The Coming Election Part 2.

Growing up and living in the south, one of the things I have had privilege and occasion to do is to hunt. To be more specific - raccoon hunt. For those who have never had the opportunity to be in the middle of the woods on a clear, crisp, autumn night I cannot begin to fully and justly explain the lure of a far off owl's call or the excitement one feels when the quiet is broken by the loud bawl of the hunting dog as he goes about his business of putting a raccoon up a tree. Growing up with a dad who loved to hunt we always had several hunting dogs around. Some were good while some were not so good. Regardless, they were always well fed and given a nice warm place to live in return for their hunting efforts. At one point in my life, when I was about twelve years old, we had the great pleasure of owning a rather large, deep red hound. He was a pleasant dog, never cross. He was a bit younger than other dogs we had owned and as such he was quite more energetic than the others. Everyone who saw him immediatley liked him due to his easy going nature and good looks. Just by looking at him one could feel the promise of a great hunting season to come. He could practically bring tears to a seasoned hunters eyes when he would open his mouth and let go with a resounding tenor bawl that seemed to shake the very trees we would soon be hunting. When one heard him all things of seasons past were soon forgotten. Following is the story of "The dog you got."

We had had a couple of rough seasons. We had lacked in success - as had several hunting friends of ours - but had been told by several seasoned hunters that the raccoon population was down and combined with other factors it would turn around soon. They felt we were simply at the down end of a cycle. Nevertheless, my father and I felt we could not continue status quo.

My father and I had been dissappointed in the season prior and felt it might be time to make a change. Our older dog had provided us with several great hunting seasons but had appeared to slip in his abilities. As a result, I especially felt a change was needed. My father cautioned me against any rash changes. He relied on that old southern saying "the dog you get may be worse than the dog you got". I refused to listen and immediatley began the search for a new dog. Soon I had my dad convinced that the coming season would be better if only we had a new, younger, better looking, better sounding dog. I had a friend who knew an older gentleman who was willing to sell one of his dogs. The older gentleman was well known to have good seasoned dogs so it stood to reason that if he had one for sale that had been running with his older dogs then the dog must be ready to take the lead and become the main dog in our kennel. My dad acquiesced and we drove our old pickup to the man's farm to have a look at the dog that held our hopes for a great season to come. When we saw him we were taken with all the wonderful outward canine attributes he possessed. When we heard that bawl, that beautiful mouth, we both knew we had to have him - he was the dog for us. Any dog that sounded so great had to be good - but not just good - GREAT! My dad paid the man the price he was asking and we drove away the proud owners of a new beautiful dog. The future season would be better. He would provide for us in a way we had never known. That beautiful tenor bawl said it all!



We took our new dog home and positioned him in the front kennel - a place reserved for our number one. Just his presence made us feel a certain disdain for all the other dogs we owned. They could not compare to "the one". I could not wait to put him to work! My dad and I decided we would go that very night. Our luck was about to change. After dinner we dressed in our hunting clothes, collected our new dog and headed for the woods. We turned him loose and waited with expectant anticipation. It wasn't long before he made good on his unspoken promise to turn our hunting experience around - we heard that deep, beautiful bawl ring out through the crisp, clear night. In a matter of minutes he indicated with that beautiful bawl that he had located the tree for us and assured us a raccoon would be sitting in the top of it. We hurried to the tree and excitedly shined our lights in the expansive branches. We looked and looked but to our dismay - no raccoon! We could not believe our new number one dog had let us down. He had sounded so good. We knew it probably wasn't his fault. Something had happened and would soon be corrected - we were certain. Unfortunately the scene was to be repeated several more times that night before we decided to go home and try again the next night. Again we started our night's hunt with great expectations only to find that the promises held in our new dog's superior looks and his beautiful bawl would not be completed in his actions. He was young, good looking, energetic and sounded like no other in the county yet his inexperience overcame all his positives. In spite of his willingness, he simply wasn't ready.



In thinking over the coming election this story came quickly to mind. The voting public seems to be taken with looks and speech that will fall empty in promise. Yes - Mr. Obama has the ability to make some wait excitedly on promises that will not be met. If he is bestowed the privilege of becoming "the one" we will all regret moving him to that place of honor. The dog we get will be worse than the dog we got.



I believe the night we moved our new, beautiful dog to the back of the kennel our old dog looked at us and hung his head. He seemed to be aware of the mistake we had made. He seemed to show a sadness of knowing it would not soon be corrected. If able I am sure he would have said, "The dog you got was worse than the dog you had."