Coon Huntin’
Another fine night with Dan and Ann, I thought as we walked along a stream. The air hung heavy with moisture, and the trees slowly bent over us and blocked out the Moonlight. Dan suddenly froze. Little Ann sniffed in the air. “What’s up?” I said, unaware of what my dogs were afraid of. Silence greeted me. I reached for Old Dan. But before I could get hold of his collar, he bolted out into the dense undergrowth. “Dan! Dan!” I shouted after him as Ann chased after him, “You got a coon?”
But as I emerged into the clearing he was in, I could tell something was very wrong. I heard the-oh, too familiar growl of a mountain lion. Without thinking, I dove behind a wide cedar trunk just off the trail. Heart slamming against my ribs, I gulped at the air, trying to slow my breathing just enough to hear. Back in the clearing, branches thrashed and snapped as the wild cat growled at my precious dogs. Sunset had finally drained out of the sky overhead, sheathing the woods in shadow. I pressed my face against the bark, the ridges biting into my cheeks, and tried to become part of the tree.
I couldn’t stand it. I can’t just let my dogs die. My axe slide out it’s pocket as I advanced on the lion. It was facing Dan and Ann. With this advantage, and my hands shaking, I took a breath, and brought down the axe on the beast; along with it’s fate. My dogs are safe. I thought, satisfied, as they ran to me, pouncing on my chest and licking my entire face.
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