Last week, I told you about my new coondogs, Joe and Shag. That fall, after I traded for those two dogs, I couldn’t wait to take them coon hunting.
A lot of my friends enjoyed coon hunting, especially an older gentleman by the name of Jack Melton. Mr. Jack had hunted a lot when he was younger and knew a lot about dogs. His health wasn’t so good anymore, so when the dogs treed deep in the woods, Jack stayed by the truck and hollered us out. You know a good hunter never gets lost, but sometimes a loud truck horn can get you in the bed a whole lot sooner that night.
One cold night, I loaded up the two dogs, picked up the rest of the guys, and headed down Highway 220 to an old logging road that led to a small creek. We stopped right at the creek and started putting on our hunting gear. When we got ready, I turned Ol’ Shag and Joe out. Five minutes later they were on a hot track.
Those dogs ran that animal for a few minutes up the creek but then, all of a sudden, the animal took off straight towards Highway 220. I told the boys we needed to get over to the four-lane before my two dogs got run over. We jumped in the truck and high-tailed it over to the highway.
When we got there, trucks and cars were just flying up and down the road. We got out to listen for my dogs and we could faintly hear them. We shined our lights all up into the trees. I reckon them folks riding by thought a UFO was in the trees.
Well, we determined that my dogs had treed in a pipe under the road. We heard some growling way back in the pipe. I said to the boys, “Well, we are just going to have to stay here till they come out ‘cause I don’t want my dogs run over.”
Won’t long, we heard them dogs a barking and coming out of that there pipe. We turned out our lights so the animal would come out— but what came out of that pipe first won’t no coon!
It was a polecat, or what some people call a skunk. That skunk sprayed us all good, plus the dogs. It took us a week to get that smell off, but you can bet your bottom dollar them dogs didn’t mess with no more skunks.
Ol’’ Shag turned out to be what some hunters call a combination dog. He’d tree coons in the nighttime and run rabbits in the daytime. Come January, I decided to take him rabbit hunting. I asked some young friends of mine if they knew a place we could go run some rabbits. They said that they knew of a place right across the Pee Dee River off Hwy. 145.
We loaded Ol’’ Shag up and headed across the river. When we got to the place, it was a big cutover field with lots of briars and high weeds. Everything looked like a great place for rabbits except there was a CSX track on the bottom side of the field.
I asked my young friends, “How often does the train come through here?”
They said, “Early in the morning and late at night.”
Against my better judgment, I turned Ol’’ Shag loose. Won’t five minutes, he had a rabbit going. I don’t like to shoot rabbits, so I let Shag run the rabbit for several rounds. Shag was gaining on the rabbit when the rabbit caught another gear and headed right down toward them railroad tracks. Just then I heard “choo-choo, choo-choo” from way up the track. That freight train must have been running late cause the engineer had the hammer down.
I hollered to the boys to run on down there and stop the dog. I tried to get down there but I couldn’t move that fast. I made it to a hill, and could see what was happening. I saw the rabbit jump right in front of the train and to this day I don’t know if he made it across or not. The train went on by as I made my way down to the track. There beside the tracks lay my little dog. He was dead.
I asked the boys what happened, ‘cause I didn’t see that train run over him. This is what they said: “Ol’ Shag was running that rabbit so fast that when he stopped for the train, the hair from his tail ran up around his neck and choked him to death.”
Well folks, this left me feeling mighty poorly and some sort of sad. I brought Shag home and buried him under some special stones.
The years have gone by since this happened. But when the boys get around their campfires and start telling their tales, Ol’ Shag’s name always comes up. They tell how he liked to run and roam. You know a man is lucky to have owned a dog like Shag. I don’t know for sure, but if there is a dog heaven, Ol’ Shag is running them rabbits and treeing them coons.
Goodbye, old pal.
J.A. Bolton is the author of “Just Passing Time” and co-author of “Just Passing Time Together.” He is also a member of the Anson County Writers Club, the Anson and Richmond County Historical Societies, the N.C. Storytelling Guild and the Story Spinners of Laurinburg. Contact him at ja@jabolton.com.
