One of my great hunting buddies was George Sammons. George worked in a steel mill in Erie Pa. When the week end arrived George and his family would come to our house to hunt coon. All the kids and the wives and our dogs would head for the woods. We hunted until early morning and return to the house for a big breakfast. After that most of the kids would sleep wherever they could find a place to crash. We did this both weekend nights almost every weekend.
George got badly burned in a mill accident and could not work or hunt for awhile. He always drank beer, but with time on his hands he started to drink a lot more. When he was just about in shape to start a little coon hunting again. His wife called one evening to tell us that their coon hound had died and George was having a rough time. Could I find them a coon hound so they could hunt with us again.
I spent a lot of time trying to find a good coon hound at a fair price we could hunt with my dogs. There just did not seem to be decent hound to be found. If I did find one the price was so high we could not afford it.
George called me, oneSaturday morning and said he had found a good coon hound that could tree coon by himself. The price was only $20.00. That was even cheaper than buying a pup. He was four years old and they told George he was a good tree dog. At the price I just knew George bought a trashy hound. I was not going to hunt my dogs with a hound that ran deer, skunks, possums, or what have you. Of course I would go with George to try the new hound out.
I went to Georges house to see the new dog and take them coon hunting. When I first saw the hound I was impressed by his size and looks. He looked well put together, had the look of hound and seemed to have a voice to go with it. The dog looked great and he had a nice even yellow coat. I would guess his age at about 4 years old. This dog was in his prime and I knew something just had to be wrong with him. George said he was told the dog was deaf. The only way you could get out of the woods was go to the tree and get him, he could not hear you call.
We went to a corn field and turned the hound out to hunt. Of course his name was Yellow. That old yellow hound only went a short piece into the corn and he opened on track. He had a nice clear bawl and carried the track down and across the corn to the woods. Not to far into the woods he hit a tree and treed his heart out. George was smiling from ear to ear. When we got to the tree. That big old hound was stretched as far as he could up the tree. He was barking as hard as could. We saw the coon right away and put a lead on the hound. George made a big thing to that dog telling him how great a coon hound he was.
We headed for another corn field, when we turned loose, Three deer crossed the road and headed down the side of the corn field. We held our breath when the hound barked trail. He went down the field a short way and then turned right toward the deer trail. He crossed their trail and headed for the woods. He ran for a time up a long hill. He soon settled to a tree. George and I both just about ran to the tree and there he was, doing his best. George had been drinking some and was a little drunk, but we head for one more field to hunt.
We turned the hound loose again. As I walked around the truck to get my light I saw a glow on the ground. I picked up a hot cigar butt. I told George someone had already hunted this place earlier this night. We waited for the yellow dog to come back to the truck. He could not hear us call him so we waited. George carried a 357 Mag handgun with him. Before long we heard Yellow coming through the corn. He came out to thw road about 20 yards from us and turned away from us. As he headed down the road George yelled at him to come in. Of course he just kept walking down the road. George pulled the handgun from its holster, and fired all six shots at the dog. Gravel and stones flew off the road and all over the yellow dog, none of the shots hit home. When the last shot was fired Yellow turned and ran for the truck.
We hunted the yellow dog with my hounds for many years after that night. He was one of the finest coon hound the families ever hunted with, however, after that night you had be careful when you called him. Call gently or you might get run over by a big yellow dog trying to get in the truck. Yellow sure could hear you now.
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