Bottom of the Bucket

From the archives of Paul Corbin

As I look back through the list of articles I have had published in various magazines during the past ten years, I find that I have written about my famous ancestors, my literate coon dog, my experience as a gold miner, how I became an archaeologist, how I cured my not-so-common cold, and 180 other fragments of my fickle mind.

I have worn out two computers during this time, and they have been very loyal in helping me find something to write about. But now, as I gaze into the monitor of this ole PC, it looks like an empty bucket. I have rattled this bucket, and I have rattled this bucket, but there just ain't nothing there.

Other writers have told me that, when everything else fails, you can always write about a pet, like a cat or a dog. Now, I have never had a pet cat, but I have had some pretty good dogs in my time. Most of them were hunting dogs, so, if you think you can tolerate another one of my wild hunting stories, just hang on and we will follow old Kyrucus, as he closed out his coon chasing career.

Old Ky was really good at treeing coons. When he found a coon track, it didn't take him but just a few minutes to make that old coon climb a tree, but sometimes it would take an hour for me to shine the coon's eyes, so I could shoot him out of the tree. This was taking up too much of my time, but I had an an idea as to how I could solve this problem.

You see, I also had a pet monkey I called "Chimp," and I had trained him to wear a holster and carry a 22 pistol. That monkey was so good with that pistol that he could go around the slough bank and shoot bullfrogs, birds, and occasionally a squirrel, so I took him coon hunting with me. When Kyrucus treed a coon, I strapped the holster on Chimp and sent him up the tree. In just a few minutes, I heard that 22 go off, and the coon came tumbling out of the tree.

This plan worked so well that we harvested over 50 coons that winter. But, when the next season rolled around, old Kyrucus had a bad case of lumbago and could hardly walk. So there I was with a monkey to shoot coons but no dog to tree them. I solved the problem by putting old Kyrucus in a wheelbarrow. I fixed him a good soft place to sit, and I would push the wheelbarrow around through the woods. When we came across a coon track, old Kyrucus would start barking and would tell me which way to go by pointing with his left or right front foot.

One evening, when it was barely getting dark, we had gone only a short ways into the woods, when old KY let me know we were on a hot trail. We followed this coon trail just a short distance, when old KY pointed out a big tree and barked "treed." I sent Chimp up the tree with his pistol, and he must have stayed up that tree for half an hour. He came down without having fired a shot. I could see Chimp was angry with Kyrucus for lying to him about the coon, and he just walked over to him and shot him!

I rushed back to my truck with Kyrucus and took him to the vet. He examined Kyrucus, turned to me and said, "I think your dog is going to die." I was heartbroken and asked if we could get another opinion. The vet was very cooperative. He opened the door of an adjoining room, and a big black Labrador dog walked in. This dog sniffed around Kyrucus, giving him the once over and walked back out of the room.

"Old Lab concurs with my opinion," said the vet. "We both think your dog is going to die."

He opened another door, and a big yellow cat walked in. The cat also walked clear around Kyrucus and then walked back out the door.

"We all concur that your dog is going to die," said the vet.

At this point, I had just about given up all hopes that Kyrucus would survive, so I asked the vet how much I owed, and he handed me a bill for $325.

"Three-hundred twenty-five dollars just to tell me that my dog is going to die?" I said.

"I am only charging you $25 for my fee," said the vet. "But there is a $100 charge for the LAB test and $200 for the CAT scan."