Chapter - XII
THE FAME OF MY DOGS SPREAD ALL OVER OUR PART OF THE Ozarks.
They were the best in the country. No coon hunter came into my grandfather’s store with as many pelts as I did.
Grandpa never overlooked an opportunity to brag. He told everyone the story of my dogs, and the part he had played in getting them.
Many was the time some farmer, coming to our home, would say,
“Your Grandpa was telling me you got three big coons over in Pea Vine Hollow the other night.”
I would listen, knowing I only got one, or maybe none, but Grandpa was my pal.
If he said I caught ten in one tree, it was just that way.
Because of my grandfather’s bragging, and his firm belief in my dogs and me, a terrible thing happened.
One morning, while having breakfast, Mama said to Papa, “I’m almost out of corn meal. Do you think you can go to the mill today?”
Papa said, “I intended to butcher a hog. We’re about out of meat.”
Looking at me, he said, “Shell a sack of corn. Take one of the mules and go to the mill for your mother.”
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