A small ash was smothered by its huge bulk. There was a lighting- like crack as its trunk snapped.
In its downward plunge, the huge limbs stripped the branches from the smaller trees.
A log-sized one knifed through the top of a water oak.
Splintered limbs flew skyward and rained out over the bottoms.
With a cyclone roar, the big tree crashed to the ground, and then silence settled over the bottoms.
Out of the broken, twisted, tangled mass streaked a brown furry ball.
I turned my dogs loose and started screaming at the top of my voice, “Get him, Dan, get him.”
In his eagerness, Old Dan ran head on into a bur oak tree.
He sat down and with his deep voice told the river bottoms that he had been hurt.
It was Little Ann who caught the coon. I heard the ringtail squall when she grabbed him.
Scared half to death, I snatched up a club and ran to help her.
The coon was all over her. He climbed up on her head, growling, slashing, ripping, and tearing.
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