Post by jack hamilton on Jul 8, 2010 7:44:59 GMT -5
Chapter 7. Stories
~ About Death ~
Gentlemen,
Kinda early in the morning for such profoundly beautiful, moving,
surrealistic and 'kinda scary' posts.
But I died myself 7 years ago,
and was actually reported dead,
'Dead'. No breath, no pulse dead!
By the local police department.
So from one who has had first hand experiance in the matter:
Dying ain't so bad it is suffering and pain
associated with the dying that is bad.
My 'death' was an easy one.
I was coming home from the beer joint on 'old Thunder'
my '850 triple'.
{With a kick starter!}
One minute I was riding and the next I was in this bed in a hospital?
{5 weeks later}
Hmmmm?
No one wants to be 100 years old.
{Unless they are 99}
Then it looks 'real good'.
We don't die, our bodys die.
And no one wants to live in an old, sick,
worn out body anyway.
... But we would prefer to hang around
as long as we can.
And we would prefer to not suffer.
I know I would suffering is a drag.
Once we are dead we do not float around on a cloud
till the end of the world, or some such crap.
When we die we wake up.
Really.
We go on,
it is profoundly more interesting than this,
it is where we belong,
not in some animal body which dies.
Now on the other hand I kinda like
whats left of my old animal body
and intend on staying in it as long as I can.
I mean, I have done a lot of work on it educationally and physically.
I want to brew 'mein Bier' and hunt coon.
To have a good garden and make knives.
{Need a knife?}
Our animals have the same spirit as we do.
All life is God.
Every blade of grass had God in it.
Just a little less maybe.
All living things have the spirit.
We all go back to the great spirit when we die
and get reincarnated, whatever.
God spoke to me when I was in my coma
and I am writing a book on it.
But in short he said:
"Jack, get you some hounds and go coon hunting.
Your old dogs would be there with you if they could but they can't!
It hurts me to see you greiving for them 12 years.
Your getting old and you are missing your life.
Get you some hounds and go coon hunting"!
God.
And I woke up in the hospital,
7 years ago.
God sent me back,
and I have my orders.
J. Winters VonKnife
jacksknifeshop.tripod.com/
Quote:
Our animals have the same spirit as we do.
All life is God.
Every blade of grass had God in it.
Just a little less maybe.
All living things have the spirit.
We all go back to the great spirit when we die
and get reincarnated, whatever.
Sure sounds Pantheist to me. I am Pantheist.
__________________
Love the animals.
God has given them the rudiments of thought and joy untroubled.
Do not trouble it, don't harass them, don't deprive them of their happiness, don't work against God's intent.
Hi, I am just a houndsman.
I find God in nature, in the weather,
the animals and plants,
we are supposed to experiance the earth.
I find God most of all,
in my hounds, in the chase.
I am down here in Texas,
I see you are an avid poster on the 'front'.
Thanks and 'Howdy',
{you too Klandestine33}
J.Winters VonKnife
'and Sandymay'
~ About Death ~
Yes, I too see God in everything. The good and the bad. There are two sides to everything. Can't have the good without the bad. So when people question "WHY does God allow bad things to happen to good people?" Well that's just the way it is and you can't deny God just because there is a Bad aspect to something. It's just the flip side to the good. I think it has to do with something like the Seasons. You have Summer where everything is in bloom, then Winter where everything is dead but it's not really dead it's just dormant or in transition to another form. I know I've had Summers and Winters of the Soul. Spring and Autumn are seasons of Confusion, when things are changing. Like when our ideas are shaken. We are changing.
The Breath Fog Story
I was out hunting one night and the dogs bayed a coon
down on the creek.
When I got there they were down in the 40’ deep dry creek bottom.
I could see them raising hell and as I tried to shoot
a dog would get in the way!
I would wait till an opportune moment
and raise old squirrel grabber
and a dog would get in the way!
The battle would rage on and the coon was surrounded
and the dogs were howling enough to wake the dead!
I would see an opening and this time as I raised old grabber…
A strange thing happened.
It was fog!
I couldn’t see to shoot so I moved around and saw a shot
and raised my .22 and again!
I couldn’t see!
I repeated this over and over.
Finally I thought to myself ‘what the fxxx’!
I had been absorbed by the action going on
and had not really paid attention.
I wondered why a fog would be here and not there.
I stopped and looked down the upper creek bank
and saw four or five little clouds!
They were not moving or disapating,
they were just sitting there!
I realized they were breath clouds
and they were my frozen breath
but with no wind they would not move
but they just floated there,
five little breath clouds about 4' in diameter, all in a row!
They were one of the most beautiful and unusual sights
I had ever seen
and I had been hunting 40 years!
Now, when I was 'dead' and checked out by the policeman
the next morning, {7 years ago}
and reported dead.
{They can't change a police report, so I guess I am still dead...}
I remember God reading my memorys,
and focusing on the breath cloud story.
He 'musta liked that one' because
he specifically sent me back to experiance more .
'jeanmaniere1488'
Poor Dollymay died
Dolly was my best horse, she was perfectly gated and the smartest horse I ever had. I bought her from A. L. Brimer who lives across the woods from my uncle Ray Bryum, Troy and Roy were his two sons, Red was Troys Coon hunting mule. They told me that Red wouldn’t stay around unless I had some other horses or mules. She would jump the fence and travel untill she found another horse and stay with it because Red gets lonesome in a fenced in area alone. So I bought Red two other horses, as company for old Red.
Dollymay, was one of these, Sugarmay, was the other.
The last time I saw Dolly alive she was laying in the back pasture with Red and Sugarmay, watching over her, like they have done for the last 18 years. I yelled Dolly! Dolly! Are you alright and she kicked with her hind leg so I could see her and I thought she was alright. Then the next day she was not around. I thought she was down in the bottom eating high grass down there. After a couple of days she did not come back so I figured since Red and Sugar were here which was unlike them to separate, I went all over the woods and fields looking for Dolly. I saw James Reynolds and asked him about here, Jamed said Jack you probably will find her with your nose, and I did! Dolly was dead, 50 yards from from where I saw her last. Poor Dolly she was the best horse I ever had.
Poor Dolly
“ My Sweet Honey Dog,
Sue May is Gone”
She died in her sleep Valentines day 1991.
I’m up here in Denver and I’ll never see her again.
No one to bury her right, or see to things.
She’s gone and she sure leaves a big hole.
She had the prettiest voice that any dog ever had.
She was my water dog too!
My ice dog, and a good hunter. She caught that big Bobcat! Treed many Coon.
She would be alive today if I had been there,
but I’m off working in Denver
and sleeping in a closet, for seven weeks at the roofing company, later an apartment.
So we can have enough money to go hunting somewhere really nice our last few seasons together, before we get too
old.
She got no exercise this last fall,
but was just stuck in the dog pen the whole hunting season, her last.
With no fun or good food, no family or friends,
or anything to look forwards to. She got fat and sad in the dog pen alone and died of a broken heart.
It’s my fault Sue May.
I’ll always remember you Sue May honey, as long as I live, you…
Barry Dog, and Cotton Joe… are all one in a million, and if I had one wish.
I’d wish that when I die, we all are together in Heaven and can go hunting every night. Now there’s just Joe, Ranger, Scout, and Sport.
Four dogs all male’s, no soprano voice to sing so sweetly, no long sustained yodel to add color to the pack…
I am going to miss you Sue May - the best thing about hunting girl was your voice,
Just listening to you calling, the sound just rolling down the valleys and in the bottoms and echoing back again. It sure was fun girl. I'll love you for ever girl.
I'll think of you always -
I'll never let your memory fade. Till the day I die, I'll love you Sue May.
Good night girl.
Written on, or a day or so after Valentines day 1991
In Denver Colorado
Jack Winters Hamilton
Barrydog
I was given Barry dog when he was full grown 6-9 years.
And kept him for 5-6-7 years.
Barry was friendly to other dogs but was a good fighter and always went for the throat. He established himself as boss dog as soon as I brought him home.
Barry was so smart that I was determined to start a pack of hunting dogs and use Barry to train the pups obedience.
It was a few years after I got Barry that I saw an ad for some walker hounds and brought home Cotton Joe and Sue May.
Barry was perfect for rabbit hunting bird and squirrel too.
He would always go to the other side of a brush pile
and would go where I pointed instinctively.
He knew what we were doing {flushing game}.
So he would “check it out.”
Another command and we were a good team together.
We killed lots rabbits and birds I would not have been able to find were it not for Barry. For finding down game he was a great help as much help as he was in flushing it.
Me and old Barry went a hunting one day.
Some squirrels and some rabbits to try to delay.
I’d stomp brush piles and Barry would sniff around.
I’d shoot them from the trees and he’d catch them on the ground.
Good old Barry dog, best dog I ever had.
I had always wanted a good hunting dog
and Barry was perfect.
I decided to use Barry as a training dog
and after thinking long and hard I picked Walker Hounds.
Barry was great help in setting an example for young hounds.
I have a picture of Barry showing pups
how to get a neck hold on a coon dummy and shake it.
He showed them how to behave in the house sit,
lay down, stay, speak, no, would catch food in the air.
Knew ‘get out of that trash’, ‘get that cat’, ‘check it out’,
how to load unload and ride in the truck,
how to fight and kill game,
how to catch game on the ground and shake it,
how to swim and stay close to me when hunting,
how to be no trouble so that further training was much easier.
He always had run rabbits and such
but learned what we were after and would bark treed for hours
with the hounds on squirrel.
Now Barry dogs gone.
He knew he didn’t have long.
He coughed at night and fluid was filling his lungs.
He didn’t like all the pills he was getting and when we left home without him for the first time to go hunting we killed three coon,
three possums, two dellers, and one house cat.
Barry missed getting his teeth in coon fur by one day!
The next day he saw the coon and knew he had been left behind.
He was ok but his cough was worsening
and he had been made a house dog.
He was washed, trimmed, brushed and well fed.
He would sleep by my bed on a rug by the fire.
He knew he was old,
that night he was coughing real bad
even with his pills.
He asked to go out at 1:30 at night and didn’t come back.
A few minutes till two,
two hours was normal for him to be gone,
but by 3:30 4:00 I was worried.
I had stayed up with the light on but he never came back,
even though it was near freezing.
All the next day we looked and called but no one had seen him.
It was fixing to snow that night and was one hour till dark
when a neighbor came over and said he had seen Barry
laying in a field behind my dog pens.
We ran over and Mary found him dead
There was frozen fluid where he had strangled
and he looked to be peacefully sleeping.
He had just asked me to let him out
and had gone out to die alone.
He lay out back of the dog pens
where the land drops away to the west,
where his last day was spent alone
and away from us
so we couldn’t see his suffering.
Where there was a good view of the land
and the sunset.
This secluded setting
and the memory’s of his life
were his last thoughts.
Barry dog had a good life,
and I knew he was getting old fast
and had a good opportunity to honor him,
share my food and bed with him.
I told him many times he was my best dog
and made his last few years as comfortable as I could.
No, no dog had a better, longer,
or more eventful life.
He hunted every day,
ran free,
killed a coyote,
a grown male that is on my wall now 20 years later.
And the last hunt Barry was on,
noon to four pm the worst possible time
we killed eight squirrels two crows and a duck
and I missed a rabbit.
Barry went to the water for the duck
and brought back every stick within twenty feet of the duck.
Swam circles around it over and over.
But wouldn’t fetch the duck.
He was trained on sticks and balls when I got him
and would catch squirrels on the ground and kill them
but would not retrieve.
We had a good hunt but I remember Barry's worried look
when he had to cross the creek again on the way home.
He was slowing down,
he got to where he would stay with us as we walked
more and more.
He got out of breath tired and was stiff and tired
longer and longer after a hunt.
I hated to think of old Barry getting feeble and suffering.
He was in excellent health except for his lungs.
His coat was beautiful, his eyes bright,
his beautiful, friendly, loving and devoted smile
as he looked at me
will never be forgotten.
When a squirrel would try to run on the ground,
Barry would catch nine to Joe and Sue Mays one.
He was a good catch dog, a good bay dog,
and smart in different ways than the hounds.
He would always seem to be in right place at the right time.
He was a good dog and I sure wish I had pups like him.
Because he was a real individual!
His first owner, Richard Green {R.G.}
said he was easy to train except for his trash eating,
and learning to fight.
Old R.G. would say when Barry was a puppy
he would take Barry in the truck and drive the alleys
looking for a big, mean dog.
Stop, pull Barry out and say OK Barry,
learn how to fight
and throw him over the fence with the big mean dog,
and he said old Barry learned how to fight.
Barry has been buried in my back yard the last 25 years,
and I think about him every day.
He was my friend.
J. Knife and Sandymay
jacksknifeshop.tripod.com/
Hunting alone
this is my first walker dog and she finally made a tree (by herself)and well this is my first coondog and she worked a track for about 20 minutes and we got up and she was ballin in tha tree for about 20-30 minutes and it took 5-6 shots to get him out im really excited about my pup finally getting her first coon shes a gyp a year and four months :mrgreen: .
A hound a year and four months old treeing her own coon
is something to be congratulated.
'Buy her a Hambuger and tell her its from me.
{Just meat and bread please...}
Good luck...
J. Knife
thanks man and alright next time we grill i will and man its hard to find any body to go hunting with im 15 years old and nobody in my family hunts and most of my huntin buddies live atleast 20+ minutes away :roll: it sucks. but at the bright side atleast i do have huntin buddies
You just get used to going hunting alone.
Take a camera, write the stories down,
share them with us on the forum here.
I always hunt alone, just me and my hounds.
I'm 58 years old and have always done it that way.
I'm down here in Texas {a long way from KY}
but you'll get used to it,
and you'll write better stories,
have better memories and with a lot less hassle,
it's not about people.
It's your hounds... and the hunt...
Thank you
J.Winters von Knife
{I Hunt Walkers too}
thanks and yea they sure learn quik and dont you ever get a erie feeling when i get out there by myself and hear everything but my dog it just spooks me up a bit.
run walkers
Yes, it is real weird out in the middle of the woods late at night.
It always is erie and spooky,
but 'erieness' and 'spookiness' is what one gets used to.
Not that it is any less erie or spooky.
But one gets to liking it,
the 'strangeness' of the woods at night.
Remember nothing out in the woods is as dangerous as you are.
You and your gun, and your knife.
You may fall out of a tree, fall off a cliff, fall in a hole,
lay out there for a few days till someone finds you.
But that is what I mean by getting used to it.
Be careful.
Hunt places you have been to in the daytime.
So you can know where dangerous places are.
Watch your eyes, a Nite Lite on real low,
barely on, will make limbs show up
so you don't stick one in your eye.
Creek crossings and cliffs are best learned in the daytime too.
A young Doctor from Rains county
{real wooded and lots of redneck hunter types}
who I met,
and who turned out to be 'a second cousin' said:
I've never been Coon Hunting.
Guys go coon hunting in the Sabine river bottoms drunk as dogs,
and some never come back.
Their trucks are found and most of their dogs
but they are never found.
Another older Doctor said:
But what happens to them?
"Thats the Sabine river bottoms".
No one knows,
they fall in a hole and the earth moves covering them up.
Or fall in the river and get eaten by turtles.
No body knows.
I said:
Well, what do you want to do?
Live forever?
Good Luck...
J. Winters von Knife
and Sandymaydog
Coyotes are 'the ultimate dog'
Gentlemen,
Coyotes,
I've killed a hundred of them.
Took three to the fur buyer in one week 25 years ago,
three nice ones case skinned, they were beautiful.
Coyotes are the ultimate prey for a hunter or a trapper
and a man can learn a lot from them.
But I realized years ago, that Coyotes 'are'...
really just Dogs. The ultimate dog.
And I loved my hounds, {all gone now}
more than anyone here could ever imagine.
{They were dogs too}
But "A Coyote is a dog":
is not only true, it is a profound, beautiful and spiritual truth.
A coyote is 'the ultimate dog'.
Nobody feeds him,
nobody takes him to the vet,
he has to deal with rabies, parvo, heartworms,
wounds and such if he lives 2-3 years he is lucky!
My old fur buyer said to me once:
"He wouldn't have it any other way."
"The Coyote doesn't want any help"
Add to that situation every human is out after old Yote.
Hunting them down like well... dogs.
Sorry...
But I respect their pride.
I respect their self reliance, I do.
I makes me feel good to hear them howling at night,
and I don't like to kill them any more.
Like the old Mexican Coredo {ballad} goes...
"El Coyote is just out looking for something for his family to eat."
Metal spinning targets are fun,
as are just throwing beer bottles in the creek
and shooting them as they drift past,
especially during a flood when they move really fast!
Cut the Yotes some slack,
unless you skin them or boil their skulls,
use glands, leaf fat, urine and dung for lure or something.
And yeah... $25. sounds real good...
But just to shoot a dog and throw him in the ditch
makes my heart sick and sad.
A man can learn a lot from 'old Coyote'.
Thank you
J. Winters von Knife
jacksknifeshop.tripod.com/
The pride of your life will come hard
The true message is Failure,
misery and being alone and way off from other people.
Its miles and miles, lost, tired,
thirsty and mad because you are lost.
It’s 3:30 in the morning, and you are down south
east of Corsicana somewhere,
you have no idea which direction the truck is!
A hunter must really suffer on these early hunts,
and you will.
The fine expert pack,
the pride of your life will come hard.
You can not know the one without the other,
A life lesson, the feeling you get from hunting with them
as they get better, grow improve,
become trained killers and hunters and you too.
Pride!
Depth of thought and feeling, wisdom, and words,
yes words are tools to paint the true picture,
the message.
Write down the messages as the words come,
and pick the right words to tell the story.
Goal, the true message,
{they,} the reader,
cannot know the message!
So tell them in words, try to transfer the feelings,
the feeling are the subject.
If I could but put them in words,
I could stay home all the time, write,
and not on the freeway!
Write what makes me feel good,
like Marty felt when I told the devil coon story
when Joe dog said “ I’m gonna kill that coon!”
I should walk, sit, ride and when the exciting thought comes,
the one that makes me cry like seeing Joe’s ghost,
The thoughts that make me feel excited like Marty did.
“and I knew Joe was alright.”
Sad, fun, exciting, or beautiful like weather changes,
like the frozen fog breath story where Joe and the other dogs
had a coon bayed in the creek bottom below me,
I couldn’t see anything because of my breath was a stationary
frozen cloud of ice.
And as tired as I was and I was breathing hard
and had to continually move up and down the bank of the creek
to get a shot through that d**n 'ice cloud'
that wouldn’t move.
There was no wind!
Really fun kills, fun like the fur buyer meeting
at the hilltop Mobil once a week.
Once a week human contact is cool.
The stories are the vehicle to carry the true message.
The emotion love, hate, the kill, the happiness,
the true message!
Go on.
The competent killer, bang, rip, lets eat.
Turning the d**n Dallas Sheriffs dept. swat team down
because “I won’t kill people for money.”
But Jack you kill coyotes for money and they don’t pay nearly as much.” “We are talking about $40,000.00 a year and a retirement!
And you have said how you love and respect coyotes
much more that you do people!
” But you kill them!”
And I reply, interesting, true!
Yes, I would seem a contradiction,
but I’m not interested,
Keep your dxxx money!
My conscience is not for sale.
As I sit and reflect on my life remember this!
The feeling, danger, exhaustion, tired, dirty,
a great shot, skinner, remember this!
Walker hounds, I am willing to work so hard at this.
To walk miles, all night for $20.
It is a strange and difficult to explain, to a nonhunter.
It is freedom the woods at night.
The beauty, the power, you can smell the air,
you can hear the trees, the dogs, the happy hounds.
[this is your, - was my life.]
you can understand them,
you know what they are saying, the timber,
the pitch, the volume, how they bark or howl,
you know each dogs name and voice!
You can tell who is saying what!
Just like you are connected to them,
you are, like they are spiritually an extension of myself.
[Because – Which] they are,
I was in a coma for 5 weeks and Joedog was there with me,
but Joe’s been dead for 14 years,
it was the spirit of Joedog,
and he appeared to me as his old self.
'So I WOULD KNOW HIM',
I’m not sure if the true message, is always an emotion,
a feeling, it is also a thought,
pride is a feeling, useful information is a bonus,
it makes a story real,
it is part of a book, the true message!
Is failure, misery, miles and miles,
lost tired thirsty and dirty and mad,
mad that you are lost!
When you chase down your hounds and scream and yell
and beat them over and over for years,
trying to get them to stop chasing rabbits.
And after years you get them going not chasing rabbits
and one October night as you and your Dan and Ann
or my Joe and Sue may are jogging behind the truck
on a leash, late at night,
miles and miles, getting in shape to hunt all winter.
And for a rest you are running with them,
your nightly two miles, along the dark dirt road
out by the graveyard .
Joe and Sue may are side by side right in front of you
3-4’ ahead,
as if they were yoked together!
And a rabbit runs right across the street in front of you
and the dogs and they don’t even break stride
and don’t even look to the right or left!
The rabbit runs within 10’ right in front of you and your dog’s,
and they don’t care because they are coon hounds now
and they know this and the pride… yes it is pride.
When you look back on your life and you will,
you will see!
It was worth it!
You were right and all the others,
all of them were wrong!
It was worth it.
J. Winters von Knife
July-August 03
“Coon Hunting with the Gourmet Chef”
One night Don and I were out on a hunt by my house,
just down on the creek. We had one coon
and while the dogs were finding another
we built a fire just to be warm while we skinned the coon
and waited on the dogs as we did not intend to stay out long.
I slipped off the old coon’s hide and hung it in a bush by the fire, then threw the carcass in a honeysuckle thicket.
We were in no hurry and Don had a flask of tequila.
So we sipped a few snorts and as we waited on the dogs.
As it was late and I was hungry,
I went to the honeysuckle thicket where I had thrown the carcass,
Whipped out my old skinning knife and cut half a dozen pieces of coon meat, and slipped them on a green stick.
Laid it on the coals and waited till they were well done
and then set them off the fire to cool.
We sipped some more cactus juice
and when the coon meat was cool,
pulled a piece off the stick and tried it.
It was good!
In fact it tasted fine and would have made a fine dinner
had we been able to chew it.
I was as tough of a piece of meat as I could have ever imagined.
Good tasting but tough!
And that reminds me…
A Chinese friend Jimmy who owned a restaurant in Duncanville,
tried coon meat and being from Taiwan had eaten just about everything.
He wanted to try Coon meat!
The thing back in Tiawan, where he was from was eating tigers
but they had ate them all up.
So I brought him a possum, a coon,
and odds and ends from my trap line.
Jimmy didn’t like the possum, when the Mexican cooks opened it back in the kitchen they all burst out laughing!
Jimmy came out and said,
“ Jack, that rabbit!”
And I said no jimmy, possum!
And he said “cooks say is rabbit!”
And that went on and on…
but it wasn’t good anyway,
so I brought Jimmy a Coon!
Next time I went in for a repast of my favorite dinner,
La Tzu Tzi.
He came over and said:
“Oh! Jack! I try meat of Kun! “
I said, well how did you like it?
And he said after holding his right and left jaws in his hands
and rocking his head back and forth,
Oh!
Tough!
Very tough!
It was not coon that found me an outlet for my extra trap line meat,
but Bobcat!
Jimmy loved it!
And boys, old Bobcat Conley took to selling Jimmy carcasses too!
Ted was a telephone co. retiree and had a trap line where a new lake
was built.
When they flooded the new lake
the cats down in the bottom were forced up the creeks
as the water filled the new lake.
He caught 10 cats that winter to my 3!
And said one night at the fur buyer meeting…
"Jack where did you say you sell that bobcat meat"?
I told him about old Jimmy,
I said to go to the restaurant after the people had left,
and don’t just walk in, everybody having dinner at Jimmies restaurant,
with a couple of bobcat carcasses.
Next time I saw old Ted selling fur to Al Barton the fur buyer,
he said he had been selling lots of cat carcasses to Jimmy
and they had really gotten on!
At seven dollars a carcass,
hey… you can’t go wrong!
Now Jimmy did not sell the meat to customers,
he saved that for when Grandmaw and Grandpaw came over,
as it was a delicacy.
You think they had hamburgers?
Hell no!
They had 'Mu-goo gia cat'!
J. Winters von Knife
jacksknifeshop.tripod.com/
~ About Death ~
Gentlemen,
Kinda early in the morning for such profoundly beautiful, moving,
surrealistic and 'kinda scary' posts.
But I died myself 7 years ago,
and was actually reported dead,
'Dead'. No breath, no pulse dead!
By the local police department.
So from one who has had first hand experiance in the matter:
Dying ain't so bad it is suffering and pain
associated with the dying that is bad.
My 'death' was an easy one.
I was coming home from the beer joint on 'old Thunder'
my '850 triple'.
{With a kick starter!}
One minute I was riding and the next I was in this bed in a hospital?
{5 weeks later}
Hmmmm?
No one wants to be 100 years old.
{Unless they are 99}
Then it looks 'real good'.
We don't die, our bodys die.
And no one wants to live in an old, sick,
worn out body anyway.
... But we would prefer to hang around
as long as we can.
And we would prefer to not suffer.
I know I would suffering is a drag.
Once we are dead we do not float around on a cloud
till the end of the world, or some such crap.
When we die we wake up.
Really.
We go on,
it is profoundly more interesting than this,
it is where we belong,
not in some animal body which dies.
Now on the other hand I kinda like
whats left of my old animal body
and intend on staying in it as long as I can.
I mean, I have done a lot of work on it educationally and physically.
I want to brew 'mein Bier' and hunt coon.
To have a good garden and make knives.
{Need a knife?}
Our animals have the same spirit as we do.
All life is God.
Every blade of grass had God in it.
Just a little less maybe.
All living things have the spirit.
We all go back to the great spirit when we die
and get reincarnated, whatever.
God spoke to me when I was in my coma
and I am writing a book on it.
But in short he said:
"Jack, get you some hounds and go coon hunting.
Your old dogs would be there with you if they could but they can't!
It hurts me to see you greiving for them 12 years.
Your getting old and you are missing your life.
Get you some hounds and go coon hunting"!
God.
And I woke up in the hospital,
7 years ago.
God sent me back,
and I have my orders.
J. Winters VonKnife
jacksknifeshop.tripod.com/
Quote:
Our animals have the same spirit as we do.
All life is God.
Every blade of grass had God in it.
Just a little less maybe.
All living things have the spirit.
We all go back to the great spirit when we die
and get reincarnated, whatever.
Sure sounds Pantheist to me. I am Pantheist.
__________________
Love the animals.
God has given them the rudiments of thought and joy untroubled.
Do not trouble it, don't harass them, don't deprive them of their happiness, don't work against God's intent.
Hi, I am just a houndsman.
I find God in nature, in the weather,
the animals and plants,
we are supposed to experiance the earth.
I find God most of all,
in my hounds, in the chase.
I am down here in Texas,
I see you are an avid poster on the 'front'.
Thanks and 'Howdy',
{you too Klandestine33}
J.Winters VonKnife
'and Sandymay'
~ About Death ~
Yes, I too see God in everything. The good and the bad. There are two sides to everything. Can't have the good without the bad. So when people question "WHY does God allow bad things to happen to good people?" Well that's just the way it is and you can't deny God just because there is a Bad aspect to something. It's just the flip side to the good. I think it has to do with something like the Seasons. You have Summer where everything is in bloom, then Winter where everything is dead but it's not really dead it's just dormant or in transition to another form. I know I've had Summers and Winters of the Soul. Spring and Autumn are seasons of Confusion, when things are changing. Like when our ideas are shaken. We are changing.
The Breath Fog Story
I was out hunting one night and the dogs bayed a coon
down on the creek.
When I got there they were down in the 40’ deep dry creek bottom.
I could see them raising hell and as I tried to shoot
a dog would get in the way!
I would wait till an opportune moment
and raise old squirrel grabber
and a dog would get in the way!
The battle would rage on and the coon was surrounded
and the dogs were howling enough to wake the dead!
I would see an opening and this time as I raised old grabber…
A strange thing happened.
It was fog!
I couldn’t see to shoot so I moved around and saw a shot
and raised my .22 and again!
I couldn’t see!
I repeated this over and over.
Finally I thought to myself ‘what the fxxx’!
I had been absorbed by the action going on
and had not really paid attention.
I wondered why a fog would be here and not there.
I stopped and looked down the upper creek bank
and saw four or five little clouds!
They were not moving or disapating,
they were just sitting there!
I realized they were breath clouds
and they were my frozen breath
but with no wind they would not move
but they just floated there,
five little breath clouds about 4' in diameter, all in a row!
They were one of the most beautiful and unusual sights
I had ever seen
and I had been hunting 40 years!
Now, when I was 'dead' and checked out by the policeman
the next morning, {7 years ago}
and reported dead.
{They can't change a police report, so I guess I am still dead...}
I remember God reading my memorys,
and focusing on the breath cloud story.
He 'musta liked that one' because
he specifically sent me back to experiance more .
'jeanmaniere1488'
Poor Dollymay died
Dolly was my best horse, she was perfectly gated and the smartest horse I ever had. I bought her from A. L. Brimer who lives across the woods from my uncle Ray Bryum, Troy and Roy were his two sons, Red was Troys Coon hunting mule. They told me that Red wouldn’t stay around unless I had some other horses or mules. She would jump the fence and travel untill she found another horse and stay with it because Red gets lonesome in a fenced in area alone. So I bought Red two other horses, as company for old Red.
Dollymay, was one of these, Sugarmay, was the other.
The last time I saw Dolly alive she was laying in the back pasture with Red and Sugarmay, watching over her, like they have done for the last 18 years. I yelled Dolly! Dolly! Are you alright and she kicked with her hind leg so I could see her and I thought she was alright. Then the next day she was not around. I thought she was down in the bottom eating high grass down there. After a couple of days she did not come back so I figured since Red and Sugar were here which was unlike them to separate, I went all over the woods and fields looking for Dolly. I saw James Reynolds and asked him about here, Jamed said Jack you probably will find her with your nose, and I did! Dolly was dead, 50 yards from from where I saw her last. Poor Dolly she was the best horse I ever had.
Poor Dolly
“ My Sweet Honey Dog,
Sue May is Gone”
She died in her sleep Valentines day 1991.
I’m up here in Denver and I’ll never see her again.
No one to bury her right, or see to things.
She’s gone and she sure leaves a big hole.
She had the prettiest voice that any dog ever had.
She was my water dog too!
My ice dog, and a good hunter. She caught that big Bobcat! Treed many Coon.
She would be alive today if I had been there,
but I’m off working in Denver
and sleeping in a closet, for seven weeks at the roofing company, later an apartment.
So we can have enough money to go hunting somewhere really nice our last few seasons together, before we get too
old.
She got no exercise this last fall,
but was just stuck in the dog pen the whole hunting season, her last.
With no fun or good food, no family or friends,
or anything to look forwards to. She got fat and sad in the dog pen alone and died of a broken heart.
It’s my fault Sue May.
I’ll always remember you Sue May honey, as long as I live, you…
Barry Dog, and Cotton Joe… are all one in a million, and if I had one wish.
I’d wish that when I die, we all are together in Heaven and can go hunting every night. Now there’s just Joe, Ranger, Scout, and Sport.
Four dogs all male’s, no soprano voice to sing so sweetly, no long sustained yodel to add color to the pack…
I am going to miss you Sue May - the best thing about hunting girl was your voice,
Just listening to you calling, the sound just rolling down the valleys and in the bottoms and echoing back again. It sure was fun girl. I'll love you for ever girl.
I'll think of you always -
I'll never let your memory fade. Till the day I die, I'll love you Sue May.
Good night girl.
Written on, or a day or so after Valentines day 1991
In Denver Colorado
Jack Winters Hamilton
Barrydog
I was given Barry dog when he was full grown 6-9 years.
And kept him for 5-6-7 years.
Barry was friendly to other dogs but was a good fighter and always went for the throat. He established himself as boss dog as soon as I brought him home.
Barry was so smart that I was determined to start a pack of hunting dogs and use Barry to train the pups obedience.
It was a few years after I got Barry that I saw an ad for some walker hounds and brought home Cotton Joe and Sue May.
Barry was perfect for rabbit hunting bird and squirrel too.
He would always go to the other side of a brush pile
and would go where I pointed instinctively.
He knew what we were doing {flushing game}.
So he would “check it out.”
Another command and we were a good team together.
We killed lots rabbits and birds I would not have been able to find were it not for Barry. For finding down game he was a great help as much help as he was in flushing it.
Me and old Barry went a hunting one day.
Some squirrels and some rabbits to try to delay.
I’d stomp brush piles and Barry would sniff around.
I’d shoot them from the trees and he’d catch them on the ground.
Good old Barry dog, best dog I ever had.
I had always wanted a good hunting dog
and Barry was perfect.
I decided to use Barry as a training dog
and after thinking long and hard I picked Walker Hounds.
Barry was great help in setting an example for young hounds.
I have a picture of Barry showing pups
how to get a neck hold on a coon dummy and shake it.
He showed them how to behave in the house sit,
lay down, stay, speak, no, would catch food in the air.
Knew ‘get out of that trash’, ‘get that cat’, ‘check it out’,
how to load unload and ride in the truck,
how to fight and kill game,
how to catch game on the ground and shake it,
how to swim and stay close to me when hunting,
how to be no trouble so that further training was much easier.
He always had run rabbits and such
but learned what we were after and would bark treed for hours
with the hounds on squirrel.
Now Barry dogs gone.
He knew he didn’t have long.
He coughed at night and fluid was filling his lungs.
He didn’t like all the pills he was getting and when we left home without him for the first time to go hunting we killed three coon,
three possums, two dellers, and one house cat.
Barry missed getting his teeth in coon fur by one day!
The next day he saw the coon and knew he had been left behind.
He was ok but his cough was worsening
and he had been made a house dog.
He was washed, trimmed, brushed and well fed.
He would sleep by my bed on a rug by the fire.
He knew he was old,
that night he was coughing real bad
even with his pills.
He asked to go out at 1:30 at night and didn’t come back.
A few minutes till two,
two hours was normal for him to be gone,
but by 3:30 4:00 I was worried.
I had stayed up with the light on but he never came back,
even though it was near freezing.
All the next day we looked and called but no one had seen him.
It was fixing to snow that night and was one hour till dark
when a neighbor came over and said he had seen Barry
laying in a field behind my dog pens.
We ran over and Mary found him dead
There was frozen fluid where he had strangled
and he looked to be peacefully sleeping.
He had just asked me to let him out
and had gone out to die alone.
He lay out back of the dog pens
where the land drops away to the west,
where his last day was spent alone
and away from us
so we couldn’t see his suffering.
Where there was a good view of the land
and the sunset.
This secluded setting
and the memory’s of his life
were his last thoughts.
Barry dog had a good life,
and I knew he was getting old fast
and had a good opportunity to honor him,
share my food and bed with him.
I told him many times he was my best dog
and made his last few years as comfortable as I could.
No, no dog had a better, longer,
or more eventful life.
He hunted every day,
ran free,
killed a coyote,
a grown male that is on my wall now 20 years later.
And the last hunt Barry was on,
noon to four pm the worst possible time
we killed eight squirrels two crows and a duck
and I missed a rabbit.
Barry went to the water for the duck
and brought back every stick within twenty feet of the duck.
Swam circles around it over and over.
But wouldn’t fetch the duck.
He was trained on sticks and balls when I got him
and would catch squirrels on the ground and kill them
but would not retrieve.
We had a good hunt but I remember Barry's worried look
when he had to cross the creek again on the way home.
He was slowing down,
he got to where he would stay with us as we walked
more and more.
He got out of breath tired and was stiff and tired
longer and longer after a hunt.
I hated to think of old Barry getting feeble and suffering.
He was in excellent health except for his lungs.
His coat was beautiful, his eyes bright,
his beautiful, friendly, loving and devoted smile
as he looked at me
will never be forgotten.
When a squirrel would try to run on the ground,
Barry would catch nine to Joe and Sue Mays one.
He was a good catch dog, a good bay dog,
and smart in different ways than the hounds.
He would always seem to be in right place at the right time.
He was a good dog and I sure wish I had pups like him.
Because he was a real individual!
His first owner, Richard Green {R.G.}
said he was easy to train except for his trash eating,
and learning to fight.
Old R.G. would say when Barry was a puppy
he would take Barry in the truck and drive the alleys
looking for a big, mean dog.
Stop, pull Barry out and say OK Barry,
learn how to fight
and throw him over the fence with the big mean dog,
and he said old Barry learned how to fight.
Barry has been buried in my back yard the last 25 years,
and I think about him every day.
He was my friend.
J. Knife and Sandymay
jacksknifeshop.tripod.com/
Hunting alone
this is my first walker dog and she finally made a tree (by herself)and well this is my first coondog and she worked a track for about 20 minutes and we got up and she was ballin in tha tree for about 20-30 minutes and it took 5-6 shots to get him out im really excited about my pup finally getting her first coon shes a gyp a year and four months :mrgreen: .
A hound a year and four months old treeing her own coon
is something to be congratulated.
'Buy her a Hambuger and tell her its from me.
{Just meat and bread please...}
Good luck...
J. Knife
thanks man and alright next time we grill i will and man its hard to find any body to go hunting with im 15 years old and nobody in my family hunts and most of my huntin buddies live atleast 20+ minutes away :roll: it sucks. but at the bright side atleast i do have huntin buddies
You just get used to going hunting alone.
Take a camera, write the stories down,
share them with us on the forum here.
I always hunt alone, just me and my hounds.
I'm 58 years old and have always done it that way.
I'm down here in Texas {a long way from KY}
but you'll get used to it,
and you'll write better stories,
have better memories and with a lot less hassle,
it's not about people.
It's your hounds... and the hunt...
Thank you
J.Winters von Knife
{I Hunt Walkers too}
thanks and yea they sure learn quik and dont you ever get a erie feeling when i get out there by myself and hear everything but my dog it just spooks me up a bit.
run walkers
Yes, it is real weird out in the middle of the woods late at night.
It always is erie and spooky,
but 'erieness' and 'spookiness' is what one gets used to.
Not that it is any less erie or spooky.
But one gets to liking it,
the 'strangeness' of the woods at night.
Remember nothing out in the woods is as dangerous as you are.
You and your gun, and your knife.
You may fall out of a tree, fall off a cliff, fall in a hole,
lay out there for a few days till someone finds you.
But that is what I mean by getting used to it.
Be careful.
Hunt places you have been to in the daytime.
So you can know where dangerous places are.
Watch your eyes, a Nite Lite on real low,
barely on, will make limbs show up
so you don't stick one in your eye.
Creek crossings and cliffs are best learned in the daytime too.
A young Doctor from Rains county
{real wooded and lots of redneck hunter types}
who I met,
and who turned out to be 'a second cousin' said:
I've never been Coon Hunting.
Guys go coon hunting in the Sabine river bottoms drunk as dogs,
and some never come back.
Their trucks are found and most of their dogs
but they are never found.
Another older Doctor said:
But what happens to them?
"Thats the Sabine river bottoms".
No one knows,
they fall in a hole and the earth moves covering them up.
Or fall in the river and get eaten by turtles.
No body knows.
I said:
Well, what do you want to do?
Live forever?
Good Luck...
J. Winters von Knife
and Sandymaydog
Coyotes are 'the ultimate dog'
Gentlemen,
Coyotes,
I've killed a hundred of them.
Took three to the fur buyer in one week 25 years ago,
three nice ones case skinned, they were beautiful.
Coyotes are the ultimate prey for a hunter or a trapper
and a man can learn a lot from them.
But I realized years ago, that Coyotes 'are'...
really just Dogs. The ultimate dog.
And I loved my hounds, {all gone now}
more than anyone here could ever imagine.
{They were dogs too}
But "A Coyote is a dog":
is not only true, it is a profound, beautiful and spiritual truth.
A coyote is 'the ultimate dog'.
Nobody feeds him,
nobody takes him to the vet,
he has to deal with rabies, parvo, heartworms,
wounds and such if he lives 2-3 years he is lucky!
My old fur buyer said to me once:
"He wouldn't have it any other way."
"The Coyote doesn't want any help"
Add to that situation every human is out after old Yote.
Hunting them down like well... dogs.
Sorry...
But I respect their pride.
I respect their self reliance, I do.
I makes me feel good to hear them howling at night,
and I don't like to kill them any more.
Like the old Mexican Coredo {ballad} goes...
"El Coyote is just out looking for something for his family to eat."
Metal spinning targets are fun,
as are just throwing beer bottles in the creek
and shooting them as they drift past,
especially during a flood when they move really fast!
Cut the Yotes some slack,
unless you skin them or boil their skulls,
use glands, leaf fat, urine and dung for lure or something.
And yeah... $25. sounds real good...
But just to shoot a dog and throw him in the ditch
makes my heart sick and sad.
A man can learn a lot from 'old Coyote'.
Thank you
J. Winters von Knife
jacksknifeshop.tripod.com/
The pride of your life will come hard
The true message is Failure,
misery and being alone and way off from other people.
Its miles and miles, lost, tired,
thirsty and mad because you are lost.
It’s 3:30 in the morning, and you are down south
east of Corsicana somewhere,
you have no idea which direction the truck is!
A hunter must really suffer on these early hunts,
and you will.
The fine expert pack,
the pride of your life will come hard.
You can not know the one without the other,
A life lesson, the feeling you get from hunting with them
as they get better, grow improve,
become trained killers and hunters and you too.
Pride!
Depth of thought and feeling, wisdom, and words,
yes words are tools to paint the true picture,
the message.
Write down the messages as the words come,
and pick the right words to tell the story.
Goal, the true message,
{they,} the reader,
cannot know the message!
So tell them in words, try to transfer the feelings,
the feeling are the subject.
If I could but put them in words,
I could stay home all the time, write,
and not on the freeway!
Write what makes me feel good,
like Marty felt when I told the devil coon story
when Joe dog said “ I’m gonna kill that coon!”
I should walk, sit, ride and when the exciting thought comes,
the one that makes me cry like seeing Joe’s ghost,
The thoughts that make me feel excited like Marty did.
“and I knew Joe was alright.”
Sad, fun, exciting, or beautiful like weather changes,
like the frozen fog breath story where Joe and the other dogs
had a coon bayed in the creek bottom below me,
I couldn’t see anything because of my breath was a stationary
frozen cloud of ice.
And as tired as I was and I was breathing hard
and had to continually move up and down the bank of the creek
to get a shot through that d**n 'ice cloud'
that wouldn’t move.
There was no wind!
Really fun kills, fun like the fur buyer meeting
at the hilltop Mobil once a week.
Once a week human contact is cool.
The stories are the vehicle to carry the true message.
The emotion love, hate, the kill, the happiness,
the true message!
Go on.
The competent killer, bang, rip, lets eat.
Turning the d**n Dallas Sheriffs dept. swat team down
because “I won’t kill people for money.”
But Jack you kill coyotes for money and they don’t pay nearly as much.” “We are talking about $40,000.00 a year and a retirement!
And you have said how you love and respect coyotes
much more that you do people!
” But you kill them!”
And I reply, interesting, true!
Yes, I would seem a contradiction,
but I’m not interested,
Keep your dxxx money!
My conscience is not for sale.
As I sit and reflect on my life remember this!
The feeling, danger, exhaustion, tired, dirty,
a great shot, skinner, remember this!
Walker hounds, I am willing to work so hard at this.
To walk miles, all night for $20.
It is a strange and difficult to explain, to a nonhunter.
It is freedom the woods at night.
The beauty, the power, you can smell the air,
you can hear the trees, the dogs, the happy hounds.
[this is your, - was my life.]
you can understand them,
you know what they are saying, the timber,
the pitch, the volume, how they bark or howl,
you know each dogs name and voice!
You can tell who is saying what!
Just like you are connected to them,
you are, like they are spiritually an extension of myself.
[Because – Which] they are,
I was in a coma for 5 weeks and Joedog was there with me,
but Joe’s been dead for 14 years,
it was the spirit of Joedog,
and he appeared to me as his old self.
'So I WOULD KNOW HIM',
I’m not sure if the true message, is always an emotion,
a feeling, it is also a thought,
pride is a feeling, useful information is a bonus,
it makes a story real,
it is part of a book, the true message!
Is failure, misery, miles and miles,
lost tired thirsty and dirty and mad,
mad that you are lost!
When you chase down your hounds and scream and yell
and beat them over and over for years,
trying to get them to stop chasing rabbits.
And after years you get them going not chasing rabbits
and one October night as you and your Dan and Ann
or my Joe and Sue may are jogging behind the truck
on a leash, late at night,
miles and miles, getting in shape to hunt all winter.
And for a rest you are running with them,
your nightly two miles, along the dark dirt road
out by the graveyard .
Joe and Sue may are side by side right in front of you
3-4’ ahead,
as if they were yoked together!
And a rabbit runs right across the street in front of you
and the dogs and they don’t even break stride
and don’t even look to the right or left!
The rabbit runs within 10’ right in front of you and your dog’s,
and they don’t care because they are coon hounds now
and they know this and the pride… yes it is pride.
When you look back on your life and you will,
you will see!
It was worth it!
You were right and all the others,
all of them were wrong!
It was worth it.
J. Winters von Knife
July-August 03
“Coon Hunting with the Gourmet Chef”
One night Don and I were out on a hunt by my house,
just down on the creek. We had one coon
and while the dogs were finding another
we built a fire just to be warm while we skinned the coon
and waited on the dogs as we did not intend to stay out long.
I slipped off the old coon’s hide and hung it in a bush by the fire, then threw the carcass in a honeysuckle thicket.
We were in no hurry and Don had a flask of tequila.
So we sipped a few snorts and as we waited on the dogs.
As it was late and I was hungry,
I went to the honeysuckle thicket where I had thrown the carcass,
Whipped out my old skinning knife and cut half a dozen pieces of coon meat, and slipped them on a green stick.
Laid it on the coals and waited till they were well done
and then set them off the fire to cool.
We sipped some more cactus juice
and when the coon meat was cool,
pulled a piece off the stick and tried it.
It was good!
In fact it tasted fine and would have made a fine dinner
had we been able to chew it.
I was as tough of a piece of meat as I could have ever imagined.
Good tasting but tough!
And that reminds me…
A Chinese friend Jimmy who owned a restaurant in Duncanville,
tried coon meat and being from Taiwan had eaten just about everything.
He wanted to try Coon meat!
The thing back in Tiawan, where he was from was eating tigers
but they had ate them all up.
So I brought him a possum, a coon,
and odds and ends from my trap line.
Jimmy didn’t like the possum, when the Mexican cooks opened it back in the kitchen they all burst out laughing!
Jimmy came out and said,
“ Jack, that rabbit!”
And I said no jimmy, possum!
And he said “cooks say is rabbit!”
And that went on and on…
but it wasn’t good anyway,
so I brought Jimmy a Coon!
Next time I went in for a repast of my favorite dinner,
La Tzu Tzi.
He came over and said:
“Oh! Jack! I try meat of Kun! “
I said, well how did you like it?
And he said after holding his right and left jaws in his hands
and rocking his head back and forth,
Oh!
Tough!
Very tough!
It was not coon that found me an outlet for my extra trap line meat,
but Bobcat!
Jimmy loved it!
And boys, old Bobcat Conley took to selling Jimmy carcasses too!
Ted was a telephone co. retiree and had a trap line where a new lake
was built.
When they flooded the new lake
the cats down in the bottom were forced up the creeks
as the water filled the new lake.
He caught 10 cats that winter to my 3!
And said one night at the fur buyer meeting…
"Jack where did you say you sell that bobcat meat"?
I told him about old Jimmy,
I said to go to the restaurant after the people had left,
and don’t just walk in, everybody having dinner at Jimmies restaurant,
with a couple of bobcat carcasses.
Next time I saw old Ted selling fur to Al Barton the fur buyer,
he said he had been selling lots of cat carcasses to Jimmy
and they had really gotten on!
At seven dollars a carcass,
hey… you can’t go wrong!
Now Jimmy did not sell the meat to customers,
he saved that for when Grandmaw and Grandpaw came over,
as it was a delicacy.
You think they had hamburgers?
Hell no!
They had 'Mu-goo gia cat'!
J. Winters von Knife
jacksknifeshop.tripod.com/