My brother-in-law's 1rst cousin, Robert, was a Coon Hunter. I mean in every sense of the word. That man could have been struck blind, set down in the woods and he could tell you exactly where he was and what hollow his dogs were in. He had one of the best packs of coon dogs in the country. Mostly Black & Tans and a couple Blue Ticks. Well, Old Mike was the head honcho. There was never a coon born that could outsmart that old dog. Trouble was, Old Mike had gotten old. He'd won many a fight with coyotes but he carried the scars to prove it too. He was by far the smartest dog in the pack but it was hard for him to keep up with the younger dogs. But he was always the one to know exactly which tree the coon was in. Then along came a little 8 year old boy. My son Jason. My brother-in-law and I took him on his very first coon hunting trip. It was an all nighter and the coons were plentiful. After a while though, poor Old Mike was having more and more trouble keeping up with the younger dogs. Then it happened. The dogs had just treed a coon and Old Mike was sitting there panting, head hanging low. It was inevitable, old dog, young boy, yep....Jason reached down put his arms around Old Mike's neck and hugged him. Then he began to lovingly stroke his neck. From that moment on, whenever Jason was around, Old Mike would start out on the chase with the younger dogs, but within minute you'd look down and there he was by Jason's side. I'll never forget those coon hunting trips, an old dog and a young boy's love for each other. Both Old Mike and Robert are gone now, chasing after coons in a better place.
