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Raising pups.

2616 Views 4 Replies 4 Participants Last post by  missouri massey man
Many many years ago when I was about 15 my dad made a deal with a fellow to raise two begal pups for him for one of the pups. One was the runt of the litter and small so we named him Tiny and of course the other one a male also was named Tim. We fed them and played with them as pups like they were normal farm dogs. As they got older we took them on our adventures into the woods. We would collect mushrooms, cow slips, frogs, berries during those adventures and some times even a brook trout or two. We tought the pups to come when called to heal and house broke them even though we kept them in a pen in the warm cow barn. Soon they were old enough and big enough to take hunting with us. Tim loved running deer and since we lived in deer country he was always running them. We boys tried every thing we could think of and stuff from books we got at the libaray to stop him, nothing worked. Then one December day we took them back to the beaver pond where we hunted the new grouth from the beaver cuttings. It was thich in there and good snowshoe hare (rabbit) hunting. We were having a good time and had gotten a couple of rabbits as we worked our way deeper into the woods. Finally we got to the point we should turn back plus the wind had picked up and it started snowing hard.
No sooner than we turned and Tim jumped some deer. Off to the races he went despite our calling him to stop and come back.
Nice thing about the snow is we could track the deer and the dog. It kept getting darker snowing even harder as we followed behind calling Tim to come. We were going deeper and deeper into the woods well off our property following that dog the snow was getting harder and harder to track the dog in due to the amount and drifting. I waqs starting to get scared of getting lost and in a snow storm to boot. I had been reading Jack London books for several years so those images kept creeping into my mind. we finally came to a thick stand of mature Hemlocks that blocked the wind and snow some. I told my brother we should turn around right then and go back home and forget the dumb dog. I tried to keep it on a even keel so I didn't scare Robb. It was decided that is just what we would do and take our punishment for looseing the dog like we knew we would get. We turned around following our tracks as best we could to get out of the woods and home.
Soon we got in a more open streach we had crossed loosing our tail. By this time the snow was knee deep, I told robb to just follow me I was sure I knew the way out of the woods. finally after a very long time we came to a big clearing on a hill over looking a stream where many years ago there had been a loging camp called camp 13. Now Iknew where I was but still several miles from home. I found the old logging road that would take us to the road a mile and a half from home. Just before we got to the road a tired Tim caught up with us. At the road we were still in knee deep snow so it took some time to get the mile and half home. We got home all tired and wet, put the dogs in their pen and went in the house Mom is really upset over us being caught some place in the storm dad was really mad too. After the trip to the wood shed we did our chores which included feeding the dogs.
We told dad to tell the dogs owner we didn't want either of the dogs and he should make arrangements to take them both back. We never again pined for a huinting dog till we were way older nearly in our 30's.Just plain old mutt farm dogs were what we had and some even hunted with us some. I also stoped reading Jack London books I didn't every want to learn of other things I should fear. Of course by that time in our ilfe we knew how to build a fire and a shelter so I am sure we would have lived if we would have to have stayed in the woods all night. I am not sure we would have lived thru the wood shed trip if we had spent the night in the woods, to this day I am sure dad would have skined us alive.

:D Al
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hi al, your story reminds me of an elk hunt I had on the mongollons ( pronounced muggy-ons rim , of north central Arizona.) a white out moved through quickly catching us before we could move down and back to camp. I could just barely see my extended hand in front of me and no land marks of any sort, so we just waited until it swept past and hours later returned to camp- glad to be back and unmindful of a lack of elk meat. lived in Prescott, Arizona at the time!
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