Hunting With Dad
© By Grady L. Duncan
Any country boy can tell you,
who has spent time it the woods,
that it was the best of their times,
and those memories are really good.
To get up before first light,
before the old rooster crows,
and eat an early breakfast,
then donning some warm clothes.
With a thermos of hot coffee,
and sandwiches in a paper sack,
to keep from getting hungry,
before we finally get back;
with dad, my brother and the dog,
we headed out to hunt squirrels.
There were only us boys and dad,
because my folks had no girls.
Dad would take the lead,
with a coal-oil lantern for light,
down an old cow path we’d go,
like three wanderers in the night.
We had done it so often before,
we could have done it with closed eyes,
but the lantern lit up the path,
lest we step in some “moon pies”.
By the time we entered the woods,
the eastern sky had a faint glow.
The trees were beginning to whisper,
as a southern breeze started to blow.
We would settle down to wait,
seated there on the soft ground,
as still as three bronze statues,
trying not to make a single sound.
When it was light enough to see,
the dog would be freed to prowl.
He would go from tree to tree,
then soon he’d begin to howl.
He had picked up the scent,
of a squirrel up in a tree.
It was up to one of us to bag it.
If I was lucky, it might be me.
If we happened to be lucky,
we could get more than one,
but whether we were lucky or not,
at least we had a some of fun.
You don’t know what you’ve missed,
nor what treasure you could have had,
if you, when your were still able,
had gone hunting with your dad.