Coon Hunting

Coon Hunting

All around the porch they sat.
Some’ers close, tobacco spat.

Carbide lantern cans all filled,
moonshine sipped, a little spilled.

In the yard the dogs wound tight
ready to strike out through the night.
They could tell what was up
old Streak, and even the pup.

A little darker and off they’d be,
ketch’n a coon up a big tree,
the boys their guns a ready,
ther’n heads a little unsteady.

Soon to be off down the holler,
dogs first and then they foller.
But now’s time for another swig,
while chew’n a black gum twig.

Charles yells, “ a time ta be go’n
full moon’s up an now a show’n.”
Coy you’ns take out ‘long the bank
Harold throws back a nuther drank..

Down the road the dogs and boys lit,

All a  runnin an holler’n likety split.
One group fast over the ridge
th’other uns  across the bridge.

The dogs had em on the run
the fight had just begun

Where’s hit at some un yells
O’er to Hamp’s, backun his wells.

Below the chicken house says another
Not there, them barks got’ta be further.

Down by the creek and the old oak tree,
come boys, follow me, you’uns’l see.

And there in a tree sure nuff it were,

one young coon festooned in fur.
High up, eyes like yellow gold
and all them dogs a getting bold.

Send Billy Joe up sez Frank B.

He’ll get it down, shake it free.
Up he climbs lantern held tight,
nary a sign of fear or fright.

Shaken, the limb was shook.
Ole Billy gave it all it took,
but the old coon held on tight,
hanging on with all it’s might.

“Shoot em out”, a yell from below.
We got em treed, no where to go.
Sensing, the dogs begin to scream.
A howling panic it would seem.

Pow!  Down he come a crashing
dogs teeth gnarling and gnashing.

The coon rears back a hiss so loud,
fearless, enough to make one proud.

Dogs a rush’n from side to side,
nipping and ripping chunks of  hide.

Then one gets a hol’t round the neck

surely a death by dying you expect.

But the old coon tough is he.
Scrambling back, getting free,
a hissin and clawing at the eye.

Each dog being a skeer’t to try.

Then Bam! Off goes the 4-ten.

With that the coon can’t win.
Lying there kicking in the dust,
nary agin that coon to ever fuss.

John Mullinax May 2009