Little Scrappers

How's this for precocious?

A few posts back, I wrote that Donny Lynch, my hunting buddy and dog training mentor, has pups for sale. Here's a very recent photo of four of his pups on a tree. Yes, there's a squirrel up there. The gorgeous feist highest on the trunk is Sponge Bob (named by Donny's grandson Eli.) He's 11 weeks old. The little rat terriers are 8 weeks old. Some of his pups are for sale and some are not. Again, if you're interested, drop me a line and I'll put you in touch with him.

Need a Good Pup?

Donny Lynch, my East Texas hunting buddy, has a few rat terrier and feist puppies he'd sell to the right hunter(s). Donny isn't a commercial dog breeder, though he's very serious, experienced, and knowledgeable. He occasionally breeds hunting dogs for himself and his friends. In this case he has a few pups left over, but he's not desperate to sell them. Donny hunts every day during the squirrel season, and coon hunts all summer in the East Texas heat, so he has no trouble working several dogs.

Of course no puppy is a sure thing, but I can personally vouch for Donny's breeding stock. I've hunted over all of his finished dogs and count them among the best all-around hunting dogs - of any breed - that I've ever known. During an average season, they'll account for hundreds of squirrels and scores of raccoons.

The rat terrier puppies are out of a locally famous line of treeing rat terriers often called "Dubbie dogs" in reference to "Dubbie," a large terrier that won the World Hunt several years ago. In general these dogs are silent on the track with a clear loud bark on the tree. This litter's sire is Chance, one of Donny's all-time favorites. You can see a decent photo of Chance in this article.
Chance's puppy Junior made an appearance this past July on Good Morning Texas. At just over a year old, he's already treeing well, and he accounted for a number of squirrels during his puppy season.

Ranger, the sire of the feist pups, is ounce of ounce, the toughest little hunter I've ever seen, though he's very companionable and biddable. Like Chance, Ranger is silent on the track and has a nice clear bark on the tree. He's an excellent coon dog. I blogged about him here and here.

As a general rule, I don't advertise or plug products. I have no financial stake in these puppies, nor do I know how much Donny might charge. But he's a great friend, dog man, and hunter, and I wanted to pass this info along.

For the most part, Donny places his pups with serious squirrel and coon hunters, but I suspect that if you can provide a good home and keep a dog busy with other kinds of terrier and feist work he'd be glad to hear from you. His dogs are very bold, gamey, and versatile. These pups will be very well socialized. The feist pups are around seven months old and are already starting to tree. I believe the rat terrier pups are quite a bit younger.

If you're interested, drop me a line, and I'll put you in touch with Donny.

Sure-Enough Dog!

Donny Lynch and Ranger, his fine treeing feist, late last month in the Sabine River bottom. Ranger treed either a squirrel or 'coon in a hollow tree. He was climbing up the trunk, barking every breath, and had hung onto the hole for several seconds while I fumbled with my camera. Donny had just stepped up behind him when I snapped this photo.

With Ranger's help, Donny, our friend"Smooth," and I took seven squirrels in about two hours in very warm, windy conditions.

At only three years old, Ranger is one of the best all-around hunting dogs, I've ever known. He's fearless when facing outraged 'coons and is a deadly-accurate tree dog. He's also a delight in camp and handles beautifully in the woods. Donny rarely has to raise his voice.

Year before last, Ranger got stuck while chasing a 'coon into a hollow cypress tree. While Donny desperartely tried to call him out, he continued to bay his quarry. Finally, we could hear him struggling to get free and worried that the 'coon would chew him him up while he had no room to move. We ran a quarter of a mile back to the truck and were gathering the ax and saw (the chainsaw was out of fuel) when Ranger came huffing through the woods toward us.

Donny leaned on the truck bed and let out deep breath.

I said, "Wonder how he got loose?"

Ranger stood panting, awaiting further instructions.

Donny said, "He probably ate is way out."

Deep East Texas Hunting and Fishing Trip

I spent two days last week hunting and fishing at Caddo Lake with my old friend Donny Lynch. May squirrel season is on in East Texas, bream are bedding, and we're having an unusually cool, wet, and pleasant spring.

Donny hunts raccoons and squirrels with mountain curs, feists, and rat terriers - serious meat and hide dogs. He hunts every day; I feel like the rankest beginner every time I visit him.

Caddo Lake, with it's cypress breaks, moss-draped oaks, and sloughs is last thing most folks picture when you mention Texas.

We started out after bream - red-ears and bluegill - in mid-afternoon. Donny, practical meat fisherman that he is, rigged up with floater and number 10 hook baited with a crawfish he'd netted in a creek that runs through one of his 'coon hunting hot spots.

I, gentleman fly fisherman that I am, started rigging up with a woolly worm - my never-fail bream fly. Donny hauled in two or three whoppers while I screwed up a couple blood knots. Over the next hour, it became obvious that Caddo Lake bream prefer crayfish to my lovingly tied flies.

In desperation I tied on a hair's ear nymph.

Donny said, "What's that s'posed to be?"

"It suggests the larval stage of various insects."

"I got a little cup full of the larva." He reached for his maggots. "Tie one of these on that little hook. Them brim will eat it up."

I did. They did.

An hour later, we were back in his camp dressing a nice mess of bream.

We ate supper, waited for dark, then went coon hunting. He cast Ranger, a feist, and Whitey, a mountain cur, along the edge of some flooded timber. Within minutes, they struck and the chase was on. A few minutes later, they treed and we waded into to the flooded woods. Mind you, it was eighty degrees and pitch dark. Donny had a coon hunters lamp; I had a $5 flashlight. We found the dogs raising bloody hell around the roots of a huge fallen oak.

Donny said, "I smell a cottonmouth. Come here and you can learn what one smells like."

I know very well what a cottonmouth smells like." (a mild skunk odor) "I'm just fine where I am."

We never found the raccoon, though I know it was there somewhere. The dogs were just too worked up. Donny conducted a methodical search while I trained my light on any tangle that might hold a cottonmouth.

A few minutes later, another strike and another short race. This one ended at a hollow cypress tree in waste-deep water in the middle of a slough. I got to the dogs first; they were swimming circles around the tree, barking every breath.

Donny arrived and found the 'coon right off - a young boar that will go well with yams and cornbread. You can take the boy out of Kentucky but...

Next morning we headed to the woods for squirrels. As I write this three fryers are thawing in the kitchen.




Ranger, a two year-old feist, treeing a gray squirrel.

Whitey, a mountain cur, and Ranger working a tree. Donny said, "Old Whitey is eatin' that tree up!" We expected a squirrel, but they'd treed a 'coon.



Chance a 10 year-old rat terrier stops to listen. Good squirrel dogs use their eyes and ears as well as their noses.




Ranger fetches a gray squirrel. He's as soft-mouthed as any retriever.