A Boy and His Dog

I just love it when I get to meet folks that read my blog or books and my adventure on the 127 sale recently was no different.  I even came away with someone else’s story!

Jeff Green wrote a few years ago about his son Samuel’s start running dogs and hunting.  This is a great story for anyone who loves mountain stories because they are so much a part of our life.  I’m sharing Mr. Green’s story in its entirety below.  

Samuel Green, A Boy and His Dog(s).  As told by his father.

As a very small boy Samuel expressed interest in deer hunting and fishing but mostly was limited to fishing the pond in front of the house or on his grandmother’s farm while deer hunting the family farms as well.  The best I can remember Samuel was about 8 or 9 years old and early one Fall day (more about that later) I saw Rodney Atkinson, a local houndsman, and asked h8im about coming over and taking Samuel coon hunting as he had never been.  Rodney asked, “What about tomorrow night?” and we set a time to meet.  Rodney showed up at the appointed time with his friends and a load of Walker dogs and soon thereafter we were making the first drop of Samuels’ tree dog experiences.

It was early enough in the Fall that snakes were still crawling in a copperhead-infested area but cool enough that we built a small fire while waiting on some activity.  I must admit this was a new experience for me as well because my coon hunting experiences growing up were with cur dogs and we walked old roads and trails and such.  After a few tall tales we heard a locate off in the distance and the race soon began with each dog being identified as it joined the race.  Before long the dogs could faintly be heard treeing a good distance away and the hike to the tree began.  Rodney and his hunting buddies were primarily interested in getting to the tree while my primary interest was the safety of Samuel.  Samuel had also insisted on carrying his Davey Crickett .22 along on his first coon hunting trip which added to the difficulty of the obstacles in front of us.

Folks living or hunting in Middle Tennessee know all about the pine beetle that wreaked havoc on the pine trees about 20 years ago and know what the woods was like a few years following.  Well, we were heading in the direction of a former pine thicket and cut-over timber.  After crossing the same creek what seemed like a half dozen times, traversing through ivy thickets and belly crawling under pines, we get to the dogs treed on a loan standing oak tree large enough to be hundreds of years old and so full of holes it looked like it had been target practice for the Confederate army.  Needless to say, and all coon hunters would certainly agree it was definitely a coon.  The coon had made it to safety.

This hunting experience was prior to back trackers, GPS equipped dogs and handlers but Rodney did have a compass.  After much consideration, Rodney points off in a direction and states we need to go that way.  I looked up at the moon and positioned it in a general direction off of my shoulder.  As we walked, I soon realized we were going the wrong direction or the moon was doing strange things that particular night.  After stopping at some point to take a short break, we discussed the direction we should be going to bring us out in a field which would allow us to get a better bearing toward our vehicles.  Samuel was still small enough to be carried on my shoulders and was quick to agree to such when we made it to the field.  By this time, I am worried that this has been such a bad experience for Samuel he would never want to coon hunt again.  At about 2:00 a.m. we made it to our vehicles and as we were parting ways with Rodney, Samuel said, “This is fun, can we go again tomorrow night?”.  Rodney obliged, his dogs split treed, both had coons and one of the coons hangs on Samuel’s wall today as he was permitted to take it with his Davey Crickett.  Samuel has been hooked since that time.

Soon thereafter, Matthew Hall started bringing his OMCBA dogs over, taking Samuel with him squirrel hunting and carrying Samuel to the competition hunts in Jamestown.  Matthew gifted Samuel a puppy which did not turn out too well due to a lung hemorrhaging.  Lonnie Allred learned of this experience and offered a young dog to Samuel which had been hunted a few ties and knew how to load.  Thence, Samuel’s journey with Rusty Ain’t Rusty, a.k.a. Rusty, and the Original Mountain Cur Breeders Association began.  Samuel now has his own kennel, Clear Fork Kennel.  Arguably, better dogs have passed through his kennel in recent years but none that have had that special bond between a boy and his dog than that of Rusty.  Rusty may be seen in action on YouTube by searching “Squirrel Hunting with Original Mountain Curs”.

Many people have influenced Samuel along the way and time nor space will permit naming each of them and the wisdom they have shared with Samuel.  As Samuels’ father, I am comforted by the fact if Samuel needed help with something along the journey of life and I am not available or able to provide, he has met someone through his experiences with OMCBA that will be there for him.

Mountain Fun

Clyde Whittaker remembers some of the fun he had growing up in Monterey, Tennessee

In mid and late April when it got warm, my friend, James Way, and I started thinking of playing in a small creek about a mile away.  Every year James and I with sometime help from James’ brother Ray would move logs and rocks in place to make a crude dam.  It was not very good, but it raised the water in the hole several inches and made the hole wider.  When James and I were about 13 years old we learned to swim in that little hole.  The following year we started going to the Monterey Lake.  We usually walked almost three miles to the lake.  Soon both of us were good swimmers.  A fellow later told me that when they got to the lake if they saw two heads out in the middle of the lake they would say, “Well I see that James and Clyde are here.”

In winter James and I couldn’t afford store bought sleds.  We made our own.  The city dump was near our house about a half a mile.  We found short pieces of lumber and made a sled.  You couldn’t steer it but it would go fast downhill.

[One time} Ray Way and I were taking a long walk in the woods.  We went up a mountain and decided to go a different way back to town.  We didn’t usually use that trail.  We saw ahead of us an old man with a rifle in his arms blocking the trail.  His name was Ike Buckner, a distant cousin of mine.  He asked who I was and I said Frank Whittaker’s son.  Ike said he didn’t know Frank had a son as young as I was.  I realized he was thinking of my great uncle so I said I am Tommy Whitttaker’s grandson.  When I mentioned my grandpa a large grin came on his face and he said, “Do you want a drink?”  I was about 13 so I declined.  Ike and my great Uncle Frank made moonshine together.

There is a story about Uncle Frank Whittaker and Ike Buckner making whiskey together.  They had two barrels of mash ferment and it already had some alcohol.  Uncle Frank noticed Ike using a wheat straw taking a drop from the barrel.  He figured Ike would drink up their profit.  When they put the sprouted corn in the barrels some corn was left on the ground and rats were eating.  Frank used his pistol and shot one of the rats and put it in the barrel Ike was sipping.  Ike started sippin’ the one with the rat.  He moved to the other barrel and started sipping.  Then he went back to the barrel with the rat.  He looked at Uncle Frank and said, “Frank the one with the little rat in it is the best.”