Night Watch With Ol’ Blue

The hills around Tahlequah, Oklahoma have a way of waking up slow in the morning. A thin layer of fog clung to the creek bottoms that day, drifting like smoke through the sycamores and hickories. The woods smelled damp and earthy, the scent of wet leaves and rich soil rising with the warming sun. Somewhere in the distance a crow cawed from a treetop, and the quiet rustle of squirrels moving through branches filled the cool air.

Roger Carter eased his way along a narrow deer trail with his .22 rifle resting across his shoulder. He was sixteen now, tall and lean, with boots that had already seen more miles of woods than pavement. Walking a few steps ahead of him was the best hunting partner a kid could ever ask for, a Bluetick coon hound named Ol’ Blue.

Ol' Blue’s long ears swung as he trotted, his nose buried close to the forest floor. Every now and then he snorted softly as he picked up a scent. The hound’s coat was speckled black and gray, and his deep chest rumbled with a low, eager breath that only a hunting dog makes when he knows the woods hold something worth chasing.

Roger smiled to himself. “Go on, Blue,” he said softly. “Find us one.”

The woods were alive with the gentle sounds of autumn. Dry leaves crunched under Roger’s boots. A light breeze stirred the treetops, whispering through the branches. Somewhere nearby, a woodpecker hammered at a hollow trunk, the sharp taps echoing through the forest. Then Ol’ Blue froze. His tail stiffened like a flagpole. Roger stopped too.

The dog let out a low whine and stared up into a tall oak tree. Roger followed the direction of Blue’s nose and spotted the flicker of movement—a gray squirrel clinging to the bark, its bushy tail twitching nervously. Slowly, Roger raised the .22. The rifle felt cool and familiar in his hands. He lined up the small iron sights, steadying his breath the way his grandpa had taught him.

Crack!

The sharp pop of the rifle echoed across the hollow. The squirrel tumbled from the branch and dropped toward the ground, but before it hit, it bounced off another limb and disappeared into the dark opening of a hollow tree trunk. Ol’ Blue exploded with excitement.

“Blue!” Roger laughed.

The dog lunged forward, barking loudly, his deep voice booming through the quiet woods. His paws scratched at the tree bark as he shoved his head and shoulders into the hollow at ground level. Roger walked over, still chuckling.

“Alright, easy now—”

But Ol’ Blue kept pushing. His barking echoed from inside the hollow trunk, turning into muffled woofs. Then suddenly the barking changed. It turned sharp and confused. Roger frowned. This was unusual for Blue to be acting this way.

“Blue?”

The dog tried to back out. But he couldn’t. Ol’ Blue’s shoulders were wedged tight inside the hollow tree. Roger grabbed the dog by the collar and gently pulled. The rough bark scraped against his hands.

“Hold still, boy.”

As Roger tugged harder, the dog yelped and whimpered loudly. Roger stopped his effort immediately.

“Easy, easy boy.”

He knelt down and pressed his cheek against the cool bark, peering into the dark opening. Inside he could see Old Blue’s head twisting and jaws snapping at the squirrel trapped somewhere deeper in the hollow. The smell of damp wood and old leaves drifted out of the tree.

As the day wore on, Roger tried again and again to pull his hunting partner free. But nothing seemed to work. Ol’ Blue was stuck! Roger sat back on his heels and sighed.

“Well now… this is a fine mess. Ain’t it boy?”

The afternoon slowly stretched on as Roger tried everything he could think of. He scraped away loose bark with his pocketknife. He pushed the dog gently forward to give him room to turn. He even tried digging around the roots of the tree with a stick. But Ol’ Blue remained wedged tight.

As the sun dropped lower in the sky, the forest began to change. The warm golden light faded into cool blue shadows. The air grew colder and carried the scent of frost and fallen leaves. Crickets started their evening chorus, chirping steadily from the underbrush.

Roger built a small fire nearby, using dry twigs and a handful of pine needles. The flames crackled softly and gave Roger a sense of safety and comfort. He knew his folks would be worried sick about him, but he also knew they trusted him and his level-headedness. Ol’ Blue had finally given up barking and now lay quietly with his head still stuck inside the hollow, occasionally letting out a frustrated huff.

Roger affectionately scratched along the dog’s back, feeling the wiry fur of the animal he had raised and taught to hunt from a pup.

“Don’t worry, old buddy. We’ll get you out in the morning.”

The night settled deep over the woods. An owl hooted from somewhere across the valley as Roger sat close to the fire, warming his hands and listening to the forest breathe around him. The smell of smoke drifted through the cold air. The stars slowly appeared above the dark silhouette of the trees. For a while everything was peaceful. Then Ol’ Blue growled low and uneasy. Sounds of footsteps could be heard on the dry leaves a few yards away.

Roger’s head snapped up. Now the woods had gone quiet. Too quiet. Then he heard it. A faint shuffle in the leaves – closer this time. Unmistakable footsteps could be heard circling the duo. Roger grabbed his rifle. Then he saw it.

From the shadows between the trees, a coyote stepped into the firelight. Its fur looked mangy and patchy. Foam clung to its jaws like dirty pearls. Its eyes reflected the fire with a wild, glassy glow. The animal staggered strangely as it walked. Roger felt his stomach tighten.

“Rabid,” he whispered.

Sensing the strange animal approaching, Ol’ Blue began barking furiously from inside the tree. The coyote’s ears twitched at the sound, but it didn’t stop its approach. Instead, it started creeping closer. The smell reached Roger next—a foul, rotten stench that made the hair on his neck rise.

“Back!” Roger shouted as he raised his trusty rimfire and took aim at the animal.

But the sickened coyote was not backing down. Instead, it lunged!

CRACK!

The sound of the .22 startled Roger at first as the sharp report shattered the night. The bullet struck the dirt just in front of the animal, kicking up dust. The coyote snarled and charged again, foam dripping from its mouth and knife-like teeth snapping wildly.

Adrenaline surged as Roger steadied himself for another shot. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

CRACK!

The second shot hit true and the coyote collapsed just yards from the fire. For a long moment the woods were silent again. Only the soft crackling of burning wood filled the darkness. Shaking slightly, Roger slowly lowered the rifle and let out a long breath.

“Well Blue,” he said quietly, “that was close.”

Old Blue whined softly, still stuck but safe. Roger stayed awake and on high alert the rest of the night beside the fire, feeding it sticks and listening to the wind move through the trees. The smell of smoke clung to his jacket as a thin layer of frost settled across the leaves. Somewhere far away a rooster crowed as dawn finally began to creep over the hills.

When morning light filtered through the branches, Roger could see his breath in the cold air. He stood up, stretched stiff muscles, and walked over to the hollow tree.

“Okay Blue, let’s get you out of there.”

With the help of a sturdy branch used as a lever, Roger finally widened the dead wood of the opening enough to free his companion. With a soft yelp, Blue tumbled backward onto the leaves and for a second looked confused, then jumped up and shook himself - hard - ears flapping wildly. Roger couldn’t help but laugh.

“You stubborn old coonhound,” he said lovingly.

Ol’ Blue wagged his tail and licked Roger’s hand like nothing had happened. The woods were bright and fresh again. Sunlight sparkled on frost. The smell of a new morning filled the air.

Roger slung his rifle over his shoulder.

“Come on, Blue,” he said. "Let's get out of here."

The two of them walked past the carcass of the downed coyote and started down the trail toward home, leaving the hollow tree, the fire ashes, the long night (and the squirrel) behind them.