THE
snow was melting rapidly, for the warm south wind had been blowing for almost
twenty-four hours. Already the bare ground was appearing in spots. That
morning the first wild geese had come honking from the Southland; and a robin
that had braved the cold and stayed all winter in the deep thickets along
Skunk River, where there was plenty of food even in the snowiest weather, had
come out into the open timber and sung his merriest song for several minutes,
and this very moment he was hopping over the bare ground looking for bits of
green grass or a possible worm that might have awakened from its winter sleep.
Ringtail,
the coon who had lived all winter in the hollow of a large hickory tree on the
banks of the river, roused herself from an all day's snooze, peeped out of her
hole and looked and listened. Yes, it was still warm warmer, in fact, than
when she had gone to bed that morning. She could hear the water rushing in
every rivulet and stream, and a, soft balmy feeling was in the air. It was
going to be a great night to hunt.
She
was glad of this, for the winter had been unusually long and cold, and the
snow had lain so deep that it was hard even for a coon to get enough to eat.
In fact, she had not had enough to eat. Many times she had gone hungry for two
or three days at a time, and she was lean and starved from the experience. She
had dined well the night before, but this had served
only to whet her appetite. She would start early, and visit the place
where Wymore's branch flows into the river. She had fished there many a time
in the past and had always found food there. Perhaps the ice might be thawed
enough for her to catch some crawfish. How she would like a good meal of
crawfish, for of all the many foods a coon eats there is nothing it likes
better than crawfish.
Raccoons
seldom leave their nests to hunt in the daylight. The experience of many
generations has taught them that, they are much safer at night. But on such an
evening as I have described they sometimes venture out an hour or two before
dark.
Ringtail
carefully climbed out of her nest hole and down the tree, stopping every few
feet to listen and to sniff the air to learn if there might be an enemy
lurking near. Satisfied that all was well, she jumped to the ground and ran
rapidly to the river's edge. Surely enough, in places the water was over the
ice, which was beginning t o break up and loosen from the bank. She sniffed
about here and there and reached her hand under Such rocks as were not still
covered by the ice, but all she found was a snail or two.
Coons
like snails well enough, and she ate them with keen relish, but they are not
to be relied on for a meal when a coon is hungry ; so she soon stopped
searching here and headed directly up the river toward the mouth of the creek.
Though the ice was covered with water in many places it had not broken up
enough to be dangerous, and was smoother going than the land. Besides, the
water would carry away the tell-tale scent of her feet, and who knew but a
hunter might be out that night with his hounds. No hunter would venture on the
ice at such a time, and if the dogs were heavy enough they would find it
difficult to follow her here. Yes, she would travel on the river even though
by doing so she would loose a chance of capturing a stray bird roosting on the
ground.
Soon
she was fishing at the mouth of Wymore's branch, and surely enough she found
crawfish in abundance. She had eaten all she could hold when she heard a hound
coming near and scampered up a large linden tree. It proved to be hollow,
and the hole was more roomy than her home. The hound was not on her trail, but
she feared to leave the hole while he was near. As it was almost day she lay
down to wait and soon was fast asleep. The hollow made a comfortable bed, and
it was near plenty of food.. Why not stay there and make it her home? It would
be such a roomy home for the family she expected soon. It belonged to no one;
why should she not stay in it? She had no furniture to move or rent to pay. To
her, moving was the simplest thing in the world. How could she know that my
father had decided to cut that particular tree that spring?
Soon
Ringtail had a family of five little coons, such hungry little fellows that it
seemed they were never satisfied. But her new home proved to be in a land of
plenty. Not only were there crawfish by the thousands in the ponds near by,
but there were frogs everywhere, big frogs and little frogs, and frogs half
way between. And she discovered a henhouse near by whose owner neither kept a
dog nor shut the door at night. What more could a coon desire?
But
things were going too easy. Such good fortune could not last forever. Father
came with his axe and dog and began chopping on the tree, and in less than an
hour it fell with a crash and broke in two just where the hole opened into her
home.
The
baby coons were stunned and frightened, so they crowded as far back into their
hollow as possible and lay quiet, but Ringtail thought it was time for her to
act. She rushed from her hole and attacked the dog without hesitation. She had
fought dogs before and had never failed to whip them. She hoped she could
drive away this one, but he was an old coon dog and killed her almost
immediately.
Father
knew there must be young in the hollow, or Ringtail would have tried to escape
instead of fighting, so he reached into the nest and pulled out the babies one
by one. The first one bit him and he dropped it almost into the dog's mouth.
The others scratched and fought with tooth and claw and so suffered the same
fate, - all but one.
He
lay quiet when he was pulled from the hole, and licked father's hand. Father
was pleased with this and decided to keep him for a pet. He named him Zip.
At
first Zip was afraid of everyone and would not eat, but this did not last
long. He was young, and young animals as well as children have appetites that
will not be denied for long. By the next morning Zip was ready to eat, and he
was not particular what. He was given bread and milk, the dish that can be
safely fed to almost any animal or bird ; and though his nose had to be stuck
into it before he would touch it, when he got the taste by licking his mouth
to get it clean, he ate it greedily. Soon he would eat almost anything.
There are few animals that have so wide a range of food as a wild raccoon, and
I am sure Zip was soon eating many things a wild coon never tasted. But he
never lost his taste for milk.
Of
course, if hungry, he would eat almost any kind of meat given him, but not
until he had washed it thoroughly. As soon as this was found out, he was given
a pan of water so placed that he could get to it readily, and he never failed
to take any meat that was given him to his pan and wash it thoroughly before
tasting it. When he had scrubbed and washed it till all the blood was out he
would eat it readily. But, he preferred crawfish to anything except peanuts
and candy.
Sometimes
father would take him to the creek fishing. Zip always went directly to the
rocks that lay in the water and began feeling under them with his hands. He
would turn his face upward and wrinkle up his nose in a most comical way. He
never seemed to so much as glance at the water, but if a crawfish should dart
from under a rock he was almost sure to get it before it could swim a foot,
yet everyone who knows crawfish knows there are few things that can swim
faster.
We
are so accustomed to locate things with our eyes that it seems very queer to
us that an animal having perfectly good eyes should locate anything by feeling
alone. Zip was expert at getting the meat out of the crawfish shell, so he
seldom ate much of the shell, but if very hungry he would eat everything but
the big front pinchers and the tail fins. Wild coons are usually very hungry,
so this is all they leave. Often as I go up and down creeks I see the big
pinchers and the tail fins of a crawfish lying on a rock. At such times I
always look for coon tracks, and I usually find them. They can be recognized
by the fact that they look so much like baby tracks. In fact a coon can use
his front feet very much as we use our hands, his fingers being very agile,
and his hind feet bear a real resemblance to a human foot.
Zip
liked peanuts and candy, and soon learned that his human friends often had
these or other "goodies" in their pockets. He soon formed the habit
of climbing up the legs of any man who came near him after having been away
for a few hours, and feeling in, all his pockets for "goodies." And
he Would scratch and bite viciously if anyone refused
to submit to this search. This was all well enough and amusing as long
as Zip confined his activities to home folks, but he soon began to hold up
every strange man who came into the house or even into the yard, and search
him. After he had bitten one man and mussed and
torn another's clothes it ceased to be fun to have him hold people up
and search them, but it cost Zip several whippings and father several
scratches and bites in return to break him of this habit.
Zip
liked ripe fruits especially muskmelons. In fact, most of the wildlings who
eat fruit at all are fond of muskmelons. I do not blame them in the least, for
I am very fond of them myself. But Zip was entirely too good a judge of
quality and too particular what; he ate. He refused poor quality melons, and
always preferred to go to the patch and select his own. There were plenty
for all, but no one wanted Zip to have all the best ones; and this is what he
always got if he went to the patch at all, for, no man could judge the quality
of an untasted melon so well as he.
Of
all vegetables he liked roasting ears best, and here again he was judge of
quality. If allowed his
own way, he would always go to the sweetcorn field. In fact, if
sweetcorn could be had, he soon refused to eat field corn at all. Of course he
wished to select his own roasting ears, and he wished them to be very tender
and full of milk, but the grains must be large enough to have food in them. He
could husk his corn as well as anyone, and always did so, then ate the corn
off the cob. He never cared for cooked corn. In fact, he preferred to climb
the stalk to the ear, and he would eat it there; but should the stalk break
over with his weight, he would eat it from the ground. When there were plenty
of roasting ears and muskmelons, Zip cared little for meat, though he never
refused crawfish, and he always relished milk.
As
he grew older this liking for milk became a nuisance, for he would insist on
his share of milk even when it was scarce. Finally he learned there was something
better than milk, but this did not particularly help matters.
Our
milk was strained into gallon crocks, and kept in a milk house in a box of
cold water. The folks were very proud of their cows, because they gave such
rich milk. But suddenly the milk began to get poorer and poorer. Sometimes
there would be a fair amount of cream on it, but often there would be almost
none.
There
was much discussion as to why the cows should fail so much in the quality of
their milk. Feed was a little short and it was thought possibly this had
something to do with it. But when the cows were given a hot bran mash twice
every day, as well as plenty of corn, and they showed a good increase in the
amount of milk given yet it was still poor, the mystery was greater than ever.
Then,
too, Zip lost his appetite, yet kept fat and sleek. This was another mystery.
At last some one went to the milk house unexpectedly and found Zip there. He
had managed to make a hole near the roof through which he could come and go at
will. He was found sitting by a crock of milk, carefully skimming it with his
hand and eating the cream. He could skim a crock of milk so neatly and so
cleanly that he left no mark to tell the tale.
Whether
he had watched mother skim the milk and so was imitating her we never knew. He
had plenty of chance to do this. He might have hit on the idea himself.
Certain it is that he never inherited this from his ancestors. Be this as it
may, the milk house was immediately nailed up coon tight, and there was no
more trouble from the cows giving poor milk.
Zip
never liked either dogs or cats. He learned to tolerate the family dog and the
house-cat, but he made friends with neither. The dog had no use for the coon,
so the dislike was mutual. He never could understand why any one would wish to
have a coon around, much less allow it so many privileges. It took
considerable training to get him to leave it alone, especially when it would
get into things the dog recognized as belonging wholly to his master; but he
finally learned not to interfere, no matter what the coon did.
But
it was never safe to feed them too close together, for it took all the grace
the dog had to allow the coon to eat something he would have liked for
himself, and only loyalty to his master made him do so.
Zip
never fought the family dog, but took out his hatred of the family dog on any
strange dog that might happen to come on the place. He never failed to attack
a strange dog on sight, and as coons are great fighters, and as few farmers'
dogs had ever had any experience fighting coons, he had little trouble in
driving them off the place.
Doubtless
this was due in part to the fact that the visiting dog knew he was
trespassing. Besides, Zip had never suffered for lack of food, so was larger
and stronger than most coons. I often wondered if his hatred of dogs might
date from the day one had killed his mother and brothers and sisters.
To
the family dog, this habit of Zip's driving all strange dogs off the place was
his one redeeming feature. The dog would have been delighted to do this job
himself, but he had been strictly forbidden to fight any dog that came on
the place except at night. After night he himself did exactly what Zip did in
the daytime, and he could not help sometimes showing satisfaction when Zip
drove a particularly obnoxious dog off the place.
Zip
never did the family cat any real harm, or if he did we never knew it; but she
was afraid of him, and nothing seemed to please him better than to saunter
over to where she was, in order to see her spit and run. He would usually
follow her around till she left the house in disgust.
But
he loved the calves, colts, and lambs, and would often grab them around the
neck and hug them while they ran all over the lot with him. They never seemed
in the least afraid of him, but I hardly think they particularly enjoyed
playing with him.
My
friend, Robert Sparks Walker, the naturalist, tells me of a pet coon he owned
that chose his friends by whether they had claws or hoofs. Any animal with
hoofs was a friend, and he was ready to make up to it at once, but anything
with claws was an enemy. One day, when Mr. Walker was experimenting to learn
how universal this trait was, he brought a cat to his coon. At once the coon
grabbed its foot in his hands and examined it for claws. The cat was a
good-natured pet belonging to a neighbor, and did not particularly resent his
action. In an instant the coon had discovered the claws, and bit two of them
off before the combined efforts of Mr. Walker and poor Tabby herself could
rescue her.
Like
most of the more intelligent creatures of the great out of doors, Zip loved
pretty things. True, his ideals of beauty were not always ours, - but surely
every one has a right to his own ideals. At any rate he was a great art
collector. He had his private museum, which he guarded with care and, after
his first experience, never meant to have seen by human eyes.
In
this museum he placed such things as glass, thimbles, hairpins, spools of
thread, scissors, and other articles too numerous to mention. He never failed
to collect such things wherever he found them. He seemed always on the watch
for an opportunity to pull hairpins from some woman's hair and make off with
them as fast as he could go. Best of all he loved nickel, silver, or glass,
perhaps because they were shiny.
Interesting
as it was, this collecting habit soon became a nuisance, for he usually
collected the things the family valued.
The
first time any of the family visited Zip's museum he was pleased, and plainly
showed he was proud of it, but this did not last long. In it were several
spoons, a thimble, and several articles of value. Of course, his visitor
appropriated them at once. As they were Zip's choicest specimens, it is not
surprising that he resented what to him was simple robbery.
He
moved his museum at once; and after that, it was difficult to find when
something of value was missing and it was necessary to find it. In fact some
things were never located, for Zip finally established several museums and at
least one of these was never found.
Zip
was particularly fond of sweets of any kind, and there was a barrel of sorghum
molasses with a faucet in it in the shed back of the kitchen. He was usually
tagging someone around to see what he could find, and one day discovered this
molasses. Often a few drops were spilled on the floor when someone drew
molasses, and he liked to lick these up, but that did not satisfy him. He
always begged for more, and was forever trying to get into this shed. Once he
succeeded, and when found was sitting under the faucet, which he had managed
to turn. The molasses had run out all over the floor, but he was catching as
much of the stream in his mouth as he could swallow. He was smeared with
molasses from head to foot, but he was blissfully happy. Fortunately it was
cold, and only four or five gallons had run out; but for once he had had all
he could eat. For this, and various other pranks, he was chained to a box in
which his bed was placed.
He
resented this restraint, and rapidly grew ill-tempered and cross. Nor was this
all. Now that he could not go where he pleased and find what he wished to eat,
he began to kill chickens.
At
first if a chicken came in reach of his chain he simply killed it and ate what
he wished, leaving the remainder. This would never do, so he was shown the
partly eaten carcass of his latest kill and was then whipped. The next day he
killed a chicken, and after eating what he wished buried the remainder. When
this was discovered, he hid the next one under his box. But no amount of
punishment could break him of killing chickens It only made him the more sly
about hiding the evidence.
Finally
he managed to slip his chain and get loose. While he did not leave the place,
he would not allow himself to be caught ; and he would not come into the
house, at least if anyone was around who could shut him up. An attempt to
starve him into coming indoors for food merely resulted in his killing more
chickens.
Finally
he was caught and chained to his box again. Again he got away, and this time
he seldom allowed the family even to see him, though he lived about the house
for weeks and lived well. But he was fast becoming a nuisance.
Soon
word began to come from the neighbors that he was visiting their hen roosts.
This was doubtless true in some cases, but it is doubtless equally true that
he soon got the credit for all the misdeeds done for miles around, most of
which he knew nothing about. It is always easier to get a bad name than to
live it down once it is received, and there are always plenty of people ready
to blame their troubles on someone else, especially if he has a bad name. If
Zip had eaten all the chickens whose disappearance was blamed to him, he would
have had to be as big as a bear.
But
be this as it may, no one in the family could longer vouch for his good
behavior. A neighbor shot him, not because he was in his chicken roost, or in
fact on his farm, but this man had a farm and a chicken roost and Zip might
come there sometime if he were not killed. Anyway he was only a coon, and
coons ought to be shot on general principles. Besides, a coonskin could always
be sold on the market.
We
were all sorry to learn of his unfortunate end, but we could not afford to
have trouble with a neighbor, so never said anything to him about it. A
brighter, more interesting, or wiser pet it would be hard to find. Herein lay
his trouble. He could never understand why his masters should have more rights
than he. Had he come from a long line of servant ancestors like Drum the dog,
he might have had a servant's viewpoint and have accepted a servant's
pittance. But his ancestors were free. The whole country was theirs. They went
and came when they pleased, and what they could not take by force they got by
strategy. He loved his masters and his home. No coon ever had better food, a
more comfortable bed, or less worry, and he was thankful for this; but one
generation could not teach him he could not have everything he wished, if he
could find a way to get it.
He
was a dear little fellow, whose only fault was that he often desired the same
things as his human neighbors, and that, like them, he got them if he could.
This cost him his life. Possibly he would have lived longer and been happier
in harder life of a wildling. Who can tell?
WHAT'S
NEW? 
