Bear Season in Virginia

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When I was young I coon hunted. Loved the sound of our hounds bawling through the dark woods.
Had carbide it was dark.
I loved a book called where the Red Fern Grows.
Some of my best memories are coon hunting in the hills and mountains, sliding down slopes on my hand and the side of my boots to bottom out faster, getting to those dogs. Running, sometimes. Conversations had on slopes and creekbanks with the lights off, just out in the moonlight. Finally being big enough to not fall asleep. Getting to shoot my first one out. Old Joe, Susie, The Blue Dog, Sally, Long Cod. RC Colas and Rallyburgers and thermoses of coffee. Dead coons on tailgates and happy dogs. The excitement of the dogs getting on a cat instead of a coon. Whew, good times.
Stuck working today against my better judgement. Probably be the last good day to hunt for at least a week or more. I told myself this would never happen again!

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