Not one feather would be harmed. Mama tried Old Dan once.
Before she got the chicken, there wasn’t much left but the feathers.
By some strange twist of nature, Little Ann was destined to go through life without being a mother.
Perhaps it was because she was stunted in growth, or maybe because she was the runt in a large litter. That may have had something to do with it.
During the fur season, November through February, I was given complete freedom from work.
Many times when I came home, the sun was high in the sky.
After each hunt, I always took care of my dogs. The flint rocks and saw briers were hard on their feet.
With a bottle of peroxide and a can of salve I would doctor their wounds.
I never knew what to expect from Old Dan. I never saw a coon hound so determined or one that could get into so many predicaments.
More than one time, it would have been the death of him if it hadn’t been for smart Little Ann.
One night, not long after I had entered the bottoms, my dogs struck the trail of an old boar coon.
He was a smart old fellow and had a sackful of tricks.
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