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Back when I was a teenager I had never been on a **** hunt before. A friend of mine, Bud, offered to take me along with him and his dad, Leroy. We decided on the night and sure enough, they came by and picked me up in Buds old car. We drove about 20 miles to where they had permission to hunt, we all got out and Bud opened the trunk and 5 coondogs jumped out. I asked why we needed so many dogs and Bud said they was only 2 or 3 anygood at running the track and the others followed along and tree'ed the **** and kept him there. Well we got our carbide lights lit up and we took off at a fast walk in the direction the dogs took off to. After about 10 minutes one dog started barkin and then the others joined in. Old Leroy said his old hound had struck a **** track and the dogs was working him pretty good. We took off at a dead run because Bud said if they get him tree'ed they would only hold'em there about 5 or 10 minutes. The tone of the dogs changed and old Leroy begin too cussin &T%$&%$$%%, [email protected]^&^*^$%^, dam dogs got him up a big old Beech den tree. We got there in about 5 min. and sure enough just like Leroy said it would be. We shined all over that tree for a little while and didn't see nothin. Down at ground level there was a big old hollow place big enough for a man to lay on his back a work his head and upper body inside the big old Beech. Well, old Leroy was the smallest so he got down and worked his way inside and let out a hollar to pass him the rifle and the 6 cell flashlight. Bud passed him the old semi-auto Mossberg he had and the flashlight. A minute went by and all of a sudden whap, whap, whap, three shots rang out, and then we heard a lot of cussin ##$%^$^$, )*&)_*& here comes that #$&*%. About that time Leroy wiggled out of the tree screamin and hollarin with the big old **** latched ahold of the arm of his coat. Well them old hounds couldn't take no more and they attacked old Leroy and the ****. Leroy was a rollin on the ground screamin for us to get them of of him. After a bunch more cussin the dogs realized the **** wasn't dead yet so they all got to fightin with the **** and left old Leroy alone. He junped up still cussin every breath and ran for the tree and fished out the old Mossberg and by this time that **** had managed to climb up a small sapling about 20 foot off the ground. Old leroy took aim and whap, whap, and the **** rolled out and hit the ground dead. Old Leroy started to catch his breath and calm down and most of the cussin stopped. We looked him over and the dogs didn't do much damage other than some scratches and one arm tore off his coat. About that time we noticed that there was something all over his face so we asked him about it. More cussin, Leroy said when he shot the **** in the tree he shot him in the butt twice and the **** crapped all over him before he fell out on top of him. More cussin, and the old Leroy said "ya know, if I had my mouth open a little bit farther I wouldn't have gotten near as much in my eyes". That was all Bud and I could take and we both collapsed on the ground laughing till our sides hurt. Leroy didn't think it was to funny and started cussin us but after a minute or two he got a chuckle out of it too.
 

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great story! i trapped a heaps of **** but i never in my life got to hunt one. i think i have missed out on somethin.......lol!


luck!
 

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Always suspected that **** hunting was one of the most masculine activities the Good Lord thought up for us. Men, without the bother of women, out in the woods at night; whisky drinking and listening to hounds singing and, every once in a while, a good story like above. And we could go home in peace, without our women thinking we had been up to anything but what we said. Like when a bunch of us went into brewing. I’d come home at morning, after bottling about 120 gallons, or so, and she never thought I’d spent the night doing anything but what I said. Guess it’s one of those female mysteries we’re not supposed to understand.
 
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