OLD MEN AND FAT DOGS EQUALS FEW BUNNIES

Bill Cooper

1/12


I grew up in the rabbit rich environment of our family farm in the Missouri Bootheel. We could simply walk out the back door, yell for Rowdy, our old beagle, and literally be on rabbits in 10 minutes. Those were the good old days.
I haven’t owned a beagle in ten years. Rabbits are few and far between in the Ozarks and maintaining a dog for the minimal amount of rabbit hunting I would get to enjoy is out of the question.
However, I occasionally hook up with someone who lives in good rabbit country and runs a pack of beagles. Beagle music is soothing to the soul and watching the antics of the little black and white dogs is more entertaining than watching Johnny Carson.
I called my elder bother, Phil, who lives near Mark Twin Lake and has access to some decent rabbit hunting.We set a date.
January seventh arrived clear and warm at a balmy 40 degrees. Tucker Austin and I worried that it might be a bit warm for rabbit hunting as we drove north on Hwy 19 headed for Ralls County.
“Look,” Tucker said. “The temperature is dropping.”
Sure enough. By the time we crossed the Missouri River bridge at Hermann, the temperature had fallen to 35 degrees. An hour later when we arrived at Vandalia, the air temperature sat at a crisp 25 degrees, perfect for rabbit hunting.
Soon Rev. Rob Cassidy showed up at my brother’s home with a pair of beagles in his pickup truck. “I’ve got bad news,” Cassidy began. “My best dog died last week. It may be a tough go today without her.”
“That’s gotta be bad luck for sure,” I commented. “Tucker is a jinx. I shoulda left him at home.”
Tucker, my stepson and I keep a running jousting game going on while hunting and fishing together.
“Ah, these two dogs, Rowdy and Clyde are a bit fat and old,” Cassidy laughed. “But, they’ll get the job done, but slowly.”
“Not a problem,” I laughed in return. “My brother and I are a little fat and old ourselves. We should get along with these dogs just fine.”
We drove several miles through the rolling farm land north of Vandalia. Harvested soybean fields dotted the landscape. Brushy draws, shrubby fencerows and small plots of woods painted a picture of perfect wildlife habitat.
JR Graham, my brother’s son-in-law, joined the hunt. Our foursome would enjoy a perfect day of rabbit hunting and socializing.
The beagles bailed out of the truck and hit the ground bawling as if to express their gleefulness and thankfulness to be out and about to hunt rabbits. They definitely had the right attitude.
The rambunctious beagles made us all laugh. The bouncing pair of hounds added jollies to the atmosphere and set the stage for a grand hunt ahead.
Our hunting party crossed a cut field and soon arrived at a 30 yard wide strip of woods and thick brush bordering the field. Rabbit droppings scattered about boosted our confidence quickly. I was in the middle of pointing out teeth marks of rabbits on clusters of bushes when one of the dogs yodeled and the first rabbit chase of the day began.
Memories of boyhood rabbit hunts flooded my mind and I guess shared them aloud. Tucker later related to his mom that the old men of the hunting party talked all day about great hunts of the past.
That’s ok. tucker quickly fell in love with the sounds of the trailing beagles. he had never rabbit hunted with dogs before. He now understood why old men love beagles and the hunt.
Tucker and Phil took one side of the wooded strip while JR and I took the other. Cassidy tackled the thick stuff in the middle of the brush to encourage the dogs.
I packed a .22 pistol while all the other guys carried shotguns. I hoped for a sitting rabbit as target, but didn’t place any wagers. I carried two cameras and spent most of my time photographing the hunt. I had more fun shooting with a camera. At least no one could rib me about missed shots, or so I thought. I had mistakenly told everyone that i wanted to get a photo of a running rabbit, hopefully with dogs behind it. As luck would have it, several rabbits did break out of the woods throughout the course of the day and bound down the edge open soybean field. But they ran like they were being chased by demons. My buddies, each time a rabbit showed itself, yelled at me to see if I had made the shot. According to them, I missed more shots than them.
Ten minutes after the beagles struck their first trail, I heard Phil shout and then a gun shot. Hoops and hollers usually accompany a successful shot. Not a sound came from the other side of the strip.
I couldn’t resist the chance to needle. “Did you get it?” I yelled.
“Nah, Tucker missed,” came the response. Everybody laughed while Tucker mumbled something about shooting behind a brown streak. Such moments are the magic of group rabbit hunts. Laughing at the other guy is marvelous.
Spurred on by the gunshot, the two chubby beagles kicked it into high gear and gained grown on the fleeing bunny. The rabbit had circled and soon showed itself on Tucker’s side of the strip again. “Boom, boom”, echoed from his 12- gauge.
Shouts of “dang it, dang it”, its headed to the other side,” reverberated from Tucker's position.
“JR, here it comes.” I whispered. The bunny was feeling the heat from the hounds and broke into the open to put some quick distance between itself and the yawling dogs. JR rolled the first rabbit of the day at 30 yards.
The dogs continued following the hot trail and soon bounded up to claim their prize. Clyde, a particularly chubby beagle, promptly retrieved the rabbit and proudly took it to his master.
Over the next three hours we listed to the constant rise and fall of beagle voices as they tracked rabbits, lost them and picked up hot trails to start a new chase. Numerous other shots failed to connect. The gouging factor may have put too much pressure on the shooters. Phil, Tucker and JR all missed shots. I missed others with the camera. However, Tucker did roll a sneaky bunny which attempted to double back on the dogs just inside of the edge of the thick cover.
Dogs and men grew weary by early afternoon. Beagles and hunters both seemed to communicate through their body language that they dreaded the long hike back to the truck. Slowly, we made our way in that direction, laughing and feeling the warmth of the afternoon January sun on our backs.
Back at the truck, we shared our bologna sandwiches with Rowdy and Clyde and continued to laugh and point fingers at one another. Everyone revisited their excuses and vowed to shoot better next time.