Remember When?

 By John Kemp, Sr.

All writers in Op Ed are here to inform and acknowledge issues of importance to our communities, however these writings represent the views and opinions of the authors and not necessarily of The Advertiser.  

My father rode to the hounds, oh, not astride a fancy prancing white stallion, but in a 48 Ford pickup accompanied by his cohort Lon Koon, a toothless tobacco-chewing fellow about the same age as my 70-year-old father.

Koon could not, being toothless, expectorate very well so he just leaned out the most-of-the-time, rolled-down window and let it, the juice, flow down the side of the truck door. I honestly remember the color changing on that door.  Just think of what that stuff, as addictive as it is, can do to a human body.

There I was, sandwiched between these two old men and trying to get some sleep as they gave a Howard Cosell-esque play by play account of the distant “hound music”.  “Listen! Old Big Boy is giving ‘emthunder.”

At the time, as was probably the case during most of the hunts, Ole big Boy was asleep beside the pickup awaiting his ride to the next listening station. Big Boy was a brilliant hound. He would have qualified for MENSA, Phi Beta Kappa and E.H.S. Beta Club could he have been able to read and write.  Had I been able to somehow get him on JEOPARDY, we, both Big Boy and I, could have retired at an early age.  Oh, well, Big Boy is I am sure in Dog Heaven and here I still am ready to go but not in a rush.  Are YOU ready?  I pray that you are.

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