NOTHING BUT A HOUNDDOG

"Not hide nor hair" drawled the camouflaged hunter to my asking if he'd seen a couple of hounds running loose through the Monroe County hills.

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Cunee and George had been missing for two days since our Fall hike in the Second Creek gorge. Nine-year-old Jacob had run back and forth with the dogs as we walked the muddy streamside trail. 

"Moss, moss" screamed six-year-old Ella whenever she saw green fuzz growing on a rock or tree.

"It must be your spirit animal" I joked as we patted the soft mat.

And then the dogs were gone, a faint yipping from the little Rhodesian ridgenose somewhere on the hillside across the creek signalling the hunt was on. 

We went on to the walkbridge where the kids threw sweetgum balls into the fast moving creek as I huffed into cupped hands with my loudest whistle that had never before failed to bring our tall black-and-tan coonhound running.

A chill descended into the gorge as the sun slipped behind dark clouds so we turned back, stopping for a whistle every few minutes. Then a cold rain started as we gazed across the creek willing our hounds to appear. Two more hours of watching through the windshield wipers and the kids had had enough. 

Three more trips back to the gorge in thunderstorms over the next day and a half and I'd had enough of whistling and waiting. Cancelling clinic for the next morning, I broke out the hydration pack and the Odwalla bars and set out at a trot along the now raging creek, crossing over the bridge near where they'd taken off. After two hours of winding through the rolling hills, I came across the hunter squatting in the brush.

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"Send them down to the creek" I called, turning back toward the gorge by a different drainage.

"Will do" he waved before melting back into the shrubs. 

I got back to the big blue Isuzu three hours after I had set out and there they were, watching me and whining from across the flood. I started back for the bridge hoping they'd follow, but Cunee leapt into the torrent and paddled hard despite getting washed a hundred yards downstream. George was frantic but finally made the leap when he saw the big hound wading out. The poor little guy was swept under a muddy wave, reappearing over a ledge paddling madly with his nose poking up into the air.

"I got you George" I called, leaning off a rock to grab him by the scruff of the neck. 

He just whined, licked my hands, and ran to the back of the Trooper with tail and bottom wiggling.

"Time to go home" I soothed, driving up out of the gorge as they curled up fast asleep in the back.

It was a joyous reunion after school as two dogs bounded out to greet two children climbing down from a yellow school bus, their two day ordeal in the cold rain seemingly forgotten. Forever thereafter, however, two shivering hounds appeared by my side at the first distant rumble.