The Worth Of A Good Hound

By: Travis W. Lewis

September 6, 2000

This short story was penned in 2000, following some trying scenarios which were developing in my spiritual life at the time. To allegorize several of the characters and situations involved, I hope the portion of wisdom gleaned from these painful experiences is a reminder that God often pushes us through dark and confusing times, only to open our eyes to the brightness of His truths. Hopefully, some of the traits of the different hounds will alert readers to take care in whom they confide and whom they choose to follow.

The photo attached is of a champion hound named World Wide Story, belonging to Mr. Charles Wells of Hartford, KY and was contributed by Mr. Wells, thanks to liaison from my friend, Mr. Shannon Maness.

A cool, crisp, late-November night is falling as twilight gives way to darkness. For three days and nights, the warm, southerly wind that has furnished moisture for light, blowing rain and eventually a dusting of snow, has stubbornly given way to the much colder air from the north. Slowly, the north wind has quieted, and the freshness of the first real breath of winter has settled over the frostbitten countryside.

As the dim form of a large oak tree fades into darkness, underneath are four hearts pulsing with mounting excitement. They are hounds — English Walker hounds — “coonhounds”. For several decades, they have been bred for their ultra-sensitive ability to detect, by way of smell, the trail of the raccoon. Not only is their mission to detect, but also to follow the trail of a raccoon (‘coon) with a high degree of speed until their pursuit brings them close enough to the prey that his only logical escape is to climb a tree. Somehow, they know this will be the night – the night when their master will emerge in full garb from his home only a few feet away. Then. with a sound that would fail to excite only the most senile Walker, the tailgate drops on the four-wheel drive pickup truck, sending the message to his hounds that this is really the night – the night they can hunt, together. His four promising hounds are quickly loaded, and houndmaster George Leathers is off to a tract of woods a few miles away where they are joined by one of his young friends, Jodie Butters, along with his three additional hounds.

From a vantage point along a ridge where the hounds can be heard for miles, colloquial greetings are exchanged at roadside as their excited packs are unloaded. Following the instinct by which they are driven to excitement, and with notable eagerness, all hounds except one almost immediately disappear into the woods. The hesitant hound, owned by Jodie, is called RoadRunner. Down the road in one direction, then in the other, RoadRunner trots, seemingly as excited as the rest, but obviously trying in vain to look good and please his master without exerting effort in pursuit of the objective. Now, Roadrunner is a beautiful hound. He has a wide, blocky head, muscular hips, and a solid black blanket across his back. Being a novice, Jodie has been deceived into investing a great amount of money in Roadrunner due to his appearance alone.

Another beautiful hound, belonging to the elder houndmaster, George, is named GoYonder. GoYonder is an energetic young hound, hardly two years old. Out of good stock, he is as attractive as Roadrunner. He carries his tail high, has beautiful, long ears, and possesses the hierarchical marks of an English Walker hound – the black-blanketed back and orange-red head. Being a veteran coonhunter, George knows that GoYonder will require lots of time and discipline. GoYonder’s energy must be focused, and he must understand that the mission is not to just run and expend energy, but to detect the trail of the true objective; and not to be sidetracked until the trail reaches the end – in this case a tree with a ‘coon in it. If untutored, GoYonder will spend all his working life running in the wild, enjoying himself and convinced he’s doing the will of his master. With the patience of his master, however, GoYonder will slowly mature, but not without lots of wasted energy and hurtful mistakes.

No sooner have the hounds exited the truck than GoYonder is gone. Only several seconds follow the hounds’ disappearance than the long, almost deafening, bawling bark of GoYonder attracts the attention of dog and man alike. Understanding that GoYonder has crossed the scented trail of a prey, he is quickly joined by some of his companions.

Joined by hunting mates, GoYonder’s excitement kindles. His initial reports, each separated by several seconds, change to shorter, stimulated, and more frequent bawls as the chase heats. One of the hounds joining the excitement led by GoYonder is a five-year-old female, which is middle-age for a dog, named MarchingOrder Mollie. Now, MarchingOrder Mollie does not perform very well in detecting or following a trail. Mollie is drawn altogether by the excitement of the chase – just by what ‘feels good’, or by what affords excitement. All the while expecting the approval of her master, MarchingOrder Mollie is often decoyed by trails of other prey, and, in the end, only contributes to her master’s embarrassment. Chiming her long, high-pitched bawls in serious pretense of a high-stakes pursuit, MarchingOrder Mollie appears at her best when closely following the chase leader.

Another hound joining this loud chase is MillionDollar Polly. MillionDollar Polly is an eighteen-month-old female pup of MarchingOrder Mollie. Having spent her entire life with her mother, Polly has assumed lockstep with the habits of Mollie – never detecting her mother’s well-disguised lack of wisdom and worth. Like her mother, Polly scores well on the show bench; but in the field and on her own, MillionDollar Polly is as near worthless as her mother.

Another more seasoned hound drawn to GoYonder is a seven-year-old male called TimberTalkin Tom. TimberTalkin Tom is not impressively aggressive, though with age, he has been usually dependable. In his younger years, many have been the nights during which Tom has, for countless miles, followed the likes of GoYonder, only to find a disappointing reward, or deep trouble, at the end. With the clamor initiated by GoYonder, however tonight, TimberTalkin Tom chooses to check out the excitement. He finds the trail interesting to the point of sounding a few of his coarse, bawling reports before soon detecting the trail is not what offers the true reward of raccoon taste. So, he goes his way, patient that the sweet scent he seeks will soon appear.

Meanwhile, back at the truck, Jodie is overjoyed at the sound of the chase. He is the owner of both MarchingOrder Mollie and MillionDollar Polly, and they are leading the race – right behind GoYonder! His older friend, George Leathers, however, is not so excited – for several reasons. Though he is the owner of GoYonder, something is just not right about this chase. What troubles the veteran hunter most is that his very best hound, DeepRiver Rock, and his promising younger hound, SendumUp Joe, have not once been attracted to the race. DeepRiver Rock is among the wisest of Walkers. He loves the scent of a raccoon as well as any hound, and his passion is exclusive. No other trail attracts his attention, and he can invariably determine the difference. The sound of his presence is proof positive that the trail is true. Tonight, as of yet however, DeepRiver Rock has not been heard. Also, the older hound, TimberTalkin’ Tom, briefly joined the ongoing race, and then dropped off. Additionally, instead of the trail leading toward the huge oak tree dens on the the swampy bottomland rims as usual, the three noisy hounds are barging headlong back toward a range of barren, craggy hills – not the habitat of raccoons. The bleak, cavernous heights are known to harbor dens of bobcats which instantly assume vicious, even life-threatening, dispositions toward intruders, be he man or dog. A mistake regarding the prey at the end of that mountainous trail surely spells disaster for even the grittiest hounds.

Just as the veteran hunter is about to express his worry, from a direction opposite the ongoing chase, comes the sound for which he has been listening. It is DeepRiver Rock, and he, along with SendumUp Joe are down near Clear Creek. The repetitive long, coarse bawls of DeepRiver Rock are unmistakable signals that some ‘coon is in deep trouble unless he is in reach of a secure den. SendumUp Joe quickly joins with his own high-pitched alarms. Then, within seconds, they are joined by TimberTalkin’ Tom, and the three are swiftly moving on the trail. With these three along the same trail, there can be no doubt that the reward of finding a ‘coon in a tree is imminent.

The keen ear of the elder hunter presently detects another interesting change. The sounds of the other chase have changed. The pitch and rhythm of the barks indicate that the prey is in sight. What is interesting, however, is that GoYonder can be no longer heard. His running mates, MarchingOrder Mollie and MillionDollar Pollie, are still plunging headlong, though at times their excited bellows can barely be heard from the valley across which their pursuit has led. Suddenly, their racing tone ceases. Though faint in volume due to distance, excited yelps of pursuit transform into blood-curdling howls of terror and fear. Though barely within hearing in the damp night air, the prized Walkers’ yaps of pain are mixed with snarling, high-pitched squalls of the rarely seen, but most dreaded, bobcats. There is no doubt now – Mollie and her pup, Pollie, have plunged into a whole den of some of the most vicious mammals in North America. Their home is so remote and well located that accessibility by man on foot is near impossible — and the sheer survival of the foolish hounds is questionable. For in defense of their home and young, the wily bobcats are merciless. Within several seconds, the fight is over, and the hills are again quiet!

The attention of both George and Jodie turns back to the bottomland and the race of DeepRiver Rock, SendumUp Joe, and TimberTalkin’ Tom. The noise of their combined excitement is beautiful music to the ear of any hunter, especially the master George Leathers. Then, almost abruptly, their excited barks become silent. Young Jodie expresses his thoughts that this chase has ended in vain just as the first, but George knows better. Though three-quarters of a mile away, George knows what has happened, and that, in a matter of seconds, the unlucky ‘coon will be nailed. In their haste, his hounds have run past the tree or sinkhole into which the prey has sought protection, and it is only a matter of time until DeepRiver Rock, or one of his running mates, will have doubled back and located the place of hiding.

Sure enough, within a few seconds, the report comes, initiated by one breath-long, coarse bawl, followed by short, choppy barks sounded in rapid succession and interrupted only to intake another breath. The initial “locate” actually comes from the younger SendumUp Joe, and within seconds he is joined by both DeepRiver Rock and TimberTalkin’ Tom. All three sound equally pleased and excited, though their glee is not to be compared with what their master, George, is now feeling. Several reasons tell the houndmaster that his months of patience and training have matured SendumUp Joe. Joe had not been drawn to the false, possibly destructive, trail that has attracted GoYonder and the others. He had chosen rather to stay in the company of his wiser and older kennelmate, DeepRiver Rock. When the trail had abruptly ended, Joe had obviously known to double back and seek out where he had been decoyed. Then, when he had found it, he had matured in confidence to the point of announcing his find without waiting to see if his older companion approved.

From their vantage point on the ridge, George and Jodie turn the truck around and follow an old logging road to within a couple hundred yards of the near deafening roars of excited hounds. George is anxious to reach the tree site, though not altogether to share the chase victory with his thrilled hounds. Being a master of his sport, and as closely as he is attached to DeepRiver Rock, George knows that Rock often assumes a jealous, and sometimes vicious, attitude at a tree site, especially when he is not the first to locate. George fears that SendumUp Joe will be intimidated and forced away from the tree by DeepRiver Rock if he doesn’t arrive soon. On approach to the site, sure enough, DeepRiver Rock and TimberTalkin Tom are reared on back legs, with front paws stretched high on the tree, sounding their almost deafening, choppy yelps in rapid succession. Standing thirty feet away is SendumUp Joe, obviously as excited as the others, but having been intimidated and chased from the center of action by his hunting mate whom he had chosen to follow and imitate – and, in this instance, outshine. The scolding by the upset houndmaster, along with being pulled from the tree site, dampens the excitement and obviously injures the pride of the seasoned DeepRiver Rock, though George knows it must be done. Turning to the younger SendumUp Joe, in the unique tone of an elder trainer, George assures both SendumUp Joe and TimberTalkin Tom that he is really pleased. The three hounds are placed on a leash, led back to the hunters’ truck, and soon loaded for the return home. A search for the other three, GoYonder, Molly, and Polly, finds the exhausted GoYonder waiting back at the site of his release. Those he led in the chase to the mountains are never seen again, obviously having perished.

This has been intended as an allegory of what often happens in the work of the Lord. The attractive Roadrunner typifies one who desires to be identified with the mission at hand, but he possesses no passion or love for God’s cause. Though he has the appearance of being genuine, not much experience is needed to detect his actual worthlessness to the mission. Though claimed by the Master, GoYonder typifies one who has a genuine desire to do something significant but is still immature. Not prone to seek out and heed the older and wiser, he has not learned that he still has a lot to learn. Being so, and with his contagious enthusiasm, he will lead many into quagmires from which they will never escape, though by the mercy of the Lord, he, personally, may escape “yet so as by fire”. MarchingOrder Molly typifies one who likely belongs not to the Master, but simply enjoys doing something that has righteous overtones. She assumes that if it looks religious, especially if the leader is enthusiastic and confident, then she should participate with all her might. She has neither learned nor been taught about caution and choice regarding whom she follows. The product of her energetic pursuits will not please her master and will finally end in her demise. What’s worse – those who are prone to follow her confident lead, though unsuspecting, may meet the same miserable destiny. Especially susceptible to her deception will be her closest kin, the likes of Million Dollar Polly.

TimberTalkin Tom reflects one whom time has ripened and matured — one who has learned well from his mistakes. Poor judgments during his younger years have brought him, along with his master, much pain and grief. He is one who, with each blunder, recognizes his wrong and vows to not repeat because years have taught him that attractive glitter is not always gold. Having learned from past mistakes, he still retains a genuine focus on the Lord’s work. Not easily decoyed by “look-alikes” or “sound-alikes”, he has no desire to join or continue futile acts or efforts of others, regardless of his relationship with those involved. Though possibly not the most innovative or ingenious, and though sometimes too reserved and laid back, his nose for the true and just now serves the Lord’s cause well, and should all his peers accept wrong for right, he is governed by laws written in stone and unyielding to the whims of man. Ω