Curs and 'Coons

At one point J.J. broke the silence of the forest with a sharp squirrelly bark. Burgess and Bayless stopped then headed toward the direction of the bark.

"It's amazing what we do to hear a dog bark," said Burgess as he pushed aside vines and ducked under a tangle of them. "We'll walk for miles through briars and mosquitoes for that sound."

But JJ had moved on.

"Probably a cold trail," said Burgess, slowly in a Tennessee mountain accent. "Maybe there were some squirrels here last night."

Burgess marked down the bark on a scorecard just in case other groups came up short on their hunts. You never know.

Hearing your dog bark and seeing it tree a squirrel would be 100 points. If another dog in the group treed a second squirrel, that handler would earn 75 points. The third time, 75 points.

If one dog picks up a trail, the hunter yells "Handle your dogs" to the other hunters. The others clip their dogs to their leads and hold them back.

Then the hunter yells, "Find the squirrel!" to his dog. The dog has five minutes to find it and tree it.

No shots are fired.

As it turns out, one bark was all the team would have to show for the three hours of squirreling. But it was enough for second place among five teams.

There just weren't many bushy tails to be had.

The whole mountain forest looked squirrely: big den oaks with as many as eight squirrel holes in the trunk; gnawed hickory husks and blowdowns that would make perfect squirrel hardwood-to-hardwood highways without touching the ground.

They blamed the full moon the night before, saying the lack of rain could be the culprit. Mostly folks said it was too early in the season and the squirrels move better when the leaves are off the trees.

Maybe the squirrels just knew better than to emerge from their dens today--they should have told the coon before it was caged.

Meanwhile, Burgess let J.J. work anyway.

We waited and listened.

The reverend turned a hickory nut around in his fingers. He looked up at the treetops and down again.

"Are you a Christian?" he asked me.

Burgess said his savior, Jesus, and these cur dogs helped him walk the straight and narrow and step away from cockfighting, gambling and a fast-lane lifestyle. Jesus is with him always, he said, and the dogs are a healthy diversion that rewarded his training and effort.

Like all of the folks back at the shack called the Bledsoe County Coon Hunters Club, Burgess said he has a lot to be thankful for.

Suddenly, J.J. trots alongside his master.

"Here, boy," called Burgess.

The pair walk down a hill toward an opening in the canopy. The sun filters through the wide leaves, lighting their way through the forest.