The Red Flannel Rag

chase the coon out. And, if I was really energetic, I would dig the coon out of an

underground den.”

Of course, this practical information was always interspersed with a good tall tale.

One of my favorites was the story about a man who loved to hunt raccoons so much he

took his coon hounds out for a chase on a very cold winter night. Uncle Shirley was a

serious as a judge as he told the story, “The dogs struck a fresh raccoon track; and, as

they run along, the hunter noticed a very strange thing. When the dogs barked, their

‘barks’ were freezing in front of their mouths. Since the man loved to hunt so much, he

immediately had an idea. He took a sack, picked up the dogs’ ‘barks’ and carried them

home. He left the “barks” outside that night to stay frozen. The next night he built a big

fi re in the fireplace and put the sack of ‘barks’ near the fire to thaw. He lit his pipe, sat

down by the fire, and listened to the hounds chase the coon all over the mountain.”

The nights that I went along to hunt raccoon were perfect — damp, moonlit, and

cool. Uncle Shirley untied the coonhounds; we crossed the Shoemaker River, and

started to walk up Ground Squirrel Bridge Hollow. We stayed on the trail with kerosene

lanterns to light the way while the dogs ran out into the woods smelling for a fresh coon

track. From my lessons in hunting, I knew that a good coonhound ignores all other

animal trails — deer, rabbit, fox — and searches only for coons.

We walked along for a while until one of the dogs “struck a track.” He let out a

series of yelps to let Uncle Shirley know he had found a hot track. Then he began the

chase with a constant rhythmic bark. The dog ran up and down the ridges, across

hollows and back again in hot pursuit of the smart raccoon. Meanwhile, Uncle Shirley

was enjoying the sounds of the chase — symphonies to his ears — as he waited for the

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