Daddy was friends with several local fox hunters who frequented his store. Mostly they were the Hudson brothers: Clemmon, R.V. and Cooter. Although Daddy never owned a fox hound, he loved to go with them on the nights they hunted close to our house.

These fox hunts were held twice weekly, usually in and around the Twelve Mile River swamps adjacent to our place. I am not sure when these hunters slept, because they were out kinda late each of these nights. The wizened hunters knew whether their dogs were chasing a gray or red fox from the way the dogs ran. Grays tended to run in close circles. The reds would run in a straight line, generally.

The rather loose-knit group of hunters met occasionally at someone’s cabin up in Nine Times. Never knew who owned that cabin. It was rather stark and musty, with little more than lights and table and makeshift

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