BROWNIE
The older one gets or at least I am speaking for myself, there are times when I
find myself traveling back in time reflecting on my youth of which
some things have stayed in focus in my “mind’s eye” although my
regular vision is a little cloudy and need the State Eye Plan prescription
glasses to correct.
One of my all-time favorite dogs was a small brown “Rat Tail Fice”
named Brownie or Beaner and he would respond to either name but used Brownie
most of the time. I believe the Fice is in the Terrier breed but is more or less
a generic name of the dog.
Brownie belonged to my uncle Douglas Ross Coley who lived across the
street and how Brownie came to be my dog I will try and explain. It must have
been around 1957 when I was visiting Doug who had a few too many beers and was
allowing one of his “high dollar” English Setters named Blue to
whip the daylights out of the little dog. I remember separating the
fighting dogs or getting Blue loose from Brownie and from that day on, ole
Brownie was my dog. Brownie would be waiting for my return from school
each day and we would hit the woods almost daily and on the weekends doing what
young chaps that love the outdoors normally do.
Pix of myself and
Brownie around 1962.
A usual Saturday outing lasted from sun up until the late afternoon hours when
the shadows began to get long and the sun would start it’s evening decent beyond
the western horizon and I would be making fast tracks getting back home and if
it was too late I could hear my Grandma Coley hollering, “Mickey, Mickey” a good
1/4 mile away or at least it sounded that far.
My standard gear for those all day hikes and scouting adventures
was an old US Army olive green back pack, Winchester model 67 .22 caliber rifle,
ammunition, Army folding shovel, pocket knife or sheath knife, small aluminum
coffee pot, thin steel frying pan, metal coffee cup, fork, spoon, knife,
matches, salt, black pepper, small rope or twine, premixed sour dough bread,
eggs, coffee grounds not the instant type, sliced bacon, bread, canteen with
water and a few other snacks depending what was in the pantry at the time.
There was one special place several miles from our home named “Carl’s
Mountain” which I believe was owned by the late Dr. Carl Lawson, a Dentist
and in those days no one had to ask or obtain written permission to travel on
his land which bordered some of my Grandma Coley’s land.
A small "slice"
of a topo map of Carl's Mountain....as they say "X" marks the spot at 464
feet above sea level.
On the summit or plateau on Carl’s Mountain, there was a hand dug well that was
maybe 15 feet deep by 5 feet in diameter and had been partly filled in with debris over the years
and
an occasional rabbit or “possum” would get trapped in there and it’s carcass
would be noticed on the next visit. The summit afforded a spectacular view
especially about when about 20 feet off the ground in one of the nearby large
oak trees and
on a clear day you could see the outline of Morrow Mountain in Stanly County which
was at least 30 miles away to the North and to the South you could see the old
three story Silk Mill Factory which is now the Oak Hill Apartments and has a large water storage
tank on the ole Silk Mill property. According to my Grandma "Della" Coley
she stated that the Town of Wadesboro at one time before the 1930's had some
"notions" of erecting an overhead cable car system from the Old Silk
Mill site to the plateau on Carl's Mountain to make a tourists attraction,
however I have never verified that or made any attempt. Elevation wise, at
both places it would appear to be possible to construct although not profitable.
Back in the early 1960's before the saw timber pine trees were harvested there
were numerous apple and peach trees scattered through out the region which adds
some merit to my Grandma's story. Hopefully, I will get a chance to hike
back in there and take some pixs of the plateau for all times sake.
At the plateau I would clear off an area and build a camp fire from dead sticks
and whatever combustible material was available and get a large bed of embers
glowing. On one edge of the camp fire I dug a small depression about eight
inches in diameter and about eight inches deep and once I had a good bed of
red/orange embers glowing with a little bluish tint in the back ground, I would
rake some of the embers into the depression and pour the prepared sour dough mix
on top of the embers and cover the sour dough with more embers and add a light
layer of the dirt removed from the hole and wait on the heat to bake the sour
dough. About 20 minutes later, the dirt and embers would be raked from the
top of the sour dough and the resulting baked bread was called a Cannonball because of
it’s shape and color; leaving the middle edible portion…..go ahead and grin if
you must! While the bread was getting “oven” baked, I would
have the pot of coffee brewing and the bacon frying and finish off with some
scramble eggs. By this time the smell of cooking the bread, bacon and eggs
would have my dog Brownie hanging close by to get his portion of the feast.
Anyone that has not experienced food cooked over an open wood fire enjoying what
Mother Nature has to offer has just missed out of some of Life’s most basic and
simplest forms of enjoyment!
Above pix not from that time frame but around 1978 at Porter's Point
campsite. I can almost hear and smell the crackling of the fire!
Once our breakfast was consumed and the camp fire embers put out it was time to
starting scouting the creeks, stream beds and banks looking for fresh sign of
mink, muskrat and raccoons for the next trapping season.
Brownie was a good "jump" dog for rabbits and ran and treed squirrels mostly
by sight. I still have images of him locking up with squirrels that had
been shot from a tree and still have some life left in them. He had the
constitution of a pit bull and plenty of "grit" but didn't have the size to back
up all that grit and tenacity and earned himself many battle scars.
As I mentioned earlier my dog Brownie accompanied me about everywhere I went
when outdoors and I will relate an event that happened when I had a live coon
trap set about 4 miles from our home near the Anson County airport. It has
been my nature over the years to overdo many things and the coon live trap was
no exception. This trap was large enough to hold a small bear and had a
drop lid that was controlled by a large rat trap spring/trigger attached to a
movable floor plate pulling a pin allowing the lid to fall, pretty much like a
standard rabbit box and some people call them a rabbit gun. I had to use a
wheel barrow to transport the humongous coon trap and you can imagine the time
and effort required to get this thing 4 miles through woods and across a small
branch aka stream or two. I used canned Mackerel for bait and had it set
for a few days and didn’t catch anything. One of the last times that I
baited the trap, I noticed that ole Brownie was not waiting for me when I got in
from school and he didn’t come when I “hollered” for him so went without him.
Nothing too eventful happened on the hike to the trap and I remember the
initial excitement when I saw that the lid was down on the coon trap and knew I had
finally at last live trapped Mr. Coon. However, when I got closer to the trap I noticed
something brown in the trap and low and behold, my dog Brownie was in the trap
anxiously wanting to get out. I can see that rascal as plain as day
sitting in that live trap with a different expression than he normally had.
Sometime during the day ole Brownie decided to go check the trap out and could
not resist the canned Mackerel and remained there until I released him from the
trap. I don’t think I ever caught anything except Brownie in the trap and
left the trap next to the creek where its wooden frame rotted out several years
later.
Brownie was my faithful companion and the last time I saw him alive was in 1965
when I departed for Morocco, Africa while in the US Navy. My folks sent me some
pictures of him from time to time and I would always ask in a letter how Brownie
was doing and before I returned home in 1967 from Morocco, Africa I noticed they
did not mention Brownie in their letters.
I later learned that Brownie was seriously injured by one of my Uncle’s bird
dogs and did not recover from his wounds. . I am glad I don’t have webcam on
here because I am getting all choked up just writing about him. Mom
said they would show Brownie a picture of me and it would "perk" him up a
little. Pix below shows the sadness in his eyes or it does anyway to me.
Pets become family members very easy and a lasting bond forms over time.
Family took this pix of Brownie on the
back porch while I was overseas around 1966.
Brownie was my all time favorite dog although our family has owned some good
house and hunting dogs but there will always be a special place in my
heart, soul and memory for Brownie.
Written by Bill Porter July 4, 2008.
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Pixs of a few of our other family pets over the years.
Good Dog the most
gentle dog we owned.
White Cat a Fisherman's Cat who had to have the first scale fish
caught. He taste tested the heads only!
Buck His parents were Grand Night Champions! I tried to make a
deer blood trail tracking dog out of him but it stopped the first time I
released a live trapped coon in front of him. He would not leave the tree
until the coon was on the ground. He also took "possession" of the tree
too!
Vincent, a real stinker!
Mittens, my bride's cat after caring for him after a broken leg!
Ringtail weighted 26 lbs. when he was nine months old. We
released him back into the wild after biting my bride and myself. Ringtail
was quarantined for a couple weeks since my bride had to have stitches in one of
her legs and Animal Control had to be alerted in case of rabies.
I had many other pets, hawks, owls, crows, foxes, etc. growing up but these are the ones that I
have pictures of and they were digitized a
few years ago.
