Alan NeSmith
It is a rare occasion on the home front if I’m not the last one to bed. Nightly, I make a stroll around the house to make sure the deadbolts are locked.
After checking all the doors, I make sure William, Fenn, Sparky and Aunt Bee are snug in their beds. Then I walk into our room, pat Bella on the head at the foot of our bed, tell Heather goodnight and a feeling of peace rolls over my shoulders as my head hits the pillow.
Last Saturday night, as I was walking in complete darkness with Aunt Bee, I suddenly felt the leash go limp. Yes, Aunt Bee (Fenn’s Jagdterrier puppy) was pulling like a pickup as her nose was working overtime in the edge of a field, but she was wearing a harness. Clinching the empty harness in my right hand, I sprinted to tell Heather while calling my dad for more help. You see, we were spending the weekend with my parents on their farm and the harness failed.
As my dad, brother-in-law Tom, William, Fenn and Heather began to break the darkness with flashlights and headlights, all I could think about was finding her before she made it into the paved road. As the headlights of each car passed, our voices grew louder, but no Aunt Bee. Each minute felt like an hour.
Then, all of a sudden Heather yelled, “I see her!”
But Aunt Bee again disappeared into the darkness of the tall grass. And as we continued to frantically search and search Fenn hollered, “I see her” and took off. Thankfully, miraculously, after a 500-yard dash, Fenn was able to scoop her into his arms. Minutes later I had them both in the cab of my truck with mixed emotions of frustration and thankfulness.
Over the years, I’ve looked for my hunting dogs all night and sometimes days before finding them. Many times, I’ve found them at daybreak laying on my hunting jacket I left in the woods the last place I saw them.
One time, I received a call from the Dairy Queen in Ludowici after my bulldog wandered up out of the swamp after swimming the Altamaha River chasing a wild hog two days before. Each time, I’ve had a hollow feeling deep in my stomach until I found them. However, Saturday night the feeling was amplified as Aunt Bee is Fenn’s puppy and I was the last one to have her on the leash.
Sunday afternoon we made it home. And that evening, like clockwork I made my stroll. But there was an extra pause at Aunt Bees bed Sunday night as I gave her ear a scratch and thanked the good Lord one more time.
Alan NeSmith is the chairman of Community Newspapers, Inc. Reach him at 706-778-4215 or anesmith@TheNortheast
Georgian.com.