Not waiting for anything more, I scooted for the door. Crawling under the buggy, I lay down between my dogs.
I knew he wouldn’t be mad at me, but it would be best to stay away for a while.
The third night, the blue ticks were tied by two black and tan hounds from the bayou country of Louisiana.
All that day I was restless. I prowled through the camp.
Every little while I would go and see how Old Dan and Little Ann were.
Once I took two weenies from our groceries. I heated them and gave them to my dogs for a treat.
Old Dan swallowed his down in one gulp, and looked at me as if to say, “Is that all?”
Little Ann ate hers in a ladylike way. I could have sworn I saw a small grin on her face.
Grandpa was hopping around like a grasshopper, going here and there.
Once, passing a tent, I heard his voice. I knew he was bragging about my dogs. I smiled to myself.
Another hunter stopped me and asked, “Is it true that your hounds have treed six coons in one night,
three up in one tree, or is that old man just blowing off steam?”
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