Registered: May 2008
Location: Welling, OK
Posts: 431

All my life the smell of wood smoke and sound night critters has meant one thing. Family and friends gathered around talking about hunting. Sometimes it is about deer or ducks but it is always about coondogs. I loved the way some of the older guys could paint a picture with their words that played like a movie in my head. You knew the name of every hound and how he rolled over on tree telling the world where Mr. Coon was setting. There were always some good arguments but friends didn't let little things come between them. As a young guy you learned a lot. Ways to train hounds, how to razz each other without making it harmful and hound folks have to stick together. Well I'm lighting the fire and if you think about it you can smell the smoke. This is not about who wants to vote for what, it's story time. Let's here about ole Joe or Smoke, that good one from the past or the shining star you have today. As you know, stories grow taller in the open air.

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Registered: Sep 2007
Location: South Dakota
Posts: 1442

Way out here in the sticks where we live there are tons of old abandoned houses and farm buildings that become coon motels. We hunt a lot of these with terriers and hounds in late winter when the coons just aren't moving in the woods. So anyways, I had hunted with this new friend of mine a few times when he calls me up and says he just got permission to go check this abandoned egg laying operation for coons. He doesn't know if there will be any coons in it because the owner said that somebody sets some traps in there every fall. He tells me there are quite a few buildings. So we head over there with my old dog Sandy. Turns out this place is right outside of town and is right across the street from an elevator that has an enormous corn pile sitting outside. There are a half dozen buildings that are about 50 yards wide and 300-400 yards long. Well we open the door of the first building and Sandy charges in and instantly opens with her big dying bawl locates. She goes right to treeing her guts out on the wall in the first corner of the first building. Well we start trying to figure out where this coon is and we soon decide it's prolly I. The ceiling. So we spot an attic access door and climb up on the chicken cages and get into the attic. We crawl to above where Sandy is treeing and there is a BUNCH of coons! So we start shooting these coon and tossing them down the hole. We get the first batch killed and then send Sandy hunting. Doesn't take long and she is treed on a different wall. Back in the attic we go and crawl to above where she is. We figure out at the top of the wall along the sides of the buildings are big wood flaps that open Into the soffit for ventilation. This makes a channel that runs the length of the building that is conveniently the perfect size for a coon to run down. The channel also has openings every so often that vent into the attic. We decide that the best way to hunt the buildings is to put Sandy in the attic with one of us and for the other guy to remain down below and open the flaps as necessary. It turned into a mad house with Sandy finding and fighting coon and running them back and forth, in and out of the channel and through the attic. We had coons running everywhere! It was complete chaos. About six hours later we finally had worked our way through all of the buildings and killed all the coons we could find. We ended up with 31 coons! This was back when they were averaging $12-$15 on the carcass. It took us several trips with a sled to haul all of the coons out to the road since the driveway was drifted in with deep snow. Sandy and both of us were dog tired but man did we have fun! The fur check wasn't too shabby either

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--2012 National Grand Nite Champion American Leopard Hound
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Registered: Apr 2014
Location: Tennessee
Posts: 68

A "friend" of mine by the name of J. Abner Penningsworth or it may have Rusty Shinglesmith passed this story along to me. It's my understanding that the dogs' names have been changed to protect the guilty.Hope you enjoy it or at the least be amused or baffled by it.

Well (a deep subject I’m told), one night some undisclosed time ago I decided to head to woods for a coon hunt–just a quick one drop, one tree kind of hunt. I loaded up my favorite. We’ll call him Ol’ Straight Cooner and Trader (an ole plug I had picked up from a dog trader) and Kate, the youngster. We made that first drop in a river bottom and not long after I turned loose I heard another dog or two running so I called my in and made the 20 minute walk back to the truck. “Oh, well,” I’m thinking, “I’ll just go across the river and turn in near the land fill.” Now that bottom doesn’t have the best aroma to it but it has quite a few coons in it and a herd or two of ‘possums but that doesn’t worry me because I’ve got Ol’ Straight Cooner with me. I pulled over, unloaded them and headed of the old railroad grade into the big timber. In less than five minutes Ol’ Straight Cooner had struck. Kate got in there to help a little. Trader hadn’t open at all. Ol’ Straight Cooner treed. Kate fell in with him. Finially Trader started treeing but his mouth sounded a bit lower like he was treed in the ground. I walked in and saw that the big Oak was leaning about 15 degrees or so. The root system had come up out of the ground on one side as a result of the storm that blew through a few years a go. Ol’ Straight Cooner was up on the raised side of the root system standing on the tree tell me he had the coon. Kate was on the tree with him; the ol’ plug, Trader was sticking his big old head under the root system treeing and digging. I thought, “Must be one up the tree and one under the tree or maybe it’s a den tree and their going up from the underneath.” “Well, I better look this leaner over.” Just a minute of shining and old ringy was looking at me. I loaded the twenty-two up, levered a shell in the chamber, looked through the scope a found ringer and let ‘er bang. Uncharacteristically of me, I knocked him out with the first shot. I had tied Straight Cooner. Trader and Kate grabbed the coon and finished him off. I threw it up on a limb and let those two bark at it a little then tossed it to Straight Cooner. It’s time to head home. I decided to lead straight Cooner and let the other two follow along. I walked about 50 yards and Trader started treeing under the root system again. I called for him to come on. He ignored me. “Well, I better just go back and get them two on the lead,” I thought. Right before I got to him Trader got took off. Kate was standing there and I reached down to snap her and Straight Cooner was fooling with something on the ground and kinda aggravated me while I was trying to snap Kate. I said, “What are you doing?” and looked down and saw that Straight Cooner had a hold of something furry. I thought that somehow I had let the coon fall out of my game bag, although I couldn’t imagine how that had happened. I got Kate hooked to the lead and reached down to get the coon from Straight Cooner and low and behold I got a supprise. It wouldn’t a coon. It was a ‘possum. Trader had been treeing a possum under the root system while Straight Cooner had a coon up the treed. He pulled it out and killed it right before I got back to him. I thought this can’t be good. You see in his earlier years Ol’ Straight Cooner had a liking for the grinners. I can tell Trader must not like living a my place. I got all gathered up and went home.
The next night I headed out with Straight Cooner and Trader (yes, I’m a slow learner). Straight Cooner struck. Trader never join in (he never ran with any other dog but did run a few tracks that went nowhere real fast a few times). Straight Cooner treed up a pretty good sized tree. After looking it over for a while I happened to look on the first limb and there sat a possum about the size of a watermelon. I took my cap off a slapped Straight Cooner on the head a scolded him. This happened two more times. Each time I slapped and scolded harder. Trader hadn’t treed a lick. I came out of the woods and was walking around the edge in the field and the dog formerly named Straight Cooner struck again. Two or three barks and he quit. I thought what happened to that. It was a fairly light night and I saw him coming up the trail behind me about 60-70 yards and I thought that he had found an old milk jug and was carrying it around. Low and behold it was a big possum. By now I’m stunned. I cut me lim’ from an Anderson hedge and wore him out, put him on the lead and went home.
That was Trader’s last hunt, he was moved on down the road the next day. Ol’ Straight Cooner went back to being his ole reliable self the very next hunt and rarely ever fooled with possums again.
I’ve tried to learn from this. Remember that first night was supposed to be a one drop hunt. Dog fool with trade dogs. Be careful about calling your dog a straight cooner even if you think he is.

This is supposed to be a true story as I heard it and I'll vouch for it.

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Registered: May 2008
Location: Welling, OK
Posts: 431

I sure enjoyed hearing those two stories and would have loved to see all the coon near that grain elevator. In the second tell that trader dog made me think of a young friend of mine. Zack why don't you jump in here and tell a slick and grinning story, before I tell one for you. While reading these coondog tells I'm setting by a fire and listening to what sounds like a dozen coyotes in coon hollow with twice that many owls hooting it up in dove hollow. Sure is a nice fall night here in the foot hills of the Ozarks, so let's hear another one.

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Registered: Nov 2010
Location:
Posts: 146

Good story's guys! I knew that second story would bob think of me. I'll try to get on here and share a story later today before bob tells the exagerated version for me lol.

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Registered: May 2008
Location: Welling, OK
Posts: 431

Back in the day before tracking collars, even the beep beep ones and prior to rechargeable lights, coon hunting was more of an adventure. Hunters learned what the country looked like in the dark. Dark was easy to find back then, there wasn't a pole light every few yards and a carbide light didn't put night in a choke hold squeezing the dark out of it. Hunters used land marks, stars and maybe a compass to find their way. My dad has frequently stated he never got lost in those days but he had been turned around until daylight on more than one occasion. I remember a few of those times myself and mister let me tell you they were long, dark nights for a young fellow. Now that I have taken you down that dim trail to my younger years let's get to a tale that has had enough time and open air to grow quite tall. Gentle Ben was a giant of a man standing well over six feet tall. His general build was that of grizzly with a full beard adding to the bear like appearance. While his appearance was that of a man eating grizzly his disposition was more in line with a teddy bear. Ben's gentle nature is likely all that saved the lives of the rest of the characters in this tale. As big and burly as he was poor ole Ben was city bread, city raised and citified. The other players involved in this grand coon caper were my dad and a close friend named Norman. You-all know from stories in the past what kind of prankster my dad can be, well Norman may be even worse. Now ole Ben wasn't some dummy he just wasn't country. Norman and dad had filled the poor city boy's head with coon dogs and coon hunting till he was all fired up for an adventure into the night woods. He had even gone out and bought a brand new set of carhartts, coat and bibs. The city boy was ready for his first coon hunt. It was a brisk fall night completed by a full moon fit to make witches hunt their broom. A short distance from the truck Norman had told so many scary stories that he had spooked himself and Ben was was razzing him something awful about being a chicken. Out of frustration Norman let Ben have it. "You over grown turd if I was your size I wouldn't be scared of anything either. If I was as big as you I, I, I'd go bear huntin with a switch. Without missing a beat Ben looked him up and down and said, "you know, they make little bears too". The opening of hounds brought an end to the bickering that would have gone on for hours had the hounds not intervened. In to short of time the hounds were treeing hard. Now for some reason Ben thought he would be able to catch a baby coon in October. You can bet the reason was there in the woods with him. In a short walk the hunters arrived where the hounds were treeing or should I say baying under an over turned cattle feeder. The opportunity for Ben to catch a baby coon was there in front of him. The excitement must have kept his nose from picking up that faint odor that even a city dude should know. Ben's two coaches were filling his head with advice on how to catch that little coon when they flipped the feeder over. Well, they flipped the feeder making sure that only a small amount of light fell on the coon when it ran out. With a panther like pounce, coat spread wide to cover the baby coon Ben made an excellent catch. He had that little fellow wrapped in the coat and pulled to his chest when the odor hit. Even a city boy knows a skunk when it fully introduces its self. Ben stumbled backward gagging and swearing. Of course dad and Norman played innocent swearing they had thought it was a coon the whole time. Ole Ben didn't kill them but he sure got even. He refused to throw that new coat away an wouldn't even put it in the back of the truck. The ride home on a very cool fall night sure looked funny. Norman's head out one window dad's head out the other one and Ben sitting in the middle wearing his new coat.

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Last edited by BOBCAT on 10-19-2015 at 05:09 AM

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