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My Favorite Hound !!!!!!!!!!

Every hunter has has a hound that was their all time Favorite. This hound may have been the Best hound that you have ever owned. Maybe just the Hound that you had the Most fun hunting. Maybe just a Hound that you had Great respect for. Maybe just a Hound that you had Great history with.
We all have our own reasons for calling One Hound our Favorite. Take some time and tell us about Your Favorite Hound He or She deserves the recognition. A picture would be nice if you have one.
Guy's keep this to One hound. If you can't pick just one Don't Post, The Hounds that made themselves a Hunters Favorite deserve to have this Thread to Themselves. They have proven to Be in a class by themselves.

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Jess
Light Foot English

"They are often imitated but never duplicated"

Light Foot Buggs

Old Buggs was the 2nd generation of Light Foot Hounds that I had ever owned and his story could fill a book. I will try to keep this to the Readers Digest version.
I sold Buggs at 5mths old. He had dropped out of tough corn Field race and Treed like a 5 year old hound. Buggs sire and his brother were starting to put some serious distance between themselves and the spotted dogs we were hunting with that night. Glen was the man that owned those spotted dogs, Had owned their ancestors for years. Glen and I were friends and hunting buddies, Had been for several years.
Glen turns to me and said well I better go get My pup. We walked to that tree in silence both thinking of what Glen had said. "My pup" Glen had not owned anything other than a Walker dog for 30 years, I had enjoyed the friendly rivalry about what breed was Best many a night. For Glen to want one of My pups was a Big Deal to a 20 year old hunter like myself.
When we had gathered the dogs Glen wrote me a check for $1000.00 loaded his pup, Shook hands and drove off. As I stood there watching that truck fade into the night I wondered
"How long will it be until I hunt with Buggs Again"
I knew Glen, He was going to hunt that pup alone for a year or so at least. I lost my pup and my hunting Buddie that night, At least for a year or so.
About 8mths later My job Moved me, I went over to Glen's to check on him, Glen was in his 70s already. Glen and his pup were out of town and wouldn't be back for a week. I left without saying Good Bye to either.
Bugg's sire was becoming a well known Hound nation wide as was the litter-mate that I had kept. Being a young man and trying to hunt and support a family I never got around to checking on Buggs and Glen, I should have but didn't.
About a year later I lost Both Ike,Singer the Same night. I was just sick. I buried my hunting gear with the dogs and Swore to Never hunt again. Six months later I started looking for another pup out of Ike to hunt. The people that had them either wouldn't sell or priced me out of the market. I spend several years without a hound.
One day I got a call from the air port telling me that my dog was in and I needed to Pick him up. I tried explaining that I didn't have hounds anymore. The airline people said Pick Up this Hound or we will take him to the pound and You Will pay the Bill.
I thought the Hound must have been sent to me by mistake. I didn't want someone to loose their hound. So I went to pick this Mystery hound up. What I found was a Great looking tri-colored dog, I knew he was out of my hounds but I had never hear of the guy who had sent him, The shipping had been paid by the shipper. I took the dog home without so much as a dog house or chain for him. I bought a chain and let him sleep in the shipping create until the weekend when I was planing to build a dog house.
After building the dog house I took the sky kennel apart and taped to the inside was a set of puppy papers, Bugg's had come home.
I was so happy that I could have danced a jig. I ran to the house to call and thank Glen and to ask about Bugg's. The guy who answered the phone was not Glen but he knew about the dog and told me the story.
Glen had a bad stroke the week that I had left, Glen could never hunt again and could not speak. Glen had spent his days sitting in the kennel with Bugg's I guess just thinking about the times they had together hunting. When Glen passed he was in the Kennel with Buggs, They had to dart Bugg's because he would not let anyone around Glen. Glen's daughter was not a hunter and didn't want a hound so she had sent Bugg's to me.
Bugg's had not been hunted but six months of his nearly six years of life. I knew that he was still going to make a hound, I didn't know that Bugg's was going to be a Great hound.
To this very day If I had to bet my life on a hunt, Bugg's would be the hound that I would turn loose.
Bugg's had Great physical toughness, Bugg's just never got tired or worn out. I have road hunted him as far as 20 miles a night for weeks at a time and the dog never even got foot sore. Bugg's had as good a nose as any hound that I ever hunted, Bugg's was as good a pressure tree dog as I have ever seen. Bugg's had enough Guts to Kill a Wolverine by himself. ... Although Buggs was Hurt so badly that he was never the same after that, I did hunt him hard for another 3 years.
I have never Owned or Hunted with a Hound that was as Physically or Mentally tough, I never Owned or Hunted with a hound that was more Strong Willed and Determined. Bugg's was a Great looking hound with a Great Mouth. And like Glen, Bugg's was my friend and hunting Buddie.
Light Foot Bugg's was My Favorite Hound.

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Jess
Light Foot English

"They are often imitated but never duplicated"

Favorite hound

Who could compete with that story !? THANKS!!

Knifeman

Tonight 24 years ago Bugg's was killed by a 18 wheeler . I guess I will always think of old Buggs on the day he died. Every hunter Should own a hound like Bugg's at least one time. It will change they way you look at hounds for the rest of your life.

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Jess
Light Foot English

"They are often imitated but never duplicated"

Great story Jess.

Fantastic!

But I cried like a baby... What a beautiful story about your friend and his beloved hound... I see myself in him....

Thanks for sharing and I hope we hear a few more great stories....

Happy Hunting and Happy Memories! Heather

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I had to look for this on another site. I written it several times on different boards and didn't want to type all this again so I copied it over.

My favorite hound was a redbone unimaginatively named Red. Kind of a big houndy looking dog with a bawl mouth. He wasn't mine, but was owned by a friend of mine, Tom Lane. The local sheriff lived nearby and happened to be a coonhunter and breeder of redbones. Tom's dad was at his house one evening while the sheriff was showing off his newest litter of pups. Mr. Lane wasn't a coonhunter and, at the time, didn't even know what a coonhound was, but he liked the looks of the dogs and commented to the sheriff how he wouldn't mind having one if he thought his wife wouldn't divorce him. Most of the pups were spoken for before the mating had even taken place and he ended up selling all but one male. He couldn't find anyone to buy him so, remembering Mr. Lane's fondness for the pup, he showed up at my buddies doorstep with pup in hand. The Mrs. fell in love with him at first glance, as most do when they see a redbone pup, or any pup for that matter. They let Red sleep in what they called the mud room. It was a room with a dirt floor downstairs from the kitchen where they hung their coats and kept their shoes. They left the door open and Red came and went as he pleased. Anyway one morning when Red was about a year old Tom couldn't find him. He gathered the rest of the family and they started looking and calling. After a while they heard something behind the barn down by the creek and soon figured out it was Red barking. They called to him, but he would not come. They were worried something was wrong so Tom and his Dad hiked down to the creek and found Red with his feet on an old oak barking like they had never seen before. They looked up to find a coon staring down at them from a fork in the tree. That was all it took. Red was a coondog, a self-made coondog at that. I started hunting with Tom and Red when I was about 11 or 12 years old and Red was about 3 or 4 at the time. We hunted him all through middle school and high school with great pleasure and success. I had never coonhunted before and we had a ball. My mom let me stay out late, sometimes all night, as long as we were hunting. That was a big deal for a 12 year old, but if I wasn't hunting I had to be in at dark no other reason was good enough to be out late. One early winter night in the mid 80's, I want to say '85 but I'm not sure, we turned Red out about 9:00 pm and didn't get back until well after sun up. We actually tried to go home several times, but the dog kept treeing coon after coon. We had a cotton sack we used as a game bag and it got so heavy we couldn't drag it and had to make two trips to get them out, 18 in all. That was back when fur prices were high and Tom's Dad used to make us buy a bag of dog food every time we took Red out. That night he made us buy two bags, but we didn't care. If I remember correctly we got well over $300 for those coons without skinning them out. A lot of money for a couple of kids. Three times that night the dog treed two coons in two different trees at the same time. The first time he did it I thought he had lost his mind as I watched him running back and forth between the two trees, but Tom knew his dog and he knew if Red put his feet on a tree there was a coon in it and he was right. I've never hunted with another dog that has even done that once. I've been searching for a dog half that good ever since. We hunted that dog until he just couldn't go anymore. The last time we took him out was my senior year in high school and Red couldn't even get through a 3 strand barb wire fence by himself. When he ran a track up to a fence he would stand there and bark. One of us had to jump the fence while the other picked him up and handed him to the person on the other side. We put him down and off he went, a little slower than he used to, but he went. He treed two coons for us that night, a small one in an apple tree that we let go and big boar in an oak that we shot out, and I believe those were the last coons Red ever treed and I'm proud to say I was there with him at the finish line. I wish more than anything I could turn Red out one more time. The really bad part was that Red was the first dog I ever coon hunted with and didn't have anything to compare him to so I never realized just how special he was until several years and a few worthless dogs later. Red handled like a house pet. He never even left the yard, unless we were hunting. He never even messed with the feral cats the patrolled the barn. I remember him laying there in the sun as cats walked within a few feet of him and he wouldn't even pick up his head. He looked like one of those lazy bloodhounds from Hee Haw until you said, "C'mon Red let's go" and he would come barreling like a freight train with his head low and his ears back. We never had use a lead he stayed right with us. Hell, he never even had a collar to clip one to, but once Tom gave the command to find a coon he was gone. He wasn't my dog, but I spent so much time with him and have so many great memories associated with that dog I feel like he was. I've since gave up coon hunting, concentrating on bears, but Red is the dog that started it all for me. Sorry about the rambling, but I love talking about that dog.

Jim

Awesome Jim!

When I was a teen girl I followed a red dawg named Sheba... your story reminded me of her and why I love this whole coonhound thing....
I have to say Sheba would be my favorite hound. Owned by a dear friend. Brain injury has taken memories away from me so I can't describe the hunts I followed her on. The thing I recall the most is the time spent with Shebas head in my lap as I babbled with her owner. She was all coon dgo in the woods and I was NEVER allowed to handle her in the woods. Out of the woods she was gentle and so loving. I couldn't handle her....I THINK... because her owner was afraid I'd ruin her Also the one thing I do recall, whether we were with Sheba or one of the other coonhounds I never went to a slick tree. Coon were abundent in MA in the 1970s and I just assumed a coondog didn't Stop till it found a coon...LOL... I was a bit surprised when I first came on this UKC forum after about 25years without coonhounds in my life... that they slick treed! Live and learn.......

HappyHunting! Heather

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Jim

Good Story
The first Good dog I ever hunted with was a redbone . Sounded like the same dog.

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Jess
Light Foot English

"They are often imitated but never duplicated"

I guess my favorite would have to be my dads old walker dog named Witch.
She was a finished coondog by the end of her first coon season. Before her second coon season , dad decided he wanted to try bear hunting. Him and I (I was only 12 ) and several friends took our " coon " dogs and headed to northern Michigan.
I remember when we got there and was setting up camp , a couple bear hunters stopped in and was talking. They asked if we had a " start " dog. We had no idea that we were supposed to have a start dog. Nobody ever told us that. LOL
The next morning , we had found a track and when daylight came dad got Witch out. He walked her to the track and as soon as she started smelling the ferns , she layed down like she was gonna get a whoopin'. LOL
Dad talked to her a little bit and petted her and pretty soon she was back up on her feet. He turned her loose and away she went.
We ran bear every day that year. I , being the kid , took turns riding in each of the trucks all week. I seen 13 bears cross the road that week. We even killed one on the last day.
That was before tracking collars and the woods we were pretty big so I can't say for sure how many we treed and couldn't hear the dogs.
If we lost her , she was always back on dads coat ( where we turned her out ) within a few hours. She was a good " homer ". Other dogs , we might loose for a few days to a week , but not her.
The 2nd year we went , dad turned her loose when we got into camp. She made a round of the camp and then went over to the same tree he had tied her to the year before. She layed down and watch us unpack and set up camp before dad went and tied her up.
At 13 years old , dad let her ride up in the front seat with him all the way up there. When we turned onto the camp road , she stood up in the seat and started wagging her tail. Again , he turned her loose and she went to " her " tree. Dad said she was just there for the ride as he wasn't going to turn her loose on bear anymore because she was too old.
Well , after going all week without getting a bear going , dad pulled her out on the last day. He asked everybody to catch her the first chance they got. She did her job and got the bear jumped , but she also got acrossed the first road without getting caught. I think she knew everybody was out to catch her because she shut up about 100 yards before crossing and didn't open again till after she was acrossed. And she was still leading the race ! LOL
Well , we finally got her caught. But that year was when I found out what those guys had meant about a " start " dog.
Dad had been saying for the last few years that a bear track wuld be the last track she ever run. I'm not sure if he really believed that or what.
Coon season opened a week after we got home from bear season. We always went opening night and so we loaded up Witch , Sally ( a 5 year old ) , and Lady ( pup ). We turned loose in the first spot and waited. After about 10 minutes , we heard Sally open. Within a minute or two , Witch came running by us on her way to Sally. We waited and waited for Witch to open. Sally went on and treed and still no Witch. We walked into the tree and shot the coon out. Still no Witch. A farmer found her a couple days later under his barn. She was still alive so dad rushed her to the vet. He said she had either had a heart attack or stroke , but he couldn't tell for sure which. Dad told him to go ahead and put her down.
That dog was just as good of coondog as she was a bear dog. I know it's an old cliche , but she'd tree coon when other dogs couldn't.
Dad used to say that she was " Just shy of being able to drive a truck ". LOL
Alot of folks say " the deader , the better ". But , I went hunting with a bluetick man last winter. When he asked my name , he asked if I was related to Jack Brooks. I said that I was his son. He stopped and looked at me for a minute , and then said " Buddy , that Witch dog he had was a coondog ! "
A bluetick man remembered that walker dog after more than 20 years. I believe that says something right there.

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Bob Brooks /
Jordan Tyler (grandson)

BackWoods River Walkers/Beagles
Just all 'round , meat gettin' hounds.

Witch....

... Nice Story JackBob! I can see her in her old age, the face greyed. I love an old hound....
I'm way too soft... this thread is going to get me crying over and over....LOL... I don't mind a bit. These stories suck me right in and I go on each of the hunts.

Keep em coming! Heather

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Great stories for sure!!!!