The caption on the back of the photo reads: Old Pat a coon dog. One of the good ones. John was my grandfather. A coon hunter first and foremost. A story teller of tales I'll never forget. He worked for the town of Corydon for over thirty years. Every evening he came home to his 100 acre farm. My grandmother Ina cooking supper. He'd feed and water his hounds. Sit down to some form of fried meat. Side of vegetables. Andy Griffith on the TV. Talk about his day. Then after supper he'd sit in the dinning room. Call a friend he'd not spoke with in some time. Talk for hours about hunting. About which stud should be bred with which bitch. Who tree'd the best. His favorite opening comment was always, "Now I'm just talkin" and he'd continue you from there.
To say that my grandfather was a good coon hunter would be an understatement. He knew his trade. Made money from coon hides throughout the 70's. Bred and trained many a hound since old enough to hunt. He was well known throughout Kentucky, Tennessee & Southern Indiana.
My upbringing with him has brought about part of the creative edge within my short stories. Stories that help fill the void of losing him several years ago to brain cancer.