RABBIT HUNT STIMULATES MEMORIES OF DAYS GONE BY

Bill Cooper 1/11

I laughed out loud. The wriggly, bouncy, black, tan and white dogs in front of me wreaked of excitement, joy and anxiousness. They were about to chase bunnies. I giggled from the pure joy of seeing a pair of rabbit hunting beagles once again.
I grew up in the once rabbit rich country of southeast Missouri better known as the Bootheel. Our family farm In Mississippi County provided superb rabitat. We often kicked rabbits up only a few feet from the back door. Hundred of rabbit hunting trips occurred on our 40-acre farm. Friends, family and our ever present beagle, Rowdy, tromped, stomped and kicked every brush pile and weed patch on the place. Rowdy, however, proved to be the ultimate rabbit finder of our hunting band. He managed to find rabbits in the most unlikely places. Tractors and other farm machinery left unused for months at a time seemed to spark new weed growth. I suspect they packed their own weed seeds from field to parking spot. At any rate, new weeds sprang up around the machinery quickly, providing excellent rabbit hiding places, until Rowdy checked them out. He roamed the farm all the time and had stored in his beagle brain the whereabouts of most of the farm’s rabbit population.
Family members liked to hunt the fence rows, drainage ditches and cane patches. All were narrow and rabbits being chased by Rowdy would most often bound from the narrow confines of the habitat at hand and bolt down the more open country of cut bean fields to put some much needed space between them and the dog in as short a time as possible. Those escape attempts were often foiled by one of us standing at the field edges gripping our favorite 12-gauge shotgun.
Once we had satisfied our rabbit hunting urges for the day, our hunting party would slowly make our way back to the farm house, laughing and goading one another about botched shots. Those times when my brother, Dad and friends were together rabbit hunting provided some of the purest, most enjoyable fun of my life. Our jaunts to the fields cost very little and provided fresh air, exercise and hours of delightful fun. Analysts these days would place a big price tag on such events, thus missing the entire point of the hunt.
It never failed that our hunting gang would be tired and hungry as we strolled back to the house. Too, it never failed that Rowdy never gave up chasing bunnies. He had a knack for disappearing as we neared home. He’d make a slight detour to check out the weeds around the machinery, the piles of boards around the barn and discarded lumber or other piles of stuff that accumulated around the farm. Invariably, Rowdy rooted out a rabbit or two, which he proudly ran by all us, as if to prove that he was indeed the super dog of bunny chasers. Often, it appeared that Rowdy scowled at us for not shooting those last minute bunnies. It was a matter of practical safety that we unloaded guns once we approached farm buildings, machinery or the house. Rowdy simply didn’t buy the importance of our notions and often gave up the chase when we didn’t shoot at the fleeing rabbits. Truth be known – Rowdy looked forward to returning home from a long rabbit hunt as much as us. He enjoyed the warmth and food found there, too.
Last January found me in the Bootheel chasing ducks in the harshest cold weather we’d experienced all winter. Every hole of water had frozen to several inches thickness. Managers at Ten Mile Pond Conservation Area kept a few pumps running, which meant open water in front of them. My friends and I managed to draw in and collect a few late season mallards. Bill McKinney, a friend from Timber, Missouri had tagged along. As it turned out he had a hunting camp a few miles west of Sikeston. Too, he knew some locals with beagles. With a simple phone call he set us up for an afternoon of rabbit hunting.
McKinney’s friend turned his two beagles out of the truck and my laughter began. The beautiful pair of beagles proved to be all business. Noses hit the ground almost before their feet. Tails wagged, bodies zig-zagged and twisted as the beagles headed into the thick brush to begin rooting out rabbits.
The small patch of woods we hunted consisted of a lot of deadfalls, honeysuckle vines and small sprouts. Shooting at fleeing rabbits would be an extreme challenge.
Minutes into the hunt the first low, mournful yodel came from one of the beagles. I chuckled to myself. It is amazing how soothing the voice of a beagle tracking a rabbit can be.
The second beagle joined in and the crescendo of their combined voices created a delightful beagle choir as they jointly worked out the track. Their voices picked up cadence as the trail grew hotter. Anticipation grew and I gripped my shotgun a little tighter. The excitement of the hunt was building.
The dogs worked my direction. I strained to see through the thick underbrush. I knew the rabbit would be at least 50 yards ahead of the dogs and I would have to react quickly to get a shot. The thought had no more passed through my head when I saw a brown flash streak through the tangles. “Don’t look, Ethel”, came to mind. The streak was gone.
The dogs pushed the bunny out of the wood patch and down a long narrow fence row. We maneuvered to head it off. I had shot many rabbis over the years under just those same conditions. I itched to see a bunny streak out my side of the fencerow.
Shotgun blasts from the other side of the fencerow provided a clear indication that the bunny decided to run out the safe side of the fencerow, where Bill McKinney waited. I didn’t get a count on the number of shots fired, but McKinney must be the fastest shotgun reloader west of the Mississippi. At any rate, he rolled the first rabbit of the day.
Beagles and bunnies traded back and forth between the fencerows and the small patch of woods. I sighted four different bunnies in the thick stuff but never managed a shot. McKinney rolled another one fleeing from the fencerow.
As we headed back to the truck after calling it a day, I gouged McKinney about his hunting vest being so much lighter after firing so many rounds to get two rabbits. “Yeah, but feel the weight of those rabbits,” he responded.
“And what school did you go to?” I quizzed. Everybody knows that lead is heavier than rabbits………….”