Well another coon season is here as of midnight the 31st. Bluejay is house bound hound was ready to travel the roads and orchards to hunt, as was young Zach. Flashlights, gear, coffee, .22 and hound were loaded in the truck at 10:30pm for a joyous night of hearing the voice of the hound running the ridge on a cool fall night. I turned onto the Molly road and Blue was hanging hard out the window, usually she likes to hunt out of the defroster vents placed on cool with fresh air. As we slowly moved down the road hoping to get a scent drifting by I heard a bang on Zach side of the truck, then again. I moved Blue so I could see what was going on, thinking Zach was doing something. Then I noticed he was fast asleep and his head was bouncing off the window every time I hit a rut....that was quick only a mile from the house. I stopped the truck and Zach asked what I was stopping for...your asleep was my response, I was! We continued a few more miles and Blue started prancing and digging her toes into my legs, try driving old loggin roads with an 80 pound excited dog on your lap. Then she struck and let loose, I openned the door and out she went baying...Zach woke up again and said lets go home I am cold and then asked where Blue was, hearing her voice charging off directly toward a rather large bog. She is a good dog and I was able to holler and break her off the track, I got her leashed and headed back to the truck. By the time I turned around and headed home, Zach and dog were stretched out across the back seat under a few coats, both seemed exhausted and were sound asleep. So much for the fist night out.
If you really want to spend quality time with a person, you need to get yourself a coon hound and hunt. Pack the rig with snadwichs, snacks, treats for the dog, and cofee. Dogs can hunt from inside the truck, a rack on the front or box on the bak, when not walking the dog along trails or fields. Spending hours with a friend or loved one traveling back roads at 5 mph all night is really a trill. Tons of wildlife, no one else around and there is nothing like the sound of a hound trailing a coon on a cool fall night across the ridge and into the wet bogs of Maine
