# TINKNAL's ****,Dog thread,got me thinking,



## EDDIE BUCK (Jul 17, 2005)

If you **** hunters have a favorite **** hunting memory,that you will never forget,Tell Us About It.I remember as a kid,setting on the edge of the couch,listening to my dad and his brother telling them hunting stories.

Also at the country store setting on a drink crate, listening to the area's **** hunters,saying their dog was the best **** dog there ever was,and some times lying if they had to prove it.

And yes,I cried when Iittle Ann died on "Where the Red Fern Grows" and again when I buried my very own Red Bone female I called Red,who without a doubt,was the worlds best ******* ever.:angel:


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## pancho (Oct 23, 2006)

Many years ago I got kicked out of a **** dog trial.
Back then they had the **** on a log. For those that don't know what that is. They take a log, place it out in a pond about 50 feet from shore, chain a **** to the log, and release a dog on the shore. They are given points on how they act. Some will stand on the bank and bay the ****, some will swim out and circle the log, some will take on the ****, and a few will force or pull the **** off the log.

I had a long legged female pit bull. She had ears much like some hounds. I entered her in the **** on a log contest. When I released her she swam out and killed the ****. They kicked me out of the contest.


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## lostspring (Jun 29, 2007)

My best friend and I were **** hunting late one night with his black and tan. We were in a thick woods of about forty acres surrounded by corn fields. He struck a **** trail and quickly moved off at a pretty good clip so we knew he had one on the run. We couldn't keep up so we sat on a downed log to listen and grab a smoke, smoked a pipe in those days. We heard him chase the **** out through the corn and out of hearing. We knew the **** would head back into the trees so we just waited. After about 20 minutes or so, as we sat on the log something clawed put two feet on the back of my shoulders and a wet nose into the back of my neck. That was over forty years ago and I can still feel that wet nose. He somehow lost that **** and got tired of waiting for us and came back to see where we were. I guess the wet nose was his way of saying "What happened to you guys" I think that is when my grey hair started. Oh I also had to buy a new pipe.


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## tinknal (May 21, 2004)

I'll come up with something better later, but for now, I had a Walker hound tree 5 **** in the tree he was tied to!. Had a cable run between 2 oak trees. He must have been asleep in his house when this sow **** and 4 kits stumbled along.


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## Paquebot (May 10, 2002)

The log story reminds me of a night when I sat down to await the treeing beagle work out a track. Had my mother's Samoyed with me and he kept acting like he was tracking something and would walk the log to me and stop. After a few times of him doing that, decided to look up into the tree above me and there was a **** looking down at me!

Martin


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## Paquebot (May 10, 2002)

For the most successful night, I've never heard anyone topping one of mine. Small 5 or 6 acre cornfield and I had 11 **** before making it back to the road on the far end. Took 3 trips to carry them all. Walking back to get the car, dog treed 5 more. Often I'd take a break in the middle of the night and visit a country tavern where the owners were two brothers who also hunted ****. My dog was always welcome to accompany me and my usual order was two hamburgers, one cooked and one raw. When I walked in at 11:30, the brother on duty asked: "How many?" When I replied 16, next was: "I want to see them." Entire bar emptied and everyone saw a 1964 Ford's trunk absolutely stuffed! 

Wasn't done yet but went to another place where I figured I find one or two more. Ran two into hollow trees, lost one which swam across a dam, and last one which I could not find in a big cottonwood tree due to dense fog developing around 3:30. In between, got 6 more for a total of 22. One hunter, one dog, and both of us absolutely beat. 

Martin


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## ninny (Dec 12, 2005)

Here's a **** huntin' story that'll make you laugh your head off. I don't know if any of you remember Jerry Clower but this is his version of a **** hunt.

[ame]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-AX9QoFhEhI[/ame]

.


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## EDDIE BUCK (Jul 17, 2005)

Good stories and I have always loved Jerry Clowers and his stories.


This guy I hunted with had bought this dog that was a fine **** dog,but would run a deer every now and then.As we were headed down the road,he told me to help watch for a deer and if we see one,he had borrowed his brother in laws shocking collar,we would put it on the dog,turn him loose on the deer and break him.

Well we got to our hunting spot with out seeing any deer,and we turned all the dogs loose and hunted and that dog had not run a deer.We had caught three or four ***** and decided to call it a night, it was about midnight and we both had to work the next day.

We were almost back to his house,when we noticed a field full of deer.He slammed on brakes backed up and pulled in the field and it looked like about twenty deer were in the field feeding.He told me to get the dog out and hold him while he attached the collar.

He finally got it fastened enough it wouldn't come off and we sent the dog down the side of the field.It wasn't long before that dog was blowing smoke smelling them deer and headed away.We both was stairing at that red button on that transmitter like two kids at Christmas presents.

I spoke up and asked about how much range that thing had? He said two miles is what his BIL said,but we ain't waiting that long,cause I want to about lectrocute the rascal this time, and maybe he will be broke.Anyway I'm going on and mash the button.I said yea,you know we gotta work tomorrow,might ought to go ahead.Well that dog was still singing a song when I saw him mash the button.

We both were waiting for the dog to change over from deer running barks to those of agony like he was being whipped,but no change over did we hear.I said I can't tell any difference, how about you?Nope he said,and hes going right on out of hearing.

I said I don't know much about them shocking collars,but did you charge it up?He said yea,he had it charging for two days,and heres where the charging wire plugs up.I said how about the collar?He said he didn't know it had to be charged as well.:grit: To make a long story short,we finally got the dog back about four AM, went home slept an hour and went to work.The dog was never broke from running deer and was sold as a good dog who might bump a deer now and then,but not enough to be concerned about


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## tinknal (May 21, 2004)

lostspring said:


> Oh I also had to buy a new pipe.


Did you bite it in half or spit it into a tree?


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## Paquebot (May 10, 2002)

There are a lot of individual **** that will always be remembered such as one old sow who would run like the wind and never tree. Developed a reputation for getting away from any dog that set on her trail. There were stories about some running her through the 100 acre field of corn that she fed on and always escaping from the hound hunters. Proved no match for the samoyed and beagle who developed a perfect attack on a **** caught on the ground. Neither liked the idea of getting bit so they would work both ends of the ****. Whichever had the rear would jump in and bite the **** and jump back. **** would twirl around and swap ends only to be bit by the other dog. When they met up with the Stewart Hollow sow, they kept her from running. But every time I'd get close enough to snap the light on her, she was off like a rocket as soon as the dogs backed off. Finally was able to actually jump on her and hold her down with my legs. She was missing a front foot. That's why she would never tree. 

There was a smart old boar which bugged me for 3 seasons. I was the only one who had permission to hunt the Wright Foundation and I always hunted it the same way because of where I had to park. Almost every night, there would be one trail which ended at a small pine right next to Hillside School. Nothing in the pine, nothing on the roof, and nothing in any nearby trees. One night I decided to hunt from Hillside toward Taliesin. In between is Midway, the farm. House is built into the side of a hill so that the second story roof is almost ground level. Sure enough, dog hit track and went right to the edge of the roof and wondered what to do next. I didn't even have to search the nearby oaks as none touched the roof. Since I had lived there as a child, I knew the house and its unique two-story fireplace and knew exactly where that **** was. Looked down the chimney and there he was! Shot it and then had to look around for something to get him out. Finally found a long piece of conduit to twist the into skin and bring him up. He'd used the fireplace trick every time at Hillside but it didn't work at Midway!

And there's the largest that I ever got. It was when I was using a friend's yellow cur the year before I got my beagle. Friend or his brothers would hunt until midnight and I'd have her the rest of the night. One long narrow valley was famous for **** and worked every night by someone or other. It could be only hunted one way without a lot of walking. Earlier one evening, noted several cars so that meant that we were hunting elsewhere. Midnight came we parted company and it was just me and the dog to salvage something of the night. I knew where the dens were and it took almost an hour to make a huge circle to come in behind. Around 1AM, I was standing atop the rock outcropping where the den was an actual cave. Dog quickly began a hot air track but there was nothing that she could pick up from the ground. She went from tree to tree trying to figure out where the **** was that she could smell. She found the tree about the same time that I spotted what was obviously a family cluster. When I snapped on the light, it was quite a shock. It was just one **** and a monster! That **** had spent years of coming out early and watching the valley to see if it were safe. Only then would she come down and feed. As I was carrying her to my car, another car was slowly coming up the road. I got to my car about when they arrived and they were looking for a dog which they'd lost several hours before. When they saw me, one said: "What the H--- you got there, a bear?" That **** weighed 56 pounds! 

Then there was the hawk nest ****. Two years after the "bear" ****, I was hunting what had become my area by default when I heard the distinct tree bark of the yellow cur and that wasn't supposed to be. (Once I began hunting our family area, agreement was that we'd stay on our own side of the Wisconsin River and they'd stay on the other.) We all met up in an old red oak and black oak hillside with trees having 50' before the first branch. Bowser, the cur, said that there was a **** in tallest black oak in the entire forest. Friends had the old long flashlights with ordinary batteries while I had one of the early 918 6-volt Ray-O-Vac Sportsman lights but it wasn't my **** to find so I didn't look all that close. Finally, it was decided that it was just as tap tree and that all of our walking around had lost the long escape leap of the ****. Besides, my dog wasn't all that interested and that was further proof. We said our goodbyes and wished each other luck and I began my walk further up the valley. Beagle had other ideas. He found the original trail, doubled back, sorted it all out and barked tree in the same area where we were before. I find him and it's the same tree! Sport hadn't lied before and must have been respecting Bowser's tree or couldn't figure out why someone wasn't bringing down that ****. Well, I start looking over every inch of that tree. It only had 4 or 5 limbs in the canopy and there is nothing but gray bark and black sky. But wait a minute, one fork isn't quite right. No matter how I look at that spot, there are no stars. Then I realize that I'm looking at a big hawk's nest. Now I know where the **** is! I then must have spent a half hour trying to get a look at more of that nest but never once saw a glimpse of an eye or a ringed tail. After figuring out how big the nest was, and where I thought the center of the nest would be, I set the light on the ground and aimed it right for the fork of the branch. Send a .22 LR right to that point and the black sky came alive and a **** just kept getting bigger and bigger until it hit the ground with a thump that I felt 15' away! Huge old boar with no tail so I would never have been able to find him by the rings. And his eyes were so covered over with cataracts so bad that they would not have reflected light had he looked directly at me!

Martin


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## Paquebot (May 10, 2002)

Then there's the common fault of all **** and that is curiosity. I learned that when we had a pet one for almost 3 years. Anything new in the house had to be investigated. That led to 3 monster boar **** including the biggest that I got with the beagle. Working 4-12 shift during that part of my life meant taking the dog to work with me and then hunting after midnight. Idea was to hunt until about 3AM or until I had 2 or 3 ****. The first of the above 3 was having 2 by 2:30 so it's time to head home to skin and clean them and go to sleep. Back to the car and dog was ready to jump in when he put his nose to the door, then the ground, and was gone leaving me wondering what was happening. Then a long wait of perhaps a half hour before a hear a few yips just about as far away as possible and where I'd got the first 2. I finally get there and the most beautiful and biggest silver **** that I'd ever seen was looking down from a small white oak. 48 pounds! He had become curious about what my car was doing parked in a farm road in a corn field and checked it out. 

A year later, similar situation except that I'm parked on the shoulder of a town road beside a drainage ditch. Stowed several **** in the car and put the rifle away. Dog walked around to the back of the car and disappeared. Not a tree for a half mile and then only a single old hickory but that's where I next found where the dog was when he began chopping. Didn't weigh that old boar but it was a big one whose downfall was his curiosity. He apparently had been working the ditch and came up to investigate the car. 

Third time that it happened was when my second dog, a black & tan, was finally on his own and I wasn't certain how solid he was on tree. That was a bad night with nothing to show for a lot of walking other than hearing other hounds and knowing that I was covering hunted ground. So, it was back to the car to call it quits when the dog began a trail virtually under my feet and he did more than enough sniffing to show me that he really hadn't been slacking all night. Again, a long wait before I heard his barks almost a mile away, through thick tangled woods, and over a ridge. All I could think is that I have to get there as quick as possible so that he doesn't leave the tree. Probably fell down a dozen times from grape vines, blackberry briers, deadfalls, and everything else in the straight line that I tried to maintain. Suddenly ran out of woods and into a ridge hayfield but dog was on the other side of that yet and baying like crazy. Finally I get there and the **** is in a small apple tree and I didn't even have to aim the rifle. All I had to do was put the muzzle a foot or so under its jaw. After all that I suffered to get to that tree in the quickest time, there was no way that that dog would ever have left a **** that he could almost jump up and grab. We returned to the car following the nice clear farm road which went up to the hayfield!

(I'll tell more stories of the black & tan when I have time. A dog so stupid as a pup that he was named Mortimer after Mortimer Snerd!) 

Martin


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## tinknal (May 21, 2004)

None of my successful hunts really stand out in my mind, but the disasters bring back a lot of memories! One night a friend and I made the mistake of hunting 2 young dogs together. We dropped the dogs and they ran about a mile and started a hellacious row. By the time we were half way there we knew what they had gotten into. When we got there they had the biggest skunk I have ever seen stretched out into a tug of war. The smell was so overpowering that it overloaded my olfactory senses and I couldn't hardly smell anything................ but my wife could still smell. Mind you this was November and the house was shut up tight. I pulled into the driveway and kenneled the dog up, and I wasn't halfway to the door of the house when my wife (who had been sound asleep) opened the door and ordered me to strip right there and leave my clothes outside! It was a year before I could wear those boots in public and even then when my feet warmed up I had an aura about me......


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## Gregg Alexander (Feb 18, 2007)

Several yrs ago , I had an old bluetick gyp, I got from an old guy that was quitting. I have hunted this old gyps bloodline for nearly 25 yrs. Took her and hunted the hair off of her for a couple of months. Got her back into shape treeing with some good power. Anyway , carried the gyp to Amite, La to a UKC Hunt the trip was about 4hrs from me. Got there just in time before the dead line. We drew out with some much younger hounds, got into some fine swamp hunting. Time started at 9pm , this old gyp made 1st strike and 1st tree in 12 minutes. Recast she had 2nd strike but again 1st tree, time in hunt was 9:20. recast she had 1st strike 1st tree again time in hunt 9:35, recast again 1st strike 1st tree time in hunt 9:50. The other guys with drew as she was so far ahead. I recast her again and she treed again with 1 minute left in the hunt. 
If I can find a picture of the old gyp I will post them. Never bred her she never had a litter of pups. She died at 10yrs old, will be 2yrs this Feb doing what she loved that was hunting *****. Deep bawl mouth, with a good cold nose that could run any kind of track she found, hot cold medium, didn't matter to her.


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## Gregg Alexander (Feb 18, 2007)

Here's another hound pictured at 6mo's old. I carried Buster to Amite, La the next yr at 6monts old. Folks were laughing at me for bringing a pup to the hunt. I told them , I would let the pup to the talking in the woods. 
We hunted a cutover thick with saw briers and tops. Buster, did a good job that night and I had no idea really that he scored as good as he did, finished the hunt with 375 plus and placed 5th out of 16 hounds in the hunt.









Here's a picture taken this past summer at 7 yr old still doing a great job. I have sold over $10,000 worth of pups off him and over 85% have made **** dogs


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## Gregg Alexander (Feb 18, 2007)

Here's a 3yr old male that is doing a good job at cooning. He is 100% Gascon Blood , deeps bawl mouth on a hound you will ever hear. Not a mean bone in his body. He is for sale as I have too many young hounds to start and finish out this winter, if interested give me pm , grab your boots and light and will let hin show what he can do. Price is way cheep but he is worth way more than I am asking.


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## Paquebot (May 10, 2002)

I never had trouble remembering every **** that I ever got. I kept record for almost 25 years. Date, old or young, male or female, and location. Females and young meant an area where that's what would always be found. Old males were usually one-off for an area since they were usually solitary. Those areas would be late-night stops just to top off the night and when I didn't feel like carrying 4 or 5 **** back to the car.

But I promised a Mort story. I had started with a treeing beagle. Never a sound until he either had the **** on the ground or in a tree. Lost my samoyed to distemper and word got around to some that I may be looking for another dog. Friend of a friend of a friend had "rescued" a mistreated black & tan pup which twice had been hit by cars and both shoulders were messed up. He didn't run like a normal dog, he had a semi-lope. And most of the time appeared to also be brain-damaged. Thus he was named for Mortimer Snerd.

For 3 years, that dog never once took the lead on a trail and never once barked tree. He followed the beagle everywhere and only took getting bit once to learn the same thing that the samoyed had for two dogs holding a **** in one spot. But if there was a **** in a tree, beagle would do the barking while the black & tan just wandered around waiting for me to shoot the ****. Yes, stupid but a real nice stupid.

Beagle suddenly died, at about 14-15 and just a few weeks before **** season. Had to see if Mort remembered anything and went to a place where I could get between a corn field and a den. Nose to the ground and off into the field. There wasn't a hint of wind so I could follow everything that was happening. Now and then I'd hear a corn stalk snap and knew that something good might be going on. Then I heard a faint rustle at the edge of the field and claws on tree bark. I never moved or turned the light on. This was the do or die moment and I still mist up when I tell the story. Perhaps a minute later, it sounded like a horse was coming through the field. Dog was loping and it was his front feet pounding into the ground. He went straight to the tree where I'd heard the scratching and put his feet up as high as he could and let out the first bay that he had ever made in his 4 years of life. It was beautiful! Then followed it up with chops so enthusiastic as if he'd been doing it forever. No walking around to wait for me to shoot the ****. After dropping that ****, we both sat down beside it and I praised and hugged that dog as if he were a person and he understood. 

He had stood on the tree every second until I found the **** and shot it. And that is how it went with almost every single **** for the rest of his life. If the trail went up a tree, it was almost as if he thought it might get away if he dropped all 4 feet on the ground. Never once ran deer, rabbits, or fox. The only thing that he knew was that if he was to follow the beagle, there would be a **** at the end of the trail. He knew that my involvement only began when the **** was treed and then it's time to let me know about it. But also never, ever, gave so much as a yip when hitting a trail. Beagle didn't do it, neither should he. The first sound that would be heard would be one long bay followed by deep chops. That meant that the **** was in a tree.

As stupid as he sometimes appeared, he could count. There was one night when there was a cold front coming through with mist and sleet in the air. Main worry was rain washing out any tracks. Brother was with me that night so it meant going into areas which meant a lot of walking and potential for needing help carrying the **** out. Long valley a half-hour's walk just to get started. Good tree bark and off we go in that direction. All quiet when we get closer but no clue as to what tree. Then another tree bark farther up the valley. Figured that the first bark had been at a tap tree. Headed up the valley and silence again. Figured that we were dealing with a smart old boar ****. Then another bark and the climb is getting steeper as we try to catch up to the dog. We get almost to where we thought his third bark was and he comes tearing back down the hill which we had just climbed up. Few minutes later, he's at the start of the valley and chopping like crazy. We get there and know that we walked right past that tree and there was a **** in it. Shot that one and dog only stayed long enough to see that it was dead and took off up the valley. Next, he's barking solid where he had made a few barks before. A second ****! Just nicely get that one strapped on and dog barking near the top of the hill and it's a third ****. That dog knew where he had parked 3 **** in about a half mile. 

Didn't end there as there must have been a 4th **** involved. Sleet and wind picked up even more and we're getting soaked. Finally the wind carries a strange barking well over the hill. Get to the top and dog is all the way down the other side and somewhere around a road with the Wisconsin River bottom on the other side. Brother and I looked at each other and both agreed that something was wrong. It was! Road trapper had set a trap in a culvert. Missed the **** that went through but caught the dog. Trap had Stop-Loss teeth added and cut into 3 toes. Most damage was done from him trying to pull out. We get there and release him and hope that he can make it back to the car which now is at least 2 miles away. No way! He goes to the other end of the culvert and then heads for the river on 3 legs. He knew that there was a 4th **** in that group and he wasn't going to let some bleeding toes stop him. Luckily, it slowed him down enough so that I could catch up to him and snap on a leash. That is how solid he was on the only thing he knew. 

But perhaps he wasn't so stupid after all. Several years later, I knew where he was casting around for tracks on a hillside and heard a sound like maybe he broke a sizable twig. All quiet for a few minutes and then a half-hearted yip. Up the hill I go and start looking around with my light and finally spot him. He's just standing there as if he'd forgotten everything and just gone blank. Got closer and realized what that look meant. It was that he'd been fooled twice and was again in a trap. Never once fought it and it didn't have teeth. He knew that I'd gotten him out of one before and that I'd get him out of this one. Licked his foot for a few seconds, probably to count the toes and see if it was worth feeling guilty about. That was early that night and we didn't see the car until perhaps 6 hours later but wherever we crossed a road was a stash point for a **** or two.

And then there was the next one that the now-genius Mortimer had to train and my final dog. Little female black & tan who came to me with the name of Tinkerbell. Named for the little pixie from Peter Pan. And what was it about that Tinkerbell that was different? She had no voice, only a bell! Turned down a cash offer of $500 for her early one morning but that's another story. 

Martin


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## Paquebot (May 10, 2002)

Need to back up to the two-dog training and how they quickly learn. My brother never was one for hunting after we both got caught in a deerhunting crossfire but always quick to follow me at night and carry ****. He forever tells the story of the first time that we took our mother's samoyed to accompany the beagle. Beagle stopped a **** in a cornfield and samoyed figured that he must do something. Forgot to keep his feet out of the way and the following actually happened. **** chomped down on the dog's foot. Dog chomped down on the ****'s snout. The harder the dog bit, the more painful it was for both the **** and the dog! You'd have to see it to believe it!

Martin


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## pointer_hunter (May 8, 2004)

Great...now I want a Bluetick again!

My Uncle and I had gone through several dogs trying to find one that was actually worth something. We stopped at the local animal shelter one day and saw an old bluetick male. We took it out that night and treed three ****. My Uncle was so proud of his new dog that he invited two other Uncles and three Cousins out for a weekend hunt. The dog was tricky at times so he put a little bell on his collar to see where he was. He started on a cold trail and then started heating up. Soon, he just stopped barking. We couldn't hear the bell anymore either. So, Uncle would whistle, the dog would bark a few times and stop. We kept walking toward the bark (whistle, bark, walk, repeat). Soon, the bark was behind us. We kept doing that and the bark would keep getting behind us each time. Soon we stopped about half way and whistled again. Sure enough, the dog barked....right above us! He had chased the **** up a tree that had fallen over just enough for him to get up, but not to get down. After several minutes of laughter about this great hunting dog, my Uncle whistled one more time and the dog jumped right out of the tree and into his arms. That was the last dog we got from the animal shelter and moved on to reputable breeders.


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## EDDIE BUCK (Jul 17, 2005)

Calling back a few years ago,well right many to be truthful,I was seven years old.Anyway my dad had a small B&T gypt,that was as good of deer dog as has ever been.
He decided to raise a litter of pups, and bred her to another B&T male that was a fine deer dog to.I know most of you folks can,t see the need for a deer dog, but around here in the forties and fifties there were no deer to speak of.If a track was found,it took a special dog to follow that track,jump the deer and run him long enough in these pocosin coastal plain swamps, until someone could get a shot in a clearing where they could see.

Anyway when that litter of pups were born,I was given the chance to the pick of the litter.There were seven pups,six B&T and one black and white.Me being a kid I guess,I had to pick the black and white male pup.My dad picked a male B&T,and gave the rest to other folks.As time went by that little black and white pup,turned into a beautiful bluetic hound.Like I said these were deer dogs and thats what we hunted them for.

He started a track with a light chop, and As long as I live I will never forget the voice of that blue tic hound when he reached where that deer was bedded down.It was kinda like a long yodel that got louder and louder until he started chopping with the beat of a sewing machine and run that deer never missing a beat for hours if need be.All the other pups turned out to be pretty good dogs,but nothing close to my BT.

Up until he was a year and a half old,he had never opened his mouth on anything but a deer.Early one morning my dad turned him out in a reed bed hoping to jump a deer.When he squalled out my dad saw a big **** run up a tree out in the reed bed,and Blue propped his feet on the tree, and told the whole world he had treed his first ****.

About a week later he did it again.We thought we had a **** dog for sure,but we did not.We started **** hunting him at night,but he would not tree.He would put them up, but never bark treed.I bought a tree dog and hunted them together,blue would stay to the tree, but never bark.We started back deer hunting him,he never run another **** in the day time.You could take him at night and he never run a deer,possum or anything but a ****,just wouldn't tree.

My uncle was a big fox hunter,my dad asked me what I thought about taking blue and see how he could handle running with those walkers.I knew he was pretty fast but didn't know if he could handle running that hard.Anyway on a saturday morning we loaded blue and went to my uncles to try the fox.

Two other fellows were coming down that had foxhounds too.After everyone got there,my uncle sent two good strike dogs in the woods.Not long they began opening and he sent a couple more,once they joined in,all the dogs were turned loose,even Blue.

There was around a hundred and thirty hounds rolling that fox, and when they crossed the road Blue was the first dog behind the fox, and about ten steps in front of the lead walkers.They run that fox for about four hours and every time a road was crossed, Blue was singing a song holding that ten yard lead.The dogs never made one lose, and never missed one lick barking, until they caught the fox.

That was Blues first and last fox.He never opened on anything else but deer.He spent the rest of his days, helping feed the family deer, until he was seventeen years old, when he got the pneumonia from running deer in lowgrounds that were full of ice.

Bringum on folks,im enjoying your stories.


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## big rockpile (Feb 24, 2003)

This Dog fell in a Well almost drowned,I hit him with my Car he messed all down the side,he had a **** rip his Privates out.Then he got stolen off me.










But the funniest story was I went out Squirrel hunting caught a Live ****.My Ex Wife was still in Bed when I got to the house,I lifted up the covers throwed the **** in.She jumps up climbing the wall screaming,the **** is on his Hind Legs Squalling at her :smiley-laughing013: I miss having so much fun with her.

big rockpile


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## Paquebot (May 10, 2002)

Have to back up to one dog which I trialed before I got the beagle. I had helped train the beagle since my great-uncle owned him. When I was satisfied with the dog, said that I'd be down the following weekend with the $40. Went down and dog had been sold! That was the second time in my life that he had reneged. But, his equally crooked cousin had a terrier type that was solid on **** and I could have her for $20. So, we're off to trial that dog. Normal rules, 2 nights and money back. Took the dog and it was a full moon night and not good for hunting that area. Dog was solid on **** all right but also wanted to chase every rabbit in the county! Finally did tree a **** in a small tree right beside a creek. I swear that the **** jumped out at me just as pulled the trigger. **** bounced off me and into the creek. Dog was right behind. Within seconds, neither was visible as both were under water. I jumped in ahead of where I figured they were and reached under the water in hopes that they hadn't passed. By some stroke of luck, I grabbed right onto her collar and pulled both the dog and **** out in one pull. Dog wretched for a half hour trying to get the water out of her lungs. Yes, did get a **** but couldn't live with the rabbit part nor her small size. Did keep her the agreed 2 nights before taking her back but didn't waste my time hunting the second night. Even gave the guy the **** from the night before so he got something out of it. 

But all ended well for that weekend. Great uncle said that the beagle would be back as he'd been trained by me and I was the only one who knew how he worked. The full moon was another clue. Sure enough, we're chatting and car pulls in and there's the beagle. $40 check was handed back and I held out two $20s. Beagle was already sitting beside my car waiting for me to open the door! 

Martin


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## Paquebot (May 10, 2002)

I mentioned that my great-uncle had reneged on a dog deal with me before. That happened when I just about 12. He was a widower in his late 60s by then and his only occupation was hired man. Worked and stayed wherever needed but every year he would get another hound to train and then find someone else to do the training. (Should have remembered that 13 years later!) Bluetick was dropped off at my uncle's place and I was the one who was going to take care of the dog. My reward was going to be a small single-shot .22 trappers rifle. As short as it was, I could generally take a squirrel with it unless a huge tree. Thus I spent all summer and into the fall using the farm dog as a trainer. Problem was that if one so much as thought about taking a rifle out of the house, the heeler was under the porch. Thus we spent a lot of time just chasing **** and leaving them. 

Finally my great-uncle showed up to see how things went and he wanted to see how I'd done. He had a potential buyer but wanted to make sure that the dog was as good as I said. I wasn't sure if the hound would work by himself yet so we had to take the heeler and that meant no gun. At the time, there was about 5 acres in the creek bottom land for corn and an old log house where it was temporarily stored. Both dogs opened up barking at the only window which wasn't boarded up. Shined the light in and there were two fairly young ****. "Go in there and grab them!" I knew how to do that since we'd also had a tame **** and I knew how to catch her and it sounded like a good idea. I had a heavy war surplus jacket and no **** was going to hurt me. But, didn't think that these wild ones might be a bit more feisty than our tame one. I had them by the back of their necks but they virtually turned around inside their skins and were clawing my wrists with their hind feet. (To this day, I have a scar on the inside of my right wrist as a result.) "I can't hold them!" "Let _one_ go." That allowed me to hold down one **** with two hands instead of v.v. I could tell that the first **** probably hit the ground and was instantly pounced on by the dogs. "Let the other one go." Didn't need to be told a second time! However, the dogs weren't ready for it and the **** made it to a box alder tree about 100' away. Both dogs going nuts now as they want that second **** and weren't going to leave that tree. "Climb up and shake it out." Both hands were wet with my own blood but I went up and shook it out. That's either total dedication to the hunt or a pair of crazies out in the woods!

The reneging part came a few days later. Came home from school and went to get some dogfood and the bag was gone. Looked at my aunt and she said that Spike was sold. My eyes shifted to the corner where the farm's rifles always stood and one was missing. She said that went with the dog. Took me 13 years to forgive him and he darned near pulled it again when he was 78!

Martin


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