Читать книгу When God Calls, You Will Answer! - George A. Ross - Страница 8

The winters in Bay City meant it was time for hunting season. Our rabbit dogs knew at the first frost that they were going hunting. My grandfather, Papa Hill, (also known as, The Warrior) was an avid coon hunter whose dogs were named King, Tailor, Yellow Gail, and Red Bell. His dogs were all well trained in the art of treeing a coon.

Papa Hill had promised my cousin and me two puppies from a litter when they were old enough to leave their mother. We named the male puppy, Tiger, and the female, Frisky. We loved them and cared for them. I was the one who took the must care of the puppies. We started training them as soon as possible. We took a rabbit skin and drug it over the yard, then hid it from the pups so they could track the scent of the rabbit skin until they found it. I worked them every chance I had until they were old enough to go on their first hunt. They went out hunting with well-trained rabbit dogs so they would continue to be trained properly. When they were about seven or eight months old, they tracked and I shot their first rabbit. They were so excited when they achieved their goal. They had the hearts of true hunting dogs and they loved to get out on a cold day and jump their game.

The Texas Swamp Rabbit

My friend and I hunted this swamp rabbit for about four or five hunting seasons. I remember hunting the canal behind the school every season. We would come to a place on the canal among the wolf weeds and it was there that we would always jump him late in the evening. My hunting buddy had a little Terrier dog named, King, and King would always go to that spot and start the hunt. It was just like clockwork every day after school, we would go out and try to capture or kill the Ghost, as we called him. This name was suitable for this elusive swamp rabbit. Season after season we hunted this rabbit and we seemed to fail every time.

My buddy and I would set-up in the creek bed as the dogs were chasing the Ghost. It seemed as though he knew just where we were at all times. We would set-up on either side of the creek bed and wait. This swamp rabbit would come out running between us so that if we fired our shot guns, we would shoot each other.

Then the Ghost would go into a little pond covered with water and submerge himself, sticking his nose up out of the water just enough to get air. He would continue to hide, waiting patiently, until we would give up and start to leave. Then he would jump up out of the water and run. This would startle us so much that we would not be able to fire a shot. This went on and on until the day when we finally achieved our goal.

It was a cold and misty evening; we had come to the place where King would always jump the swamp rabbit. As we stood quietly listening for the bark of the dogs, we heard a low growl from King and then silence. We held our position and listened. Soon all of the dogs began to dark and we knew that it was a race. It was on. As the dogs were hot on the trail and as their chase became more and more intense, we got excited. We knew this race was different from all the others. The dogs drove him out into the open field and my buddy fired his shot gun and wounded him. The dogs heard the shot and became even more eager as they continued chase in the open field. Now we knew that the swamp rabbit had left the safety of the creek bed and the wolf weed and the dogs were hot on his tail. The Ghost had left the canal to get some distance between him and the dogs but he was wounded in his attempt. The Ghost had begun to circle back towards the canal. But Tiger was jumping up high above the grass looking to find that swamp rabbit. This was Tiger’s race, he was fast and he loved to get a rabbit in a foot race. Then I saw that Tiger had spotted him and he set out to grasp that swamp rabbit in his mouth.

There was a barbed wire fence just before the wolf weeds and the creek bank and the swamp rabbit was tiring. Just before he could get under the barbed wire fence, Tiger snatched him up in his mouth and threw him up into the air. It was over; we finally caught the elusive Ghost. We had hunted this swamp rabbit season after season and we finally caught him. The dogs were thrilled with their achievement; they had finally captured the great swamp rabbit that had escaped them so many times before.

I have learned that hunting dogs will do just what is in their bloodline. They will run their hearts out to make their master happy and when they get the kill, a pat on the back or head is just as big reward as giving them a big old T-bone steak.

My buddy picked up that swamp rabbit and as we examined our prize catch, we noticed that he had a lot of gray hair. My buddy was six feet tall and that swamp rabbit hung from his waist to the ground and weighted about forty to fifty pounds. This swamp rabbit was in a league of his own in the rabbit world and he was as smart as any rabbit we had ever encountered. He was a true champion in his day but he met a pair of hunting dogs and a pair of huntsmen that were just as determined as he was. For us, we eventually moved on to another hunt, but it wasn’t until the chapter was closed on “The League of the Ghost Rabbit Hunters.”