Be Careful What You Shake Out of a Tree

Dear Boo and Bubble,

This story may or may not be about the same friend that your great, great, great Uncle Dick saved from the Game Warden’s wrath…..but just for the sake of storytelling, let’s say he is.

Once again, this friend told Dick that he wanted to go hunting, which at Hamelfields served as a daily pastime.  Only seasonal restrictions determined whether the hunting involved deer or turkey or boar or dove or quail.  There was one reliable prey, however, for which the season remained constantly open.  When all else failed, you could hunt the lowly raccoon.

I say lowly because raccoons don’t even make it to the bottom rung of the food chain ladder.  But as hunting goes, a raccoon can provide quite an opportunity for excitement, as Dick’s friend unfortunately found out.

“I’m going to take you ‘coon hunting tonight,” Dick announced. 

“That’s great,” his friend replied.  “I’ve never been ‘coon hunting before.”

“Well, there’s a good deal to it, so I better explain.  First, we wait until it starts getting dark because that’s when the raccoons come out.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll have several dogs with us and their job is to find the ‘coon and run him up a tree.  Believe me, you’ll know when those dogs are on the scent.  They’ll start howling to high heaven.  They take off running so fast, we can’t keep up with them.”

“Okay.”

“But, don’t worry.  Once they’ve treed the ‘coon, we’ll know where they are.”

“I’m not worried,” the friend tried to reassure himself. “Sounds interesting.”

“Oh, it gets interesting all right,” Uncle Dick continued. “Once we get to the tree, and the dogs are going crazy underneath, somebody has to shinny up that tree high enough to get leverage and shake the ‘coon out.” 

“Hmmm….”

“That somebody would be you.”  Dick waited to see his friend’s reaction, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“What? You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Oh, don’t worry.  When the ‘coon hits the ground, the dogs pounce on him and we trap him.  You’re safe up in the tree.”

Uncle Dick’s voice resonated confidence.  After all, he had done this hundreds of times. 

His friend contemplated the situation.  Since he had begged the question, it would be downright unmanly of him to back out.  Dick’s reassurances made him feel a little better.

“Okay, if you say so.  I’m game.”

The afternoon passed in eager anticipation of the evening hunt.  As the sun began to set, Uncle Dick went to the kennels and prepped the dogs.  With his approach, their bodies quivered with excitement as they sensed the occasion.   He released them and the hunt began.

Darkness fell.  With flashlights spraying the foliage, Dick and his friend followed the dogs deeper and deeper into the woods.  Periods of working silence and occasional barks finally succumbed to constant howling, the signal that the dogs had found a raccoon and chased it up a tree. 

The two men tracked the sound, coming into a swampy area with water high enough to cover their hunting boots.  They finally found the dogs at the base of a medium-sized, but still young pine tree.  They shined their flashlights up into the limbs and there, hissing and spitting in total defiance, the raccoon clung to the trunk for dear life.

“Okay now,” Dick turned to his friend. “Get on up that tree until you are high enough to start making it sway.  That ‘coon won’t be bothering you.  He’ll keep right on climbing up to get away.”

The friend reluctantly handed his flashlight to Dick and waded over to the base of the tree.  He wrapped his legs and arms around the trunk and began to shinny up.  Sure enough, the higher he climbed, the higher the raccoon went. 

About half way up, Dick suggested he try to start whipping the tree.  Nothing moved.  The friend shinnied higher.  The raccoon, now almost at the top, glared downward in a rage.

Finally, the friend reached a point up the tree that it began to give.  He pulled his body from side to side until the tree followed along with him like a metronome.  Back, forth, back, forth, back, forth – the trunk swayed further and further, the raccoon holding on at the top with a vice grip, the dogs frothing at a fever pitch below.

With one pivotal thrust, the raccoon could hold no more.  His body flung to the ground and landed in a huge splash in the water.  The dogs plunged to the spot in a frantic flurry to pin down their prey. 

They missed. 

Don’t know what happened….it had never happened before….maybe it was the water…they went for the splash and the ‘coon was gone by the time they got there….doesn’t matter the reason….they missed.

The raccoon headed right back up the same tree where, having performed his task so admirably, Uncle Dick’s friend still clutched the trunk. 

He looked down at the totally upset, hysterical, probably rabid raccoon racing up the tree at him…..and he began to climb….higher, higher, higher….to a thinning trunk that couldn’t possibly hold his weight.  The raccoon, bent on revenge, continued towards him. 

Contemplating his choices, the friend decided the only thing to do was jump, which he did.  He careened down to the ground, landing on his back in the water.  The dogs, still frenzied over the whole situation, assumed another raccoon had hit the dirt and pounced again.

This time ….. they didn’t miss.

As I said in the beginning, I have no idea if the friend in this story is the same one that Uncle Dick saved from the Game Warden.  If so, I’ll bet he never asked to go hunting again!