THE HERALD (Bradenton, Florida) 30 November 05 Barney and snakes don't mix in the wild (Jerry Hill)
Barney was a beautiful hound - 15/16ths Redbone and 1/16th red Bloodhound.
It was late fall, and after a couple months of a diet enriched with mullet, that red coat was as sleek as a seal's. You could have tied his long floppy ears in a bow beneath his chin, and when those flaring nostrils filled with eau de whitetail, the swamps would ring with his own rendition of a bugle charge.
Barney was also the buffoon of dogdom. If he could, he would have picked up a snake to kill a stick with. (Speaking of snakes, a motorcycle-sized cottonmouth is at the core of this tale.)
A couple hunters were paying for a weekend in the Big Cypress. It was almost noon, a good buck had eluded the gunners in an early morning chase, and we were making our way back to camp with the three hounds working alongside the swamp buggy.
All of a sudden, Barney erupted in frightened baying. The first look revealed the big pit viper described above. The snake was shot, and we continued on to camp.
After a quick lunch, we were just leaving camp when I noticed a huge swelling on the side of Barney's head.
A close inspection revealed the fangs had only penetrated the loose jowls hanging from the canine's face.
We were seven hours from the truck. If the dog was going to succumb, we wouldn't have had time to get him to a vet. We decided to allow Barney his fill of raw hamburger and tie him in camp.
The next morning the swelling was gone. I decided to let him run with the other hounds. Maybe the venom from the day before had made him a bit goofy - or maybe that was just Barney - but trouble of a different sort was in his immediate future.
A light fog was blowing across the grass tops as the hounds worked out a deer trail.
Now keep in mind, deer scent doesn't exactly lay right on the ground but instead hovers a foot or so above and tends to cling to the tops of grasses or other vegetation. But in this case, there were fairly long stretches where it was yards to either side of where the deer had actually traveled.
All of a sudden, Barney hit an especially strong scent trail and with his nose and eyes down followed it into the base of a cypress tree. The deer hadn't run into the tree, but the wind had.
Barney went down in a big cherry-hued clump. He lay motionless for several seconds before staggering to his feet.
A few seconds later, his mother Bonny opened up on the trail, and our hero bounded off to run in the lead. The scent held true for a minute or two. He was back at full throttle when an even bigger cypress tree jutted up mid-course. Yeah! He plowed into the second tree.
This time I thought for sure he was dead. I called over and over, his mother circled back and proceeded to smell and nudge her offspring with no apparent response.
I jumped from the buggy and ran up to the hound at the tree's base. A touch revealed he was breathing. Within a few minutes, he had recovered somewhat, at least enough to try and regain his feet.
The big hunting dog was gathered in my arms and deposited in the back of the swamp buggy.
He survived but never learned his lesson. As long as he lived, Barney couldn't resist any opportunity to nudge or fight at a snake of any kind.
Barney and snakes don't mix in the wild