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Molly

by Mike Smith :: Featured: April, 2003

It had been a long day at work and my company had put me in an area that was very memorable for it was in the holler where I grew up.  As I drove home, I couldn't help but look at the bottomlands along the Spruce Laurel stream where I had spent many hours as a teenage boy.  The mountains bordering the holler didn't seem as tall as they had been but still seemed mighty steep and rough.  The sound of semis and coal trucks weren't there and the bottoms in the holler had more poplar groves than briar patches now but giant blackberry patches and diesel fuel still seemed fresh in my mind.  As I continued to drive throughout the holler, I gazed through the bottoms and one of the fondest memories continued to rise.  These were the bottoms where I was taught to rabbit hunt.

When I was thirteen years old, in April of 1989, my dad bought a female beagle pup for my brother, which were four at the time.  Dad bought her from an old man that lived a few miles away and was the only full time rabbit hunter at that time.  My brother named her Molly.

Dad was a hardcore coon hunter at this time.  He went every night he could.  Coon season was the only season in our house.  I also liked coon hunting and often I went along.  It didn't take long for me to begin the love for the outdoors and most of all, the hounds and houndwork.

My brother loved Ol' Molly.  She was a puppy any kid would enjoy but as she began to grow his interest in her diminished.  Molly became the family yard dog.  We lived a good distance from the main road so Molly had the run of the place.  Molly became the biggest scoundrel you've ever seen.  She constantly drug garbage in the yard and was always into mischief.  Molly grew into a young dog and didn't care the first thing about hunting, unless it was hunting something to drag in the yard.  Rabbits frequently passed through our yard. Some nights as many as four or five would be sitting all around the house, however Molly never showed interest.

When Molly was seven months old, one of dad's coon hunting buddies told him about a stray beagle that was wondering around and asked dad if he would like to have him.  Dad accepted and brought our new beagle, Jack, home.  Jack was as hardheaded and trashy as they come but you could usually kill a rabbit or two with him before his morning deer chase.  We would take Molly along on our small hunts with Jack but never did she show any interest in running, hunting or anything that pertained to deer or rabbits.

One day dad took Jack and Molly through the bottoms above our house, hoping to bag a rabbit before Jack hit the hillside. Jack jumped a rabbit and continued on running it as dad waited with Molly by his hip.  Suddenly ol' Mr. Rabbit burst out of a greenbriar bush and ran nearly over top of Molly.  Dad shot the rabbit, and Molly being stunned, ran over to see what this was that nearly took her out.  Dad picked up the rabbit and waited for Jack to see.  Molly placed her front paws on dad's leg and began to lick the blood, which flowed from the harvest.  That night I shined a flashlight into the corner of the yard to see if there were any rabbits out, and there were two.  Simultaneously, Molly and I saw the rabbits, and she ran her first rabbit that night.  

We started rabbit hunting more frequently and Molly was starting to become a rabbit dog.  We were hunting Molly with Jack and done quite well until Jack hit his daily whitetail.  Jack may have made it at our house if we would have had shocking collars but since we didn't, Jacks time was over.  We gave him away.

Molly still ran loose on our place.  She was pounding rabbits night and day.  She was teaching herself the art of being a rabbit dog.  At this time we were more enthusiastic about coon hunting, so Molly had to hunt by herself.

When I was about fourteen, maybe fifteen, dad purchased a redtick coonhound that he allowed me to call my own.  Many nights I would take this hound on the mountain behind the house.  Some of the other boys that lived in the community would go with me.  We never did get a coon without dad and his dogs but usually halfway through the night Molly would show up, jump us a mountain rabbit and run its hide off.

Dad went to nightshift and coon hunting slowly went by the wayside.  Rabbit and deer then went to the top of my priority list, most of the time even ahead of schoolwork.  Some of the local boys and I hunted Molly day after day through the bottoms and power line right of ways in the holler.  I was about sixteen at this time and some of the older locals couldn't believe how many rabbits we were killing.  It wasn't that we were good hunters; it was the dog that was leading us.  We would play games, tell jokes and whatever else fifteen year old boys could think of, but when Molly barked it was like she was saying, "Get your gun cause here he comes."

One time that sticks fresh in my mind occurred in the season of "96".  I was working at a coal preparation plant and some of my co-workers had talked up a New Years Day rabbit hunt.  They asked me if I wanted to go along.  I told them I owned a fairly good beagle but they acted like I didn't need to bring her.  I proceeded in taking her.  I was a little nervous on how Molly would do because I had never hunted her with other people.  I was somewhat afraid she wouldn't hold her own with these "high caliber" hounds.  Boy, did she ever surprise them!  Molly jumped nearly every rabbit and carried every race that day.  After that, Molly and I were always invited.

Time passed and Molly was now a veteran and no matter how many beagles we hunted her with she carried our kennel.  Dad and I took Molly's ability for granted.  We thought all rabbit dogs were like her.  As Molly's age was catching up to her, Dad and I decided it was time to look for possibilities to replace her.  We began to keep our eyes open to purchase other beagles.  We raised pups and tried out other hounds only to find out it wasn't easy as we thought.  Molly passed on in December of "99" but her memories will live with us forever.