Black Jack drew a fine bead on the mud-dabber perched on the back wall of his cousin Clyde’s garage. He gently squeezed the trigger and smiled as a bullet hole appeared where the wasp had been just a second before. He took a swig of his Sterling’s beer and looked around for anything else that needed to be shot.
“That ol’ Heinz 57 dog of yours ain’t worth a damn for coon huntin’ and you know it,” Clyde said as he stood to take his turn with the .22.
“He may be a mixed up Heinz 57 ol’ mutt, but I’m here to tell you he’s the best damn coon dog you’ll ever see.”
“Shit,” Clyde said with a snort as he fired off a couple of rounds.
Ol’ Rattler slept soundly nearby in an old box, twitching slightly each time someone fired the pistol. Clyde’s Persian cat Princess, however, was a nervous wreck from the gun shots and daintily bounded out of the garage and headed for the house. The two men drank and argued well into the night about lost loves, cherished hunting dogs, and which one understood them best.
As midnight approached Clyde walked over to the “mouse hole” in the garage wall. He unzipped his fly and, using the mouse hole, “watered” the tomato plants that grew outside the garage. “I’ve got to get up early in the morning. Norma left a quilt on the couch for ya when you’re ready for bed.”
Black Jack stayed up awhile longer, Clyde’s comments about his favorite huntin’ dog eating at him. Looking over at the old dog he whistled once and said, “C’mon boy, we’re goin’ huntin’. “
Black Jack shoved a handful of .22 shells into his pocket and picked up an old yellow flashlight as he and Rattler headed out into the night. The flashlight’s feeble beam barely made a dent in the darkness as Jack stumbled over tree roots winding his way into the woods behind Clyde’s barn.
Full of cheap beer and excited about the hunt, Jack sang.
My gal lives at the end of the road,
Her eyes are crossed and her legs are bowed,
But we sure have a lot of fun,
Why don’t you get away lazy John
In no time at all the old dog caught the scent of something and went tearing off deep into the woods, barking and howling.
“That’s it, go get ‘em boy!” Jack said as he tried to keep up with the dog.
Rattler’s bark changed indicating that he had treed something. Jack caught up and saw, sitting on a tree branch, a big opossum. “Dammit dog. I don’t want no damn opossum. Go find us a coon!” It took some convincing, but Rattler finally set off again in the woods.
Jack took off after the dog, but stumbled over a tree stump and fell head first into Redemption Creek, losing his flashlight. As he came up he heard Rattler’s bark again and knew that he had treed again.
Leaving the flashlight behind, he pulled himself out of the creek and followed the sound of Rattler’s barking. Shivering in the cool night air, he looked up in the tree. He eventually saw a lumpish shape in the crook of a low tree branch. Aiming carefully with the .22, Jack fired a couple of rounds at the shape. He heard a loud “POP!” as the shape moved and fell out of the tree. Rattler was on it in a second shaking it viciously back and forth with his teeth.
“Good boy, Good boy.” Jack said as he calmly reached for Rattler’s prize and gently took the old football from his mouth.
“Gawd-dammit you sonovabitch! That’s a gawd damn football. You done treed a damn football. Go find a damn coon you stupid ass dog!” Jack yelled as he took a kick at the confused dog. His kick missed wildly as Rattler set off into the woods once again.
Cussing and swearing, Jack followed the dog as best he could. He was beginning to think that maybe Clyde had been right all along. Soon enough he heard Rattler’s familiar howl and he sighed, thinking, “Lord, what has that damn fool dog treed now?”
As he drew near, Jack saw Rattler clawing excitedly up the base of a large oak tree. He looked high up in the tree but without a light he couldn’t see anything. He approached the tree and patted Rattler on top of the head. “Good boy! Whaddaya got up there?” He looked up again and every now and then thought he saw some movement, but wasn’t sure. Jack knew he needed the flashlight but was afraid if he left to retrieve it, Rattler might think the chase was over and leave.
Jack reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Grabbing an end in each hand, he spun it as tightly as he could. He took one end and looped it under Rattler’s collar, tying the tightest knot he could. He then tied the other end around the trunk of a nearby sassafras sapling.
“Old boy, you stay and keep that thing treed ‘til I get back with my light.” Rattler barked as if he knew what Black Jack was asking him to do.
Jack stumbled off into the dark back to the banks of Redemption Creek. He could still hear Rattler baying as he looked up and down the creek for his flashlight. There in the pale moonlight he finally saw its shiny yellow case. Grabbing it he quickly ran back to ol’ Rattler. Jack aimed the flashlight’s weak beam high up into the tree but instead of a raccoon what he saw sent a chill up his spin. “Mercy,” was all he could say as he stared into the gleaming eyes of the largest cougar he had ever seen. The large cat let out a cry that pierced the night and made Jack’s blood run cold.
Before Jack could decide whether to shoot or run, the cougar pounced on him. The air was knocked out of him as he hit the hard ground. He felt the cat’s hot breath on his face as it tried to work its way to his throat.
Dazed and unable to catch his breath, Jack struggled to keep the cougar’s sharp teeth away from his neck. He barely managed a yell as the large cat’s claws tore into his shoulders and chest.
Turning his head, Jack saw Rattler barking and pulling against the sapling. With a final tug the dog pulled the sapling from the ground and came running to Jack’s rescue, dragging tree and roots behind him.
Ol’ Rattler jumped into the cat, knocking it off Jack. Leaning up on one arm, Jack fought to catch his breath as the old coon dog and cougar tore at each other savagely. He heard Rattler cry out as the cat’s claws tore a large gash across his muzzle.
Finding the .22, Jack drew down on the cat and emptied the pistol into it. As the cougar collapsed, Rattler was back on it in an instant to make sure it was dead. Battered and bruised Black Jack and ol’ Rattler made their way back to Clyde’s farm house. Leaving the cougar where it lay.
As the sun came up that morning Black Jack was filling up on Norma’s biscuits and gravy while telling Clyde everything that had happened during the night. As he mopped up the last of the gravy, Jack heard Rattler barking outside. Clyde ran over to the kitchen window and looking outside yelled, “Lord have mercy, he’s done treed my cat. Will he kill it?”
Jack smiled and said, “Not if she stays in that tree, but if she comes down – she’s one dead cat.”
