IN PASSING

The pup was lapping up the last crumbs of a bowl of bread and milk when my Father walked up and said, "That’s a mighty pretty pup you have there, where did you get him?"

"He’s a drop dog Dad, I just found him up there in the road. He was lying there in the ditch line and I brought him down here and fed him some bread and milk. Ain’t he a rounder?" I replied.

The name Rounder stuck and like every other dog in the family my father added Old to the front and Old Rounder became a member of the family.

Sometimes an old bitch dog would have a litter of mixed breed puppies. The owner of the bitch couldn’t sell or give the pups away and didn’t have the heart to kill or dispose of them so they just dropped them near the homes throughout the community hoping someone would take them in and give them a good home. They were know as drop dogs!

My Father had taken my last dog Old Queen and made a fox hound out of her. He wouldn’t let me use her to hunt small game like rabbits or flush birds. For all intents and purposes she was his dog.

Now, Old Rounder was my kind of dog. Right off I trained him to hunt small game and he became the best rabbit and bird dog you could find anywhere. He became my companion, my protector and my friend!

Old Rounder was about three years old when my Father convinced me to see if he would be any good at fox hunting. That dog took to fox hunting like a hog to slop. He led the pack right from the start. My Father couldn’t believe his ears. Old Rounder would chase a fox all night and the very next day was ready to go bird or rabbit hunting!

Circumstances during World War II took me to distant and foreign places. All the while Old Rounder remained in my heart and in my mind, a constant reminder of a place called home.

When I returned Old Rounder was the first to welcome me home!

The music was mellow, so soft and so sweet.
Old Rounder lay yawning on the mat at my feet.
I patted his head as I stared at the fire
And deep in my heart was a burning desire
To hear once again his musical wail
In red hot pursuit on a red fox’s trail.
Or to hear the sweet notes ‘neath a round harvest moon
When Old Rounder would bay as he treed a raccoon.
To hear the loud flush of a fat breasted grouse
When Old Rounder would stand just as still as a mouse!
To see the outline of a ten pointed deer
And Old Rounder gaining with each leap at his rear.
I was thinking aloud of these memories so sweet
When I reached down to pat my friend at my feet.
His front paws were still on the rug ‘neath his head
And I knew when I touched him, Old Rounder was dead!