before I could get back in the house, the hawk had swooped to get his first piece of chicken and returned to a low limb in the oak. The bluebirds kept to the honey locust whenever the hawk was near, but they never seemed to fear the fact that their food supply was within two feet of where the hawks came. We soon discovered we were feeding a pair of them and decided to call them Vic and Maude, after my father and mother, who were great lovers of wildlife.
The hawks came only when they were having trouble finding their own wild game. We were privileged to see them in the early spring feeding their young in a high nest in distant hardwoods. That fall, only one returned. However, he brought his children and they relied on our offerings during the coldest temperatures.
Each winter, we look forward to see who will be coming. This time, we’re blessed to have a new pair, but we still refer to them as Vic and Maude. Just this morning, coming out of my bedroom, I heard the high scream coming from the oak. I quickly hurried to the dining room, which has French doors leading outside. I saw him, high up and still ‘calling’. As fast as I could, I thawed a small pack of chicken gizzards and within five minutes I was outside placing the meat on top of the rail. As I withdrew my hand, I saw him push off the limb and head straight for it. I stood very still as he swooped just over my head, and with pin point accuracy, lifted his breakfast. What a thrill! I finished placing the rest of the food and was coming back toward the house when I turned and saw Maude land on the rail and remain there as she held the meat with her talons and picked off beaksful. Soon, Vic was beside her and they finished off the meal together.
Back in my kitchen I was entertained to watch a very brave mocking bird flying around and pecking at the two hawks. They were completely unbothered by the mockers’ attempts to drive them away. After a few minutes, the frustrated mocker gave up and left.
We’ve been so blessed to live where we can freely interact with the wild life here. We’ve aged to the point that we even tolerate the field rats and squirrels who brave the open lawn to come to the patio for their turn at the table.
God provides the grandest entertainment of all - right in our own back yard.
First Day
Its Friday, January 1, 2010 and my New Year's resolution is to get my thoughts and writings out to my friends and wanna-bes. Expect to read unusual and exciting stories from my thoughts as well as actual events. Join me as we explore together all the joys of my life. Happy reading ...
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