The heavy arrow passed just over his back and buried in the ground beside him. Startled, the big boar coon froze and looked at it. He then looked back at me some 25 yards away. He seemed almost arrogant in the way he turned away from me and started ambling towards the woods, as if deeply insulted and perturbed that I had dared to interrupt his day. I was insulted and perturbed as well! Not only had he killed several of my laying hens over the last week or so, now I had gone and missed him. When stump shooting, I generally only take a single arrow, so I was now powerless to take revenge on this arrogant chicken killer. I was just standing there with my longbow, feeling disgusted with myself. As I helplessly watched him amble away, a little, orangish yellow flash went by me like rocket. Elley!!! A thrill went through me! You better run! Elley is coming for you now! I said to myself. Get him girl!!! I hollered as the little dog raced toward the coon.....More to come.
Ok...you set the hook! More, please!
Elley had come to us about a year before this incident as a bright eyed, 8 week old pup. Outgoing, friendly and eager to please, she had long since won our hearts and became part of the family. Like most dogs, if you would just take the time to let her know what you wanted, she would happily do it. She had learned the rules quickly, chickens, barn cats, pigs and other livestock were not to be molested or harmed in any way. She became my constant companion. She rode the 4 wheeler. She would sit at my feet for hours in the cab of the tractor. We even developed our own language, I swear she could understand my thoughts just by the expressions on my face. I knew what she was thinking by hers as well. I've had this kind of relationship with numerous dogs of this magnificent breed my whole life. Like traditional bows, these dogs are part of my life. Indeed, these dogs are part of what I am. Always have been, always will be. Elley was a bulldog. No, not the pushed in face, short legged bulldog most people think of. Elley was directly descended from the original old kill dogs the Romans used for hunting, bear baiting, lion fighting etc. Some nowadays would call them Pit Bulls. That's not really correct either. Pit Bull is a broad term that includes numerous bully breeds, usually with big chests and heads, trimmed ears and cut tails. These are smaller, more athletic dogs, females weighing 30-35 pounds, males 40-45. In ancient times hunting dogs came from two distinct lines, coursers that found, chased or bayed the prey. Think of them as detectives. And then there were the tenacious kill dogs with powerful jaws that subdued or killed the game, usually dangerous game. Think of them as the swat team. This is what Elley was, and it looked like she was about to have her first encounter with a coon....
Great stuff; we have a Lab/Shepherd rescue that doesn't like coons either. So far she has taken out four in the backyard, and also 6 squirrels. Got good hops for a 75-80 lb dog.
:coffee: :archer2: :campfire: :thumbsup: :o [size=78%] [/size]
Elley and her cat.
The site of Elley quickly closing the gap seemed to be of some concern to the coon as he picked up the pace considerably. He would have made it to the big oak without incident too, however, for whatever reason, he thought it would be a good idea to stop and bluff Elley. This is not an uncommon behavior in coons and he had probably had good luck with this in the past since a big coon is more than a match for most dogs. They will turn sideways like a cat, bow up and snarl menacingly. Most dogs when confronted with an aggressive coon will back off and bark at the coon, thus allowing the coon a little space to make it to a tree. He was still pretty arrogant as he whirled to put the bluff on Elley. I couldn't help but smile. That big, arrogant coon was about to discover something I already knew, bulldogs don't bluff worth a darn........
great start more please :shaka: :clapper: :clapper:
Cmon man your killing me. Out with it. :biglaugh:
He was one cocky coon, that's for sure. He whirled, raised up on his back legs and let out a blood curdling snarl. I was actually quite impressed. Elley was not. You could see the coons body language go from one of confidence and intimidation, to one of uncertainty and fear as she rapidly closed the last few feet between them. I had recovered my lone arrow and was running to catch up to them. The arrow was nocked and ready in case I could get a shot without the chance of hitting Elley by mistake. She never touched the brakes! She hit that coon like a Mack truck. He had started another half hearted snarl just before contact, but it was cut short and replaced with a deep, guttural grunt like someone punched in the stomach. Her impact carried them rolling about 5 yards where they turned into a blur of motion accompanied by desperate snarling and hissing. All the noise was coming from the coon, Elley was eerily silent, the only sound she made was her powerful jaws snapping shut as she maneuvered for a hold. After a few seconds she got him by the skin of his back. She immediately began to shake the coon so violently that it almost defies description. The nip of skin she had slipped loose from the horrific shaking and the coon went flying. The coon was dis oriented and stunned. All pretext of arrogance was now gone. He desperately tried to scramble away, but Elley was back on him in an instant. In her haste however, she ran not just over him, but past him. This gave the coon a few feet of distance which he immediately exploited by dashing into a hole at the base of a rather small, but hollow tree. We could hear him up in there, scratching, rooting, fussing and snarling. It was not the sound of a happy coon. Elley was circling the tree feverishly looking for some way to get at the coon. The tree was dead and broke off about 12 feet high. I could not tell if it was hollow all the way up or not. The coons tantrum in the tree had Elley beside herself with excitement, she wanted that coon! I was pondering how to get the coon out of the tree when Elley began trying to force herself up in the hole. The tree was rotten and had some give to it. That's all she needed.......
All right, us guys who work all night would like to finish this. Great start so far.
Well??? Enjoying the chase.
Get em Elley!
She drove her head and part of her shoulders up in the hole, the muscles in her back legs straining and her toes digging in for traction. She then popped back out of the hole and clamped down on the tree at the edge of the hole in an effort to enlarge it. All four legs worked together as she pulled back in a series of violent tugs. It was about this time that I noticed something odd. The coon had shut up. I mean not a sound. Perhaps he somehow sensed all the false bravado was not going to work on the little yellow terminator that was now after him? Elley had managed to tear a good sized chunk out and shot back up into the Hollow tree, this time going in so deep only her back legs and tail were visible. I could hear the coon scratching desperately, trying to work his way up higher. Suddenly, Elleys legs went from pushing, to a rearward tugging. The coon also began emitting a strange new sound best described as a cross between a squirrels bark, and a very unhappy tomcat. I knew by these two things that she had gotten a hold on the coon and was now trying to pull him out. Elley got her feet set, made another hard rearward tug and popped out with the coon! Well, part of the coon.......
Now I can't tell you for certain a complete list of Racoon activities, or where they would rank on their scale of enjoyment. I suspect things like breaking into chicken coops, sifting through garbage cans and raiding bird nests are right up at the top. What I can tell you for certain is; being chased into a hole and having their tail bitten off by a bulldog is not very high on that list! Coons are very vocal animals with a wide vocabulary of noises they can make. The coon was now emitting yet another new sound, this one is easy to describe. He sounded just like the Tasmanian Devil! Not the tornado part, the part when he stops. You know, all the grunts, snorts and incoherent babble. Apparently the loss of his tail was sufficient motivation to dig, claw, scratch, whatever it took, to get higher in the hollow tree. He was making progress now and soon his head popped out of the top. Elley was still buried up in the bottom of the tree and oblivious to the new developments. I knew he was about to bail. I eased a few yards to the side and anxiously waited, arrow nocked, fingers on the string.....
As the coon scrambled out of the top of the broken tree, I took several more steps back. This was done for two reasons. First, the extra space would allow me a better shot at the coon after he hit the ground. Second, the prospect of an infuriated, tailless coon in full blown Tasmanian devil mode landing in my hair was not particularly appealing. He sailed out of the top of that tree like a flying squirrel! Except for the flying part. He launched himself into the air, spread his limbs, and proceeded to crash straight to the earth like a fuzzy, snarling meteorite. No doubt, the recent loss of his tail had affected his gliding ability. I don't know if it was his intention to break the fall with his head or not, but that's exactly what he did. It was not a graceful way to exit a tree. I figured the fall would have killed him, but raccoons are tough! As he scrambled towards the thick woods, I smoothly drew, reached my anchor and let slip the arrow. The arrow impacted the dirt just inches in front of his nose. He made no reaction at all and just ran off into the woods as fast as he could. Running away with no tail and his newly raw backside, he looked more baboon than raccoon. How in the world did I miss that coon again? I was disgusted with myself. Worse yet, now I had to get Elley out of the tree and explain this to her.......
Extracting Elley from the hollow tree proved quite an undertaking. It took all manner of coaxing and pleading to get her to come out. When she did finally come out, she looked me dead in the eye with an excited, "what", "where" look on her face. She scurried all around the area sniffing and trying to figure out what happened. I figured the coon would return for more chickens at some point, but he never did. Perhaps Elley spoiled his taste for chicken. I had told a neighboring landowner who's a close friend of the incident. That fall he showed up at the house. He had numerous trail cam pics of a big, bob tailed coon at his corn feeders. We laughed and named him "Bob". He continually turned up in pics for several years afterward, but we never lost another hen. As the years passed, Elle developed into not only our head of livestock security, but also a trusted companion and protector of our young son. She was a snake killing machine! Poison or not did not matter. Yes, she got bit a couple of times as a young dog, but quickly learned to kill water moccasins and rattlers without getting bit. It was such a comforting feeling seeing our son out playing, Elley at his side, knowing she would protect the young boy and lay down her life for him if need be. Elley also became something else, something I would have never expected. Elley became a hunting partner. It all started with her following me around stump shooting. Now when I do this in the yard, I carry but one arrow. If I go on walk about in the woods however, I carry a quiver with several types of arrows from blunts, to broad heads and even flu flus. Any varmint or game legal at the time would be taken. This really blurs the line between stump shooting and hunting. Elley, mostly on her own, developed the habit of following right at my side. She moved when I moved, froze when I froze. With a little instruction I taught her to remain by my side until I said "skit em". She was a joy in the ground blind too, quiet as a church mouse she was. Elley understood the concept of stealth and hunting. I took several deer from ground blinds with her at my side. She could sense when I became alert to something and she'd watch me intently. Sometimes in natural blinds she could see the deer approach, but she never once moved a muscle or gave me away. She would just intently glare at them. She would also help me find them after the shot. When dragging the deer out, she would gleefully assist me by clamping down on the deer and playing tug of war. The first time this happened I had gotten a small doe. After the drag rope was secured around her neck, I drug her about 30 yards before noticing that I was dragging both the doe and Elley. She was dug into the does hindquarter like a giant tick, laying on her side, tail wagging and happily being drug along. She was looking at me as if to say, " what?". I just laughed and kept dragging. The years passed by happily like this, then came the evening when Elley and I crossed paths with one of the meanest and nastiest boar hogs I've ever encountered.....
Might be a little while before I continue. Maybe tonight or tomorrow depending on how my day goes. As a historical note, Petey from the Little Rascals was the same breed as Elley. Petey was from a line of dogs bred by Joseph Colby in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Far from a mutt like many believe, Petey was actually a very well bred Bulldog with an impressive pedigree. He was heavily used for a stud dog and figures prominently in the pedigrees of almost all animals of this breed, including Elley.
Fantastic bud can't wait for the rest...Thumbs up....
A well told story thus far. I'm hooked.
Excellent storytelling! I'm looking forward to the next installment :coffee: :thumbsup:
Some dogs just have a knack for staying with it.
:coffee: :archer2: :campfire: :thumbsup:
Awesome story Cliff, and only one picture of a dog and cat who would of thunk it ;) :biglaugh:
It was early bow season, the hour was late and shadows were getting long. Only a few more minutes of shooting light were left. I was in a natural blind on a pinch point. The corners of two large, square fields did not quite touch leaving a strip of woods about 30 yards wide. On each side of this funnel we're large tracts of bottomland hardwoods. It was a fabulous hide and one I'd been using for many years. The blind was at the mouth of the biggest tract of hardwoods allowing me to cover most of the 30 yard strip. The blind had been there for years and had produced several deer over the last decade or so. I had not "freshened" the blind for a couple of years so it was a bit thin in places, especially down low. This allowed Elley good visibility out of the blind, which is something she loves. I looked down at the little dog beside me. Elley was getting on to 9 years old now. The inevitable hand of time had left its mark in the form of grey in her muzzle, and scars on her face from the many battles she's fought with various varmints over the years. It had gotten very late now and I was just about to start gathering up the gear when Elleys ears perked up. I strained my eyes to see what she was glaring at in the deepening shadows, but could not see it. Elley was honest and I knew she saw something, so I sat there and waited. It had gotten that time of day when the darkness betrays your eyes and begins to turn bushes, stumps and other things into animals. I smelled him before I saw him, the rank, musky smell of a boar hog. My grip on the bow tightened. My fingers found their proper place on the string. My heart began to race with the delicious excitement that all hunters feel, especially when pursuing something that is dangerous. Elley felt that same feeling, I know she did. I had sensed it in her before and I sensed it in her now. It's a bond we had shared for years. The movement is what caught my eye, and a dark form took shape about 20 yards away. He slowly worked his way to within 12 yards. After he passed and was slightly quartering away, I drew the 48 pound Toelke longbow. The backside of the leather grip pressed into its familiar spot at the base of my palm. The string settled into the familiar creases of my shooting glove. Back muscles pulled my drawing arm back and my fingertips found their anchor. It was too dark to actually pick a spot, so I imagined one right behind where the shoulder should be. Everything felt "right" and all my focus was still on that spot when I felt the string slip from my fingers.....
This is great...except for the waiting part! Loving it! :thumbsup:
If it seems I'm drawing this out for dramatic reasons, I am not. These stories are not written. They are memories, and I try to convey to the reader what it was like being there. I've written many stories including the two previous that I've shared here in the past few years. In a way, I'm sharing the rough draft with my friends here. This story will eventually make its way into a book of short stories I'm writing. I've always loved this place and some of the stories with a traditional bow hunting element I share here. Please have patience with me.
:campfire:
Understood. Your doing fine whenever you got time......?
Good stuff :thumbsup:
Great story and very nicely told. Keep up the good work :thumbsup:
:campfire:
The arrow flashed across the short distance and hit the hog with a resounding "Thwack". Most hogs, or anything else for that matter, don't generally appreciate being poked with sharp sticks. This one was no exception. Startled, the hog let out a deep, cough like "uhhh" and charged off into the darkness. Elley and I sat silently and listened to the sound of the hog running until we could no longer hear his retreat. I felt confident. It was dark and I could not see my arrow well, but the shot looked good. It did sound like the arrow hit some bones. Probably the far shoulder since he was quartering away. We eased out of the blind and waited about 20 minutes. It was early season and still pretty warm. The night had come alive with the sounds of various insects and frogs. Elley was anxious and I could tell she was desperate for the two little words she longed to hear. She would run a few feet towards where the hog had went, stare in that direction for a few seconds, then run back to as if to say, "Cmon, lets go get him". I finally relented and quietly said, "Skit em". Elley tore off through the woods like a guided missile. Immediately a tinge of regret and fear passed over me as the little dog disappeared into the dark night. Warning lights had gone off in my head and I cursed myself for a fool. That was a very dangerous hog. What if my shot was not as good as I thought? To late now, it would be easier to call back the arrow itself than that determined little dog......
Let me know when that book of short stories is published, I would like to buy a copy since I really like your writing style and subject matter. Now, let's get back to Elley and the arrowed hog mystery.
Thank you so much. As you have discovered, I'm slow! But I can assure you that when finished, my family here will be the first to know! All my stories are not hunting related, but they do all center on rural Americana themes of some sort. I'll try to squeeze in one more part today, but I shoot sports photos for our local high school. It's an away game and a long drive, but our kids have made it to the playoffs and I can't let them down!
I'm enjoying the anticipation.😊
Dave.
Cliff, sir you are a Mastercraft story teller and author, a good story has many parts to them. The hook, the fade away, the revival, the unexpected, the suspense, and the outcome. These are just parts of what I see in great stories.
Some think they need pictures and a kill at all times. I respectfully disagree although it has a very important place it is not the end all. Sometime, many time the written word is enough to paint the outcome we seek.
Soldier on my friend :clapper:
:campfire:
Nervously, I got my light out and began to follow the track. "She'll probably just find him dead" I half heartedly told myself. Truth is, I was worried, very worried. After about 40 yards I found my arrow lying in the path. I anxiously rushed to it, as a recovered arrow can be a wealth of information if property read. Indeed, it can tell you the whole story of the shot itself, as well as it's likely affect on the animal. As I carefully studied my arrow, I did not like the story it was telling me. First, it was not broken or damaged in any way. Second, there were only a few streaks of blood in the grooves of the heavy, two bladed broadhead. Other than that, the only other thing on the arrow was a clear, wet liquid. Third, and most alarming of all, this liquid only covered the first 3 or 4 inches of the arrow. My heart sank, for this arrow was telling me my shot was not a good one. This arrow was telling me my shot went too far forward, hit the near shoulder and only penetrated a few inches. The clear wet liquid would be from the heavy cartilage of the hogs shield. All I had accomplished was to give that hog a flesh wound and a very bad attitude. About this time a sound somewhere between a lions roar and a squeal came echoing out of the dark woods. I knew that sound. It was the sound of a big, mature boars rage when a bulldog takes hold of him. Oh how I regretted telling Elley those two words! Nor did I realize how much more I was soon to regret them.......
I dropped everything except the light where it was and charged off into the night like a madman! I prayed I could get there in time. The sound was about 250 yards from me and I covered the ground about as fast as any human could. I reached where I believed the roar had come from in a rush, soaked in sweat and gasping for air. My bear arms, face and neck covered in scratches from limbs and briars. I stopped and listened carefully, straining to hear over my own labored breathing. I shined the light all around for any clues, my hand involuntary feeling for the knife in my pocket. Nothing, no sound at all. There! About 20 yards to my right was an area of very recently disturbed ground. I rushed to it, desperate for any clue. The torn up ground indicated a brief, but violent struggle. No blood was found and there was no sign of Elley or the hog. Likely the hog broke and ran after the brief fight. Elley could never run down a healthy hog, he would outdistance and lose her easily. I feared this hog was injured just enough that he could not lose Elley, and she would never quit. Eventually I feared, that hog would turn and fight. A terrible felling of panic, desperation and guilt overwhelmed me. Eeelllleeeyyy! I screamed as loud as I could, hoping against hope that my precious little dog would hear and return to me. I did not care about the hog anymore, I just wanted Elley back. I was largely powerless to do anything at this point. I alternately listened and then hollered for Elley until my voice simply gave out about an hour later. Dejected and broken hearted, I returned to the blind, gathered the bow and made my way home, which was not far away. I relayed what had happened to my wife. As I did, tears began rolling down my face and I wept. My wife began weeping too. I decided to get on the 4 wheeler and go down near the Homochitto river to see if I could find them. That's where I believed the hog would go. No way I could sit here and do nothing. I gathered lights, a medical kit for Elley, a 10mm pistol and rushed back out the door to look for Elley. It was going to be a long night.....
It's a little over a mile to the river from our house and I was not feeling confident. All I could do is ride around in the dark, blindly looking and hoping to run across some sign of them. I intended to stop here and there to call for Elley. Trouble was, my voice was almost gone, the regular tone of it replaced by a hoarse, raspy, barely audible whisper that did not even sound like me. I would try none the less. For two long hours I puttered through the dark trails criss crossing the swamp. All this was to no avail. No sign or sound of them was heard, and my desperate, pleading calls went un answered. It was very late when I got back home. My wife was still up and warmed my supper. She quietly watched me as I gulped down the food. I did not feel like talking, but I could see the questions in her eyes. She loved Elley too. She was hurting as well. I explained my failure to her. "What are you going to do" she asked. " Reckon I'll try and get some sleep, then go looking again at daylight". I was exhausted, both mentally and physically. Despite this, rest would not come to me. Exhausted too, my wife had managed to fall asleep. I thought of all the trouble she went through staying up, worrying not just about Elley, but me as well. I remembered the concern and worry in her eyes. I remembered the words she had spoken as I was walking out the door to go search for Elley. "Travis, please be careful". I just nodded and thought nothing else of it, but I thought of it now. I thought of Gods wisdom in creating woman. How rewarding life can be when his plan is followed. This was certainly a difficult time, but the presence of a loving wife to share in life's ups and downs is one of Gods greatest blessings. Her presence makes the good times better, and she brings much comfort in times of difficulty. I also prayed fervently that night. Now when I go to the lord in prayer, I don't often ask for selfish things, and this was indeed a selfish thing. After all, regardless of how much I loved her, Elley was only a dog. She had no immortal soul to save like you and I. Like so many times before, I would just have to rely on Gods grace and understanding. Mercifully, I somehow fell asleep after that, the deep, heavy sleep that leaves you with no sense of time having passed. I sprang up in the bed the next morning confused and disoriented. I had overslept, as the sun was already well up. Once coherent, I arose with a purpose. My wife had gotten up earlier and had a fine breakfast waiting. "Figured I'd let you sleep" she said with a smile as I emerged from the hall and walked into the kitchen. I smiled back and gave her a heart felt "Thank you". Our son was up too. He was now 12 and old enough to be a real help. My wife had explained the situation to him last night and he was chompin at the bit to go search for Elley. Although very worried, a resolute determination had set in. Regardless of the outcome, we were going to do everything in our power to find Elley! She deserved nothing less! We gobbled down breakfast, gathered our gear, and out the door we went......
Regardless of how this ends, I'm in love with Elley.
Your way with words has me seeing all this right over your shoulder. Go find Elley....
Quote from: Kevin Dill on February 10, 2020, 05:56:12 PM
Regardless of how this ends, I'm in love with Elley.
Your way with words has me seeing all this right over your shoulder. Go find Elley....
Thank you so much for the kind words. I intended to finish today, but I got called suddenly to write a last minute article for a local town. I will make every effort to get back at it tomorrow morning.
Elley always loved to ride ATVs, Tractors, anything really. If she saw you walking toward one, or if you started one, Elley would promptly "load up"! She firmly believed that any motorized vehicles sole purpose was for her riding pleasure. I was not driving the tractor for hours plowing the field, No! I was driving the tractor so Elley could ride! My son went out to the shop to get something while I pulled the side by side around in front of the house. Leaving it running, I ran back in the house to get some coffee for the road. Upon my return to the ATV, Elley had "Loaded Up" and was sitting in the middle of the front bench seat. She was obviously eager to get started on whatever adventure we were headed out to do. I had actually gone around to the rear of the ATV to stow some gear before it hit me. ."Wait"! "What"? I rushed back around the ATV to Elley. Sure enough, Elley was sitting there looking at me with her familiar expression, as if to say, "Don't know exactly what we're doing, but I'm in!. My son appeared, and like me, it took a few seconds for it to register. My wife had evidently seen us through the kitchen window as she came running out to us. As we all gathered around and loved on her, Elley soaked up all the attention and wagged her tail happily. She didn't know why her humans were so glad to see her this morning, but it really didn't matter her anyway as long as she got the attention. We were thrilled and so very relieved to see Elley, but she looked horrible. She was no longer orangish yellow with white markings. She was a solid rusty red from all the dried blood and dirt that covered her whole body. She was cut to ribbons. Her body was covered with countless cuts, scrapes and lacerations. My son and wife could see it too. "Is she gonna be ok dad?" My son asked. " Yes I answered". None of the cuts were still bleeding badly and there were no deep punctures in her abdomen. She had obviously been in a very brutal and violent fight, but she would be ok. I asked my wife to go run a tub of warm water. I had to clean her up, disinfect wounds and the sew up several of the larger lacerations. I reached over, turned the key and shut off the ATV. Puzzled, Elley tilted her head and looked at me. Despite all her injuries, she seemed to feel fine and seemed in high spirits. She unloaded and ran around the house. I gathered some beta dine to mix with her bath water. When I called for her, she emerged from around the house with a dark, bloody and mangled, "Thing". Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a hogs ear with a strip of the scalp still attached. Elley was a trophy hunter. Any varmint or critter she killed got drug up to the house. Often it was deposited right on the door step. I did not particularly appreciate this behavior, but my wife truly hated it. Seems most ladies don't enjoy stepping out of the house onto, rats, birds, snakes, possums, frogs, lizards, moles, squirrels, rabbits, weasels, coyotes, turtles, fish, beavers, skunks and small alligators. This being just a partial list of the "Trophies" that Elley had deposited on our doorstep over the years. Doesn't seem to bother our son much, even though the task of hauling them off falls to him. Despite having the daylights sscared out of me on a regular basis, and launching my head into the top of the door frame from time to time, I've come to accept it as part of life with Elley. My wife still hates it though, and approaches the front door like it was a bomb. I bathed Elley, stitched her up and put her in a warm kennel to rest. She was so easy to doctor on. She knew I was trying to help her. Something about the hog ear stuck in my mind like a thorn, it did not make sense. Obviously she had killed the hog, but something did not add up, all her trophies were from around the house or close by. She would not have carried that ear a mile and a half back home. I was missing something and an investigation was in order......
:campfire:
More, please! :readit:
I decided to start back at the place I had originally ran to when they first tied up. I grabbed my bow and a few arrows, not for any particular reason or because I thought the hog was somehow still alive, it's just not my nature to go into the woods without it. I found the spot easily and began to read the story written there. With daylight, the sign is much easier to decipher and read. After a few minutes, suspicion began to mount that they had not torn off in the direction of the swamp as I had figured. A well used trail went back the opposite direction towards an old pond. After following this awhile I found a large hog track, then a few feet further, Elleys track. I followed the trail another 700 yards or so to the old pond. There he lay in the edge of the pond. It had obviously been a long, hard fight. They had cleared quite a large area near the pond. He was about 250 pounds and had good cutters, no wonder she was cut up. As bad as Elley looked, that hog sure got the worst of it! She had completely torn or chewed the hoofs off both back feet. She had also gotten into his hind end and groin area, doing massive damage. Smart girl I thought to myself. She had caught hogs before and like snakes, she knew the safest way to go after them. After breaking him down in the hind end, she had gone to work on his head. An ear and part of his scalp was missing of course, the other side virtually untouched. His snout and nose were completely destroyed, utterly chewed away. This is how she actually finished him. I rolled him over to see where my arrow had hit. Exactly as I thought, too far forward and nothing more than a flesh wound. On the walk back home, I thought about the irony of having spent half the night looking for them in the completely wrong direction! Lesson learned, rookie mistake, always verify direction before abandoning the track on a hunch. I thought of my favorite bible story, David and Goliath. A 39 pound dog against a 250 pound boar with razor sharp cutters certainly seems a mis match. There is an old saying however, "It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog". Don't be deceived by her innocent appearance and humble demeanor. Elley had crushing jaws, powerful legs and a unstoppable will given to her from several hundred years of selective breeding. Among animals, Elley and her kind are pound for pound, the most effective killers on earth. I knew from the start that Elley was more than a match for this, or any hog. My worry came from the fact that I was not there to save her if something went wrong and she got an artery cut or a deep intestine puncture. Elley was ready to get out of the kennel when I got back. We kept her inside for a few days. She spent the rest of the day playing with her new "Trophy". She fully recovered in short order and lived to a ripe old age of 14.
Fantastic story thanks for sharing. Reminds me of all my dogs.. :clapper:
As a post note, Elley enjoyed good health all the way to the end and quietly passed in her sleep at the foot of our bed.
Nice read, thanks.
:coffee: :archer2: :campfire: :thumbsup:
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Lol, here are two upside down pics of Elley napping. One is before her bath and the other is several months later.
Thanks for sharing with us. :thumbsup:
Thanks for a great story. :campfire:
Dave.
:clapper: :clapper: :clapper:
Great story about a great dog, and a misunderstood breed. When my wife showed up with a pit bull pup 3 years ago, I was skeptical. I had read the news stories and heard the urban legends about these vicious time bombs, how it was only a matter of time before they snap and mail anything in their path.
Well I gave Hank a chance, and have been rewarded with the best dog I've ever had. Everything you said about the intensity and persistence of these dogs is absolutely true, and in the wrong hands they are dangerous, same as any other powerful force.
Like you said, if I can find a way to communicate what I want him to do, he does it. Very eager to please, and if he knows I'm unhappy with him, it's like his world is coming to an end.
Sorry to ramble/highjack, just love to see these dogs appreciated and acknowledged for what they really are. I'm sure you have plenty more stories about Elley, and I would love to hear them.
They are a very misunderstood breed. I have a lifetime of stories about these dogs. I've not been without one of these dogs ever in my life. I was raised by one and will have at least one at all times as long as I'm able. My current one, Festus is now 7. We got him when Elley was about 10 or 11. Our newest, who will eventually inherit Festus's duties is Hooligan. You are correct that they require responsible owners. Part of the problem is a lot of irresponsible people are attracted to the breed.
Bravo 👏! Great story!
Excellent story. I must say you have defined what the "real" breed is like when reared well. Ya, I remember Pete on the Rascal's .
I must ask the question.... Is Elley actually more an American Bull Dog ? My understanding is that the breeding stock came from over seas and then was developed here. I have only seen several of what I think you have and really, they dont look like "Pits" to me.
Just asking..... Thanks
Probably the best story I have read on TG in a looooooooong while.............maybe ever!!!!! You sir, have unreal talent with the written word!!!
Bisch
That was simply incredible.
I absolutely loved the story, and fell in love with Elley along the way! Such a good dog!
Great story. I'll read any book you write.
Thanks
That sir was an incredible, very well written story! Thank you so much for sharing it and the pics of Elley. I hope you will get that book published and share the info here with us as I would love to have a copy! :clapper:
I have been on the edge of my seat every morning waiting for the next installment of this story ever scene it started. Thank you for a wonderfully written story of a awesome dog.
I am one of those people that would never think of have an pit bull but after reading this and knowing one first hand my mind has been changed for the better.
A wonderful story. Thanks for taking the time to share this with us. :archer:
Dang... you had me worried about Elley.
Thanks for the great writeup.
Quote from: Huntschool on February 11, 2020, 11:46:45 PM
Excellent story. I must say you have defined what the "real" breed is like when reared well. Ya, I remember Pete on the Rascal's .
I must ask the question.... Is Elley actually more an American Bull Dog ? My understanding is that the breeding stock came from over seas and then was developed here. I have only seen several of what I think you have and really, they dont look like "Pits" to me.
Just asking..... Thanks
No, Elley is far removed from American bulldog stock. American Bulldogs are modern outbred PItBulls that had mastiff or other large breeds mixed in to up their size. You have not seen many like Elley because there are not many. You don't just go get one of these dogs, you have to know someone. Elley is the very purest and original form of PitBull there is. Americans are quite popular with some hog hunters because of their size. There is a serious downside to that however. It's hard to understand, but the smaller, linebred dogs like Elley have far superior stamina and bite power compared to regular Pits and Americans. The smaller dogs are also much better at not getting cut. This is a pic of one of Elleys daughters. She is small, but is considered one of finest catch dogs to ever live.
No, Elley is far removed from American bulldog stock. American Bulldogs are modern outbred PItBulls that had mastiff or other large breeds mixed in to up their size. You have not seen many like Elley because there are not many. You don't just go get one of these dogs, you have to know someone. Elley is the very purest and original form of PitBull there is. Americans are quite popular with some hog hunters because of their size. There is a serious downside to that however. It's hard to understand, but the smaller, linebred dogs like Elley have far superior stamina and bite power compared to regular Pits and Americans. The smaller dogs are also much better at not getting cut. This is a pic of one of Elleys daughters. She is small, but is considered one of finest catch dogs to ever live.
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Swinestalker:
Thanks for the info. Great dog(s).
Clifford I waited anxiously each day to read your story about Elly. She was a wonderful dog for sure. I wish I could let mine out to run but one that I have may never return home if he got on a deer. He loves to chase the deer in our yard that is 8 acres enclosed by a chain link fence. Any varmit walking outside that fence is on his hit list not to count the coons and opossums visiting my muscadine vines each summer. He has fought and killed a few of them. His name is Rowdy and according to the DNA test we did he is Staffordshire Terrier and Catahoula mix. Here is a picture of him along with my Catahoula.
Looks like Rowdy likes to ride! Life is just better with a good dog at your side.
Yes it is. Didn't mean to hijack your thread but you know we just have to show off our dogs.
This was an incredible and superbly written story. I truly hope you have more of them!
Quote from: Captain*Kirk on February 13, 2020, 08:38:09 AM
This was an incredible and superbly written story. I truly hope you have more of them!
I have many stories. Just memories put to word. Hope to have the first book of short stories ready this fall or early next year.
Let us know when your book is ready. I would like to have a copy.
I greatly enjoyed your stories. Thanks for sharing.
Brother, that was a damn good yarn. I choked up when you talked about your wife, and then again when Elley was on the bench seat of the ATV. I have to see a picture of her though. I couldn't open the ones you posted. I have a mutt that has the kind of spirit she had but without the training or context to really flourish. He's a city dog that come and hunts with me every chance I get, but he lives in a back yard. Gonna send you a PM with my email. Thank you for the story. Please do more when you have time. Wow.
Thank you for taking the time to write this story, I really enjoyed it!
Quote from: MAW on February 14, 2020, 01:11:51 PM
Brother, that was a damn good yarn. I choked up when you talked about your wife, and then again when Elley was on the bench seat of the ATV. I have to see a picture of her though. I couldn't open the ones you posted. I have a mutt that has the kind of spirit she had but without the training or context to really flourish. He's a city dog that come and hunts with me every chance I get, but he lives in a back yard. Gonna send you a PM with my email. Thank you for the story. Please do more when you have time. Wow.
I sent you some pics. For any dog to flourish, you must spend lots of time with them. The more time you spend with a dog, the better they will be. Our newest dog, Hooligan, is really shaping up to be something special. He's only 11 months old and I could already write several stories about him! He's staring in the window at me now as I write this putting a guilt trip on me.
I sure can't wait for my autographed copy !! Enjoyed the visit Saturday Travis. See you again soon.
I'd really like a copy as well.
:coffee: :campfire: :thumbsup:
:thumbsup: :thumbsup:
:campfire:
Shoot straight, Shinken