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Our family house dog is a minature tri-color beagle named Bullet for his speed afield. He isn't a hunter, however, he is absolutely the smartest and sweetest dog I've ever known. Bullet has been in the family for eleven years now, raised from a wee little pup. We love him as a member of the family and he is dear to our hearts. Bullet gets the best of care and constant loving attention. To quip that he's spoiled is a gross understatement.
Normally extremely well mannered, Bullet will on rare occasion want to pull a "run-a-way." He goes potty in the extreme backyard. As he has gotten older we just release him from the back deck and he does his business and returns to the deck to be let in. His run-a-ways are usually the result of jumping a rabbit in the backyard, a squirrel, or the occasional stray cat. He absolutely delights in defending his yard from the occasional stray critter. Last night as my wife let him out he blundered off the back deck smack dab onto a rabbit that took off for the creek behind the house. Bullet was in hot pursuit and the wife's commands were ignored. She doesn't have the command voice to turn the dog. I do and he always minds me. In this case he took off out of sight of the flood lights and was gone. Usually he will return shortly after he's chased off the trespasser. Last night he didn't return.
We weren't going to bed early last night. It is uncommonly warm here, so the windows were up and the wife was reading a book. I was goofing around on the computer. I had assured the wife that Bullet would be back before we were ready for bed. After an hour we both occasionally stepped out and called him, but he didn't return. Just past midnight, Bullet had been gone for about 2 1/2 hours, I heard a blood curdling bawl across the creek, and a field, back into a woodlot about 1/4 mile away. It was Bullet. The screams, literally screams, sent a cold chill deep inside me because I knew what they meant. Something was killing Bullet. A coyote, I knew it was a coyote. We have plenty of them and hear them howl 2-3 times a week back behind the house.
I ran to the bedroom and slipped a pair of shoes on and grabbed the first gun to come to hand, a Remington 870 18" extended magazine .12 gauge stuffed with 00 Buck and Slugs. I snatched the SureFire flashlight off the table beside my bed and took off. I sprinted through the brush bordering the creek, thorns and brush tearing my arms and whipping my face. Bullet was bawling with the gutteral urgency that made his voice hoarse, and, I knew he was in very serious trouble. I bulled through the brush at the creek and hit the open field. It sounded as if Bullet was around a corner, in a saddle between woodlots with a narrow strip of field dividing the woods. Thirty years ago I ran the 1/4 mile sprint in high school track. I hated that race. For a pure sprinter that 440 was hell. All out, all the way. I didn't notice the distance last night. I began answering Bullets cries for help, hoping to drive off the coyote and reduce the damage. I guess the coyote was so involved in tearing chunks of flesh from Bullet that he didn't hear me at all. I was able to get within fifty yards before he finally released my old dog and took off on the lope. The SureFire illuminated the scene as I was running inbound. It looked to be a big coyote, typical gray coloration. Bullet was balled up in some thick yellow grass and the coyote was standing over him with a big bite in the ruff of Bullet's neck, twisting and mangling Bullet. My dog was doing his best to keep tucked tightly. Bullets screaming bawls tightened my guts and caused a cold sensation to come over me as I readied myself for the finale. I've felt this sensation only once before. I was shot at by a meth head with a .12 gauge shotgun and as I faced off with him this was the very same odd feeling of isolation. Seeing only the threat, hearing muffled, a sensation of time slowing to a crawl.
The coyote now knew my presence was too close and dropped Bullet by the neck and began to lope off. It was looking at me in the light of the SureFire, eyes glowing like the demon he was. The 870 slide came back and forward chambering a round of 00 Buck, blue whistlers, vengenance... Only I knew as I lead the coyote and crushed the trigger he was too far. I fired anyway out of anger. The coyote disappeared and I was left looking at the bloody and mangled mess of my beautiful Bullet.
Chunks of flesh ripped and gone from his rear quarters. Deep, deep gashes along his flanks. Bone showing on both his right rear leg and his front right leg through long deep tears. His neck was bleeding from a two inch gash along the side. Far too many fang puncture wounds along his upper back to consider at the moment. Bullet seemed in shock, quivering, and shaking badly. I called his name softly and his brown eyes raised and met mine. His ears were both split and flopped aside like rags in a wind storm. As our eyes locked there was a pause, recognition, and Bullet's tail wagged feably. I dropped the shotgun and scooped my dog in my arms. Another sprint and I was busting through the brush yelling to the wife to call the animal hospital for the vet on call, and, get the truck out of the garage. She looked at the blood running down my forearms and muffled a wet scream...
It may sound silly to some, but my family, and my DOG needs a thought and a prayer if ya can spare one... /ubbthreads/images/graemlins/frown.gif
Normally extremely well mannered, Bullet will on rare occasion want to pull a "run-a-way." He goes potty in the extreme backyard. As he has gotten older we just release him from the back deck and he does his business and returns to the deck to be let in. His run-a-ways are usually the result of jumping a rabbit in the backyard, a squirrel, or the occasional stray cat. He absolutely delights in defending his yard from the occasional stray critter. Last night as my wife let him out he blundered off the back deck smack dab onto a rabbit that took off for the creek behind the house. Bullet was in hot pursuit and the wife's commands were ignored. She doesn't have the command voice to turn the dog. I do and he always minds me. In this case he took off out of sight of the flood lights and was gone. Usually he will return shortly after he's chased off the trespasser. Last night he didn't return.
We weren't going to bed early last night. It is uncommonly warm here, so the windows were up and the wife was reading a book. I was goofing around on the computer. I had assured the wife that Bullet would be back before we were ready for bed. After an hour we both occasionally stepped out and called him, but he didn't return. Just past midnight, Bullet had been gone for about 2 1/2 hours, I heard a blood curdling bawl across the creek, and a field, back into a woodlot about 1/4 mile away. It was Bullet. The screams, literally screams, sent a cold chill deep inside me because I knew what they meant. Something was killing Bullet. A coyote, I knew it was a coyote. We have plenty of them and hear them howl 2-3 times a week back behind the house.
I ran to the bedroom and slipped a pair of shoes on and grabbed the first gun to come to hand, a Remington 870 18" extended magazine .12 gauge stuffed with 00 Buck and Slugs. I snatched the SureFire flashlight off the table beside my bed and took off. I sprinted through the brush bordering the creek, thorns and brush tearing my arms and whipping my face. Bullet was bawling with the gutteral urgency that made his voice hoarse, and, I knew he was in very serious trouble. I bulled through the brush at the creek and hit the open field. It sounded as if Bullet was around a corner, in a saddle between woodlots with a narrow strip of field dividing the woods. Thirty years ago I ran the 1/4 mile sprint in high school track. I hated that race. For a pure sprinter that 440 was hell. All out, all the way. I didn't notice the distance last night. I began answering Bullets cries for help, hoping to drive off the coyote and reduce the damage. I guess the coyote was so involved in tearing chunks of flesh from Bullet that he didn't hear me at all. I was able to get within fifty yards before he finally released my old dog and took off on the lope. The SureFire illuminated the scene as I was running inbound. It looked to be a big coyote, typical gray coloration. Bullet was balled up in some thick yellow grass and the coyote was standing over him with a big bite in the ruff of Bullet's neck, twisting and mangling Bullet. My dog was doing his best to keep tucked tightly. Bullets screaming bawls tightened my guts and caused a cold sensation to come over me as I readied myself for the finale. I've felt this sensation only once before. I was shot at by a meth head with a .12 gauge shotgun and as I faced off with him this was the very same odd feeling of isolation. Seeing only the threat, hearing muffled, a sensation of time slowing to a crawl.
The coyote now knew my presence was too close and dropped Bullet by the neck and began to lope off. It was looking at me in the light of the SureFire, eyes glowing like the demon he was. The 870 slide came back and forward chambering a round of 00 Buck, blue whistlers, vengenance... Only I knew as I lead the coyote and crushed the trigger he was too far. I fired anyway out of anger. The coyote disappeared and I was left looking at the bloody and mangled mess of my beautiful Bullet.
Chunks of flesh ripped and gone from his rear quarters. Deep, deep gashes along his flanks. Bone showing on both his right rear leg and his front right leg through long deep tears. His neck was bleeding from a two inch gash along the side. Far too many fang puncture wounds along his upper back to consider at the moment. Bullet seemed in shock, quivering, and shaking badly. I called his name softly and his brown eyes raised and met mine. His ears were both split and flopped aside like rags in a wind storm. As our eyes locked there was a pause, recognition, and Bullet's tail wagged feably. I dropped the shotgun and scooped my dog in my arms. Another sprint and I was busting through the brush yelling to the wife to call the animal hospital for the vet on call, and, get the truck out of the garage. She looked at the blood running down my forearms and muffled a wet scream...
It may sound silly to some, but my family, and my DOG needs a thought and a prayer if ya can spare one... /ubbthreads/images/graemlins/frown.gif
