Hound Dog

When Johnny Miller was little, his Daddy had a number of jobs - anything to keep food on the table. While he'd grow vegetables in the spring and summer, and cut wood in the fall and winter, he also had other jobs. For a time, he worked in the next county over, at a lumber mill. He and his cousin would ride up together, in the afternoon, and come back, in the early morning hours.

Country living was nothing new to Johnny's Momma, but, sometimes, even with the kids, two younger, and three older, around, things would happen that unsettled them. One evening, the old black and tan hound dog (whose name was Hound Dog), who usually laid around the yard doing nothing much at all, kept barking and barking. Obviously, something had him spooked. It was early evening, getting dark already, but Mom stuck her head out of the front door, and listened to the evening air.

In front of the house, the sidewalk ran out, though the gate, to the driveway next to the road. Along about where the fence was, was a tall post, with a light bulb attached to the top. It wasn't much, as far as streetlights go, but, it was what they had. Inside the yard, several feet from the post with the light bulb dangling off it, was a rosebush, all grown up thick and thorny, with a ton of leaves buried down next to the stems. And in this mess of leaves and thorns and such, an ominous rattling sound could be heard.

Johnny's Momma went inside, and got the old .22 rifle, which had a chamber that held sixteen bullets, and brought it outside. The kids were told to stay inside, and, shaking slightly in fear, and, probably, rage, at this invader, she walked across the yard, to within a few feet of the rosebush, and proceeded to empty the rifle into the darkness, at the source of the rattling sound, until all the bullets were gone, and all the rattling had stopped. She was shaken, no doubt, but had succeeded in quieting the beast which had disturbed the hound's sleep.

The next morning, when it was light enough to see by, Johnny's Daddy went out to investigate. What he found there, in the tangled, thorny stems of the rosebush, was the remains of a rather large rattlesnake. They were able to count at least fourteen separate wounds in the carcass of that snake, and that was one snake would never again invade their yard.

The old hound dog was almost like a burglar alarm. Burglars were not known there, in those days, but if anything was amiss, Hound would tell them about it. Living at the last house on a country road, that continued on into the forest, well, it was good for the soul to be so near nature, but at times, when someone had cut through the forest road, and almost run out of gas, the Miller place was the first place they’d come to.

Once in a while, gas would be gone from the gas tank, Hound or not. On one particular evening, Hound kept acting up, like something was going on. Gas had disappeared a couple of times, recently, and Mr. Miller was getting tired of it. He’d have gladly given some gas to anyone who was stranded, but to have them come up in the middle of the night and just help themselves wasn’t right. He went outside, and listened for a few minutes. And, in the field opposite the house, behind the wild roses that climbed the fence there, he thought he could almost hear rustling, in the grass.

He went back inside, and not knowing if it was somebody, or a wild creature, or his imagination, he got the old 12 gauge shotgun, and stood out on the front porch, and unloaded that gun into the air, once, and then twice, over the heads of whoever might be there. He called out and said, “Whoever you are, if you need something, come on in, otherwise, go back where you came from…” No one ever answered, although, a little while later, a car could be heard, firing up, a half mile or so up the road, and it drove past in the blackness of the night.

A few days later, in Armadillo Creek, Johnny’s Dad was told that someone had heard the rumor that nobody had better be found out that way, at night, sneaking around, because they were liable to get shot at. Somehow, that struck everyone’s funny bone, because the last thing the Millers would do is hurt someone over something so small, but, at the same time, it was nice to know that nobody would be around, stealing gas in the middle of the night. And, never again was it a problem.