So I'm posting, researching, answering emails and trying to eat all at the same time when I hear a godawful dogfight a ways off. One of the voices sound familiar so I get up and check and guess what, just fucking guess who snuck off.
I figured it was him and I knew he was fighting at least a couple of coyotes by the sound of things so I grabbed a maglight and a 22 and headed for the park along the creek in the middle of town.
By the time I got there shit had settled down so I hollered. Nothing. Nothing from the coyotes, nothing from my best bud. Fuck, my Charliedog was killed. I rustled around and found an open reed call and blasted a challenge call. Nothing. Again. Nothing. I'm pissed, panicky and crying. I just lost my best dog, the one that sleeps next to my bed, the very same one that loves on me every single evening and every single morning at sunrise????
Just about the time I was fixin' to pull on my gum boots and wade the brush for some fur to bury, guess who shows up covered in blood and all proud of himself.......
He leads me back to the coyote he killed and wants to go after the one that got away, but I pulled him off and took him home.
Fucker, he's killed more coyotes than I have this year.
But I'll say one thing for him, he took the 3 stitches in his neck without a twitch or whimper and even licked my hand when I was done.
Man, I love that tough sumbitch.....