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| Raccoon, vintage engraving. |
Two weeks later we used the pellet gun on a raccoon hunt. It was a cold night in November. Cliff Holmes, Paul Kuty, Raymond Kuty, Wayne Matthews and I went into the woods off Sprout Brook Road and we climbed Gallows Hill on an old path at night. We had two flashlights and several candy bars for snacks. Cliff had obtained Al Zeliph's dog, Spot. The dog was leading us but soon disappeared in the darkness of the woods. Spot was a silent tracker. Ten minutes later we stopped and listened for the dog's barking or howl to guide us to a treed raccoon. While we waited we made scary faces with our flashlights under our chins. We told stories about girls which were outright lies. We were all about the same age, thirteen.
After fifteen minutes of shivering in place and exchanging stories, we heard the dog and started after him. We were excited. We were running and we crashed through thickets and saplings, over stone walls, holding branches back so as not to hit the boys following in the dark. After fifteen minutes we found the dog at a tall oak tree not far from Mr. Singer's house.
Spot was more excited than we were. He howled and danced around the base of the tree, sometimes stopping to look up, sometimes scrambling for a better position to see the cornered raccoon high up in the tree. We soon had our flashlights pointed at the raccoon and we circled the tree for the best shooting position. Every now and then we could see the eyes of the raccoon when it looked down at us.
Paul loaded the pellet gun and took the first shot. The raccoon was hit but it didn't fall. I took the next shot with the same result. Cliff fired next, and then Wayne. When Raymond took his turn and shot, we heard blood dropping in the leaves at the base of the tree. It made a sound like a leaky water pipe. Pit-pat-pit-pat.
Paul suggested that someone had to climb the tree and get closer to the raccoon in order to deliver a fatal shot. He looked at us as if seeking a volunteer. Since it was his suggestion, we asked him to go first. He agreed. We helped him climb to the first branch and then he slowly continued to climb higher. We had the flashlights on the raccoon.
Paul stopped about fifteen feet from the raccoon, loaded a pellet, aimed and fired. The raccoon flinched and moved to a higher limb, as if seeking escape. Blood continued to drop to the ground. Paul fired again. The raccoon moved another two or three feet out on the tree limb.
"Anyone else want to try?" Paul called to us.
"I do," I answered.
Paul climbed down and slid along the trunk until he hit the ground. I took the pellet gun and some pellets. The dog was in a frenzy, sniffing the blood in the leaves and jumping and running around the tree.
Cliff cupped his hands under my heels, and I was up the tree and climbing. I got to the place where Paul had shot at the raccoon. Then I climbed a few more feet, loaded and fired.
I knew I hit the raccoon. It slid as though it was falling off the side of the limb above me, but regained its footing and stayed on the limb. I loaded the gun again and aimed.
Now something quite unexpected happened. The raccoon started to move toward me, actually climbing down until it was only ten feet from me. I was getting concerned. Raccoons weigh twenty-five pounds, sometimes more. They have big teeth and sharp claws. Suppose it was going to jump at me, attempting to escape?
I heard Wayne shout, "Get closer!"
I thought, "Is Wayne out of his mind?" At this point I was actually thinking retreat.
Paul shouted, "Better shoot again."
But the raccoon was getting so close that I could reach out and touch it with the tip of the barrel of the pellet gun. That's when I decided to hit the raccoon with the gun and attempt to knock it out of the tree. It was the raccoon or me, I thought in desperation. One of us will hit the ground.
Swinging my right arm in the darkness, I hit the raccoon with the barrel of the gun and knocked it off the tree limb. It crashed with a thud to the ground, and the dog was on it immediately. The raccoon fought the dog as if it wasn't wounded. I quickly slid down the trunk of the tree.
What an amazing sight! Two flashlights focused on the dog and the wounded raccoon, and the boys circling the combatants. Spot grabbed the raccoon by the throat and shook it several times, then pinned it to the ground. Suddenly the raccoon broke loose and tried to run, but Spot quickly caught it by the throat again and held it. The excitement was intense. The raccoon was grunting, the dog was growling, the leaves were flying around us as the animals fought.
When the raccoon stopped fighting and appeared to be dead, the dog did not let go. Instead he continued to hold the raccoon by the neck and shake it. Cliff managed to get Spot by the collar, and I pulled the raccoon by the tail. The dog held the raccoon until Cliff slapped him on the butt and shouted, "Let go, damn it!"
I pulled the raccoon away and swung its head as hard as I could against the trunk of the oak tree. I was following the example set by Mr. Zeliph on a previous hunt. We then hauled the dead raccoon out of the woods, taking turns holding it by the tail and dragging it along the ground. It was too heavy to hold up.
When we reached Sprout Brook Road we no longer needed the aid of flashlights.
"Too bad we put so many holes in the fur," said Paul. "I don’t think we can sell it."
"Isn't it worth a dollar fifty?" Wayne asked.
"It's not even worth fifty cents," Paul answered. "We’ll just keep the tail."
Paul took the raccoon home and left it in a hut near his house overnight. The next day we met at Paul's hut and I started to skin the raccoon. I stopped when we all realized it had too many pellet holes. So we cut off the tail and tied it with wire to a post above the hut, and threw the raccoon carcass further back in the woods for crows to eat.
That raccoon tail was symbolic. We had declared that we were frontiersmen like Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone.
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