A Reason to Pause

The old coon hunter had arrived at a little after 1:30 a.m. His mother had called, fearing their guest walker hound, Annie, due any day with her first litter, was in distress. Donning his headlamp, he made the short drive down the backroads to his parent’s home, and while a heavy fog had enveloped most of the Painted Post region, the forests of Ryland Creek—his destination—were oddly absent mist.

After he’d parked his truck and made his way to his hounds, the young walker greeted the old man as he entered her kennel. With her wagging tail as he kneeled to examine her pregnant frame, Annie seemed none the worse for wear.

Maybe she wouldn’t give birth for another day or two.

Or perhaps she’d just wanted him near at this time.

Hard knowing for certain, but she seemed to calm as he gently stroked her ears.

“It’ll be all right, girl.”

Her sire, Seth, the ebony cur as dark as a moonless midnight, sat on his haunches and watched in the adjacent pen.

Then it struck the old man. It was nighttime, and he was wearing his headlamp. However, none of the hounds were barking raucously as they always did, expecting to head out to chase a ringtail.

Perhaps they sensed the imminent birth of Annie and Seth’s pups.

Hard to know for sure if they knew what was about to transpire.

But likewise, hard to imagine they didn’t.

“You’ll be all right, girl,” the man repeated as he stood to exit and latch the kennel gate. “See you when the sun rises in a couple of hours.”

With a soft whine-close-to-a-whimper, Annie watched him depart.

First going inside his parents' house to reassure them all was well, the old man then slowly walked back to his truck. He’d just opened his pickup’s door when he heard Annie cry out. The houndsmen knew his dogs, and that strange bark could only mean one thing.

The hunter didn’t panic, but he likewise doubted another nigh 60-year-old could have beat him in a race back to the kennel. He just reached the gate, with Annie still outside her coop, when the first puppy dropped from her womb. Seconds later, he fell to his knees and scooped up the tiny body—as dark as his sire—and held it aloft.

None of the other hounds barked.

Seth had risen on this hind feet, his front paws resting on his kennel's wire mesh, to peer into Annie’s kennel but remained silent.

Annie spun about anxiously, looking at the life she’d just brought into this world.

Even the forest seemed to hold its breath.

And then the little pup moved his head boldly and made the softest puppy noise.

The old man looked over his shoulder. “You’re a father, Seth.”

The ebony cur snorted.

Returning his attention to the tiny hound, the old coon hunter smiled in the dark, unconcerned anyone but his hounds could see, and that was all that mattered.

“Welcome to Painted Post,” he said.

When the bright sun rose several hours later pushing back the fog, the pup would be joined by six siblings—all healthy.

And the world was new again.

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