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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Adventure
- Published: 02/22/2018
Struck By Lightning
©2012 By Herm Sherwood-Sitts
Many years ago, my brother in-law, Nuzzie, asked me to go coon hunting with him. For those not familiar, coon hunting is done at night, because for the most part raccoons are nocturnal creatures. The coon hunter’s most prized possession is his dog. The purpose of the dog is to track, tree and wait for the hunter.
Nuzzie had a prize hound named Bowser. He was a huge Walker (white, black and tan hound used for hunting). He was fast and powerful, with a voice that you could hear for miles. In the meantime, Nuzzie had acquired another dog. I don’t recall her name, but she was about a year old and she was a Blue Tick.
It was during the week and we were both doing line construction for a living.
“Let’s take the new dog out tonight by herself and see what she knows,” said Nuzz.
So we took a ride down an old dirt road surrounded by corn fields. Nuzz let the Blue Tick out of the Chevy Blazer and we walked her out into the corn field. Her nose instantly went to the ground and she was off. Thinking this was a good thing; we sat down and waited for her to tree. We were sitting there quietly shooting the breeze and after about forty-five minutes we still hadn’t heard a sound. Just about then we heard something about four rows behind us. Nuzz turned and shined his flashlight.
“What the hell,” whined Nuzz?
There, sound asleep and snoring, was the Blue Tick. We laughed and loaded her up and went home.
The following Saturday we were going to do some serious hunting, so we brought Bowser and the Blue Tick. It was hot and dry for being in the fall and most farmers were harvesting corn and oats. Bowser took off like a shot and the Blue Tick was right behind him. After about twenty minutes Bowser was hot on a trail, howling and carrying on. A few minutes later he was treeing. Nuzz slid his rifle up onto his shoulder and we were off.
Nuzz was well over six feet tall, so it was a challenge for me to keep up. He often took his three boys with him; “the poor little guys probably had to run to keep up with ole Nuzz,” I chuckled to myself.
We crossed a creek and crawled up an embankment to the edge of a huge field of oats. They were about waist high and ready for harvest. We could hear the dogs loud and clear, as Nuzz shone his light across the field. There in the center, was a huge tree and every once in a while you would see a glimpse of the dogs’ eyes, reflecting back at us. We worked our way through the oats and came to the tree.
Nuzz flashed his light all over at the top of the tree, looking for the coon. After a few minutes he noticed a hollow spot at the trunk.
“Damn, they must have crawled inside,” said Nuzz.
“Not to worry, Big Buddy!” I said, as I pulled a smoke bomb outta my pocket.
We set it in the opening of the tree and Nuzz lit it with his cigarette. Meanwhile the dogs were still pretty excited.
The smoke bomb started spitting sparks like a flair and the smoke was bellowing out. All of a sudden, the smoke bomb started spinning around and fell into a hole, down into the roots of the tree. Within seconds, the roots were glowing on fire. I got on my knees and started to dig up dirt with my hands, trying to smother out the fire. Nuzz took off for the creek and filled both of his work boots with water and hobbled back across the oat field in his stocking feet. Meanwhile, the dogs were biting and pulling at my pant legs, trying to get to the coon. Bowser was so strong, that several times he pulled me away from the tree. About twenty minutes later, we decided that we had the fire out.
“Man that farmer would have been furious, if we had burnt up his oats” I sighed.
“You ain’t kiddin’,” answered Nuzz!
We never did get the coon.
The next day I was at the auto parts store and told my friend Doug that we weren’t too far from his house, coon hunting last night. I told him the story and we chuckled.
About six o’clock that night my friend Doug gave me a phone call.
“Hey, don’t tell anybody else about that hunting excursion you and Nuzzy had last night,” he warned.
“Why” I asked with concern.
"Well, the Fire Department is up here putting out a tree fire in the middle of this oat field. They think it was “Struck By Lightning.”
Struck By Lightning(Herm Sherwood-Sitts)
Struck By Lightning
©2012 By Herm Sherwood-Sitts
Many years ago, my brother in-law, Nuzzie, asked me to go coon hunting with him. For those not familiar, coon hunting is done at night, because for the most part raccoons are nocturnal creatures. The coon hunter’s most prized possession is his dog. The purpose of the dog is to track, tree and wait for the hunter.
Nuzzie had a prize hound named Bowser. He was a huge Walker (white, black and tan hound used for hunting). He was fast and powerful, with a voice that you could hear for miles. In the meantime, Nuzzie had acquired another dog. I don’t recall her name, but she was about a year old and she was a Blue Tick.
It was during the week and we were both doing line construction for a living.
“Let’s take the new dog out tonight by herself and see what she knows,” said Nuzz.
So we took a ride down an old dirt road surrounded by corn fields. Nuzz let the Blue Tick out of the Chevy Blazer and we walked her out into the corn field. Her nose instantly went to the ground and she was off. Thinking this was a good thing; we sat down and waited for her to tree. We were sitting there quietly shooting the breeze and after about forty-five minutes we still hadn’t heard a sound. Just about then we heard something about four rows behind us. Nuzz turned and shined his flashlight.
“What the hell,” whined Nuzz?
There, sound asleep and snoring, was the Blue Tick. We laughed and loaded her up and went home.
The following Saturday we were going to do some serious hunting, so we brought Bowser and the Blue Tick. It was hot and dry for being in the fall and most farmers were harvesting corn and oats. Bowser took off like a shot and the Blue Tick was right behind him. After about twenty minutes Bowser was hot on a trail, howling and carrying on. A few minutes later he was treeing. Nuzz slid his rifle up onto his shoulder and we were off.
Nuzz was well over six feet tall, so it was a challenge for me to keep up. He often took his three boys with him; “the poor little guys probably had to run to keep up with ole Nuzz,” I chuckled to myself.
We crossed a creek and crawled up an embankment to the edge of a huge field of oats. They were about waist high and ready for harvest. We could hear the dogs loud and clear, as Nuzz shone his light across the field. There in the center, was a huge tree and every once in a while you would see a glimpse of the dogs’ eyes, reflecting back at us. We worked our way through the oats and came to the tree.
Nuzz flashed his light all over at the top of the tree, looking for the coon. After a few minutes he noticed a hollow spot at the trunk.
“Damn, they must have crawled inside,” said Nuzz.
“Not to worry, Big Buddy!” I said, as I pulled a smoke bomb outta my pocket.
We set it in the opening of the tree and Nuzz lit it with his cigarette. Meanwhile the dogs were still pretty excited.
The smoke bomb started spitting sparks like a flair and the smoke was bellowing out. All of a sudden, the smoke bomb started spinning around and fell into a hole, down into the roots of the tree. Within seconds, the roots were glowing on fire. I got on my knees and started to dig up dirt with my hands, trying to smother out the fire. Nuzz took off for the creek and filled both of his work boots with water and hobbled back across the oat field in his stocking feet. Meanwhile, the dogs were biting and pulling at my pant legs, trying to get to the coon. Bowser was so strong, that several times he pulled me away from the tree. About twenty minutes later, we decided that we had the fire out.
“Man that farmer would have been furious, if we had burnt up his oats” I sighed.
“You ain’t kiddin’,” answered Nuzz!
We never did get the coon.
The next day I was at the auto parts store and told my friend Doug that we weren’t too far from his house, coon hunting last night. I told him the story and we chuckled.
About six o’clock that night my friend Doug gave me a phone call.
“Hey, don’t tell anybody else about that hunting excursion you and Nuzzy had last night,” he warned.
“Why” I asked with concern.
"Well, the Fire Department is up here putting out a tree fire in the middle of this oat field. They think it was “Struck By Lightning.”
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