I once read an article about the coonhound, called “The Failed Hunter”. Watching Henry hunt is a curious thing. He is a dreamy dog that seems to enjoy staring off into the distance. I am never sure what he is looking for. It almost always appears to be nothing. I know that he does not have the best eyesight. His nose supposedly picks up the slack for what eyesight is missing. I believe he is just waiting for a glimpse of movement.
On dark mornings or evening walks, Henry is often spooked by a looming trashcan or lured to the chase of a plastic bag blowing in the wind. During the day, a small ground squirrel can throw him into a tizzy, madly dashing, legs in circles, ears in circles, propelling him forward, toward the direction of the squirrel. He nearly never makes it to the place where the squirrel has made its quick appearance. I have watched him closely and it seems that as Henry takes off into the direction of the hunt, needing to look at his feet, he loses sight of his pray. I have seen grace and elegance and athleticism move most dogs to their target. Why must Henry look at his feet? I can’t believe that he shares my own uncoordinated genes. I wonder if other coonhounds need to look at their feet.
The body of a coonhound is very interesting. Although Henry is clearly mixed with another breed (I believe German Shepherd), all of his personality traits are coonhound. He has a deep throaty bay that he only lets loose for particularly fun play times or exciting hunts. He has long fingernails that I have seen him use to run up a tree after a pray (keep in mind that this tree was growing at a 30 degree angle off the ground), over a stream. I almost made him appear athletic. He can walk backward as easily as forward. His back legs are slightly bowed to allow his front legs to pass through, like a rabbit, to give him some extra power from the front. His gate, at a trot, does not cross, rather two right legs move forward together and two left legs follow. When he slows down, this gate can easily change into the right front leg, left back leg working together and left front with right back leg. When he speeds up two front legs work together and two back legs work together. I am told that coonhounds can stop on a dime and change direction. I have not seen Henry accomplish this. I have seen a lot off skidding and sliding around corners, legs anywhere and everywhere, but supporting him. His nose is good and will take him far off, into the distance, away from the audible call of my voice. However, he is clever enough (and a bit lazy) finding it easier and more reliable to check pedestrian’s pockets than to take off after a scent. He does not like to swim or chase a ball. Soft toys will not turn his head. He is food motivated. Give him a scent and it is ON!!!
Even with the need to look at his feet, I would not call the coonhound a failed hunter. If there is one animal that turns Henry into a prize fighter, it is the raccoon. Unfortunately, I have had to witness this time and time again. I believe Henry has about five or six fights under his belt. I am not proud of his taste for raccoon. I do not enjoy dressing his wounds. The underside of his muzzle is all scared and the right ear has a chunk ripped off. I do not know what happens to these raccoons, I only see the aftermath of Henry’s wounds. I imagine that it is a grizzly fate for the raccoon that has run into Henry.
Fortunately, all other animals are adored by Henry. He loves cats, rabbits, squirrels, gofers, dogs, and all people. I have seen him chase a cat or squirrel and on the rare occasion that he catches up, or the rarer occasion that the animal stops, Henry stops too and looks around as if to wonder, “Why’d we stop?” I have seen him sniff a gofer, get bitten on the tip of his nose, rear his head back (gofer flying high through air) and Henry’s hundred pound body trembling trying to get between my legs. He is pure sweetness and love.
On occasion, Henry becomes the hunted. When Henry was a puppy, he grew up with a kitten that he was very fond of. My housemate (mother to the kitten) and I had to part ways and had to split up the friendship between Henry and the kitten. For years, Henry would get excited with every orange cat he would see. I finally got him an orange kitten of his own. Delighted with his new furry kitty, Henry soon learned he was the target of the hunt and a new friendship. Now, both adults, a hunt/play session does not last as long as in the past. Play usually begins with Henry lying down, his kitty approaching carefully, a few swats at the arms and face and then a full face tackle, claws puncturing Henry’s eyebrows and lips. Henry’s head pops up from the ground as his kitty dangles off his face, by one or two claws, falls, runs off, hides, waits for Henry’s head to drop to the ground again, butt wiggle and pounce!
I do not know much about the hunting instincts of the coonhound. Most of what I know comes from information I looked up nearly ten years ago to make sure that Henry would be a good match for me. It tickles me daily, watching Henry check his feet and run off for the hunt. I prefer to provide him his meals, so a ‘failed hunter’ is a winner at the dinner bowl and a winner in my book.
