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Hundreds mourn young hunter

Hunting Stories: Recalling a special rabbit hunt *

By KEN ALLEN
Kennebec Journal & Morning Sentinel
12/22/2007

Source Kennebck Journal Morning Sentinel

This story happened just a few days before Christmas so many years ago. Sleet had turned to a near-freezing rain that fell with a constant "sh" sound, compacting the knee-deep snow in good shape and providing a good base for me to fly along on my old ash-and-rawhide snowshoes.

I had just rushed to the edge of a fir thicket to get ahead of the yodeling bawls of my long-legged hound, a beagle-bloodhound-Lab mix that looked a little like a small yellow Lab.

His name was Stormy, and he was running beyond sight in the near distance, barreling toward me fast. The rabbit would fly across an opening any second, making my heart pound and hands shake.

The afternoon was dark, wet and raw, lousy weather for rabbit hunting, but I was 11 years old and 11-year-olds don't care about bad weather, particularly when they're listening to that rhythmic yet paradoxically screaming song of a hound coming straight at them on the further side of a thicket. Low cloud cover made the dog sound so loud.

Before the dog came into sight, a large varying hare hopped into a clearing 20 yards away and stopped. I don't remember cocking the hammer on the single-barrel, 12-gauge shotgun or feeling the kick, which nearly knocked me down and left an ugly bruise on my cheek.

A second later,    read on............

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