Well, as you remember, last time we had about given up on ever finding “Killer.” Dootsie Bobo and I agreed that some other unscrupulous hunter had stolen my new, “double pedigreed” ‘coon hound and we were on the way home.  We would resume the search on the next day.

The dog pee on Dootsie Bobo’s trouser leg had dried somewhat so he was in a little better mood as we left the grave yard and began walking through the woods.

We were just about at the point where we would go to our separate homes when we were both surprised to see Killer trotting toward us in the moonlight and not only had he returned but he was carrying something in his jaws?

With great enthusiasm I exclaimed, “He’s such an incredible hunter, I bet he went and caught hisself a ‘coon an’ what’s more he’s fetched it to us. Good dog, what’cha got boy?” He growled something in answer but I couldn’t understand him because he still held his catch in his jaws and it was difficult to make out his words. What he said probably could have been roughly translated as, ”Mine, all mine!”

I reached for the thing. Killer dropped it and snapped at my hand. Great kidder that dog. I playfully kicked at him and missed. He snapped at me, darned near tearing off a trouser leg. What a dog!

Finally I was able to make out the object that he had been carrying. Thanksgiving was just past and Killer, my double pedigreed ‘champeen’, Plott/Walker ‘coon hound had found and retrieved the gnawed remains of a roast turkey breast from someone’s garbage can.

We stood there watching him gnaw on the turkey breast trying to think of a new name for him. Killer no longer seemed appropriate somehow and Instilling confidence in the animal was not very high on my list of priorities anymore either.

Some of the names we discarded as perhaps a little too harsh, after all we didn’t want to give him cause to have any worse attitude then he already possessed. By now I am sure you will agree that ‘possessed’ was a pretty good description of my dog.

Just then Dootsie Bobo exclaimed, “Ding nabbed, blankety blank, no good, furley blurb dog!” As he said this he kicked at the object of his affection. Killer snapped at Dootsie Bobo’s foot and leaped playfully aside, the kick going far wide. Killer laughed at this loving attention.

The cause of Dootsie Bobo’s peevishness was that Killer had just laid claim to his leg for the third time that evening!

We ended up renaming Killer that night after all. Dootsie Bobo cleverly observed that it was highly unlikely that killer’s ancestry was Walker or Plott. Pisshound was more like it. Thus it was that Dootsie Bobo felt that renaming the dog “Ol’ Pisser”was most appropriate.

Eventually, after a few more memorable, (perhaps miserable would be a better word!) ‘coon hunting episodes with Ol’ Pisser I ended up trading him to another ‘coon hunter we met in the woods one moonlit night.

You know what they say about a full moon causin’ folks to do weird and foolish things? I bet if there hadn’t been a full moon that night the stranger wouldn’t have been nearly so foolish.

It pained me to see Ol’ Pisser go but Dootsie Bobo was just barely able to conceal his joy. He kept leaping into the air and giggling all the time I was haggling with the stranger. I was afraid the fellow might get suspicious but the deal was finally consummated.

I traded Ol Pisser for a five dollar bill and a fine little vintage .22 rifle that was laying in some trash in the back of the fellow’s pickup truck. The rifle’s rusty barrel was bent at a nice ten degree angle for shooting around corners and there was a twenty two cartridge rust welded in the chamber.

When you consider everything, trading the dog for a rifle that wouldn’t shoot wasn’t really all that bad ’cause Ol’ Pisser, my double pedigreed, full blood, Plott/ Walker ‘coon hound wouldn’t hunt.

The stock on that little .22 rifle had been repaired in a very fine field technique utilizing about four feet of barbed wire held in place with half a dozen fence staples. The ejector wouldn’t work, it was rusted shut and the barrel was mounted to the stock with about two rolls of electricians’ tape. (A nice touch, that electricians’ tape!)

Refusing to be bested in the trade, I insisted the stranger throw in a rusty horseshoe nail as boot to seal the deal. I could use that rusty nail to clean my fingernails of worm goop after a long day of fishing, or I could pry the cartridge out of the chamber of the real nice little .22 rifle that wouldn’t shoot.

As we were getting ready to leave, the stranger’s double pedigreed Plott/ Walker hound, a fine breed that I will always recognize, walked up and peed on his new owner’s leg. When Pisser did that it pleased Dootsie Bobo mightily for he knew the dog had truly transferred his affections to his new owner.

At this insult to his person the stranger jumped as if he had been scalded!

With an expression of shock on his face he exclaimed, “That darn dog pissed on me!”

“Sorry” , I said as Dootsie Bobo and I walked to the car, “a deal is a deal!”

Dootsie Bobo and I were about to drive away when the stranger called after us, “Hey fellas, what’s the dog’s name?”

We glanced at each other and grinned as we replied in unison, “Killer, you just call him Killer!”

I want you to know that I treasured that beautiful little bent barreled .22 rifle that wouldn’t shoot, handling it lovingly and with great reverence until we crossed a little ‘crick’ on the way home that night. There I stopped the car and with Dootsie Bobo at my side, by the light of the full moon, I reverently tossed the rifle into the deep pool just below the bridge, but, being of a practical frame of mind I kept the rusty nail. I still have it to this day.

P.S. If anybody is interested I will sell that little rusty nail. It is handy for cleaning disgusting worm goop from under your fingernails, picking your teeth and a multitude of other uses. I had it chrome plated and a keychain attached. The price is a mere $9.95 including shipping and includes a certificate of authenticity. Also if you order now I will include a four inch length of the original barbed wire used to repair the fine little 22 rifle that wouldn’t shoot free of charge. Also included is a fine, original, hand scribbled copy of Killers story but you need to hurry because my copier is running out of ink.
What a deal!
Chaz

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