WE sometimes hear men joke about the proverbial “coon skin” of early days, but it was no joke in our boyhood, we had to have the Raccoon in our business. If the coon crop had failed we would have had a coon skin panic, which would have swept all over the country. But the coon had one bad habit, he liked roasting-ears a little too well; but his diet in the spring and summer was frogs and crawfish and bugs, and in the fall and winter it was acorns and hackberries and corn. And if a dog was not a coon dog he was no dog at all; and an old experienced coon dog could tell better when it was a good night for coons to travel than a boy could; he would come to the door and whine and howl, then the boys would gather their ax and away into the woods, and soon “old Pomp” was gone, then they would sit down on a log and listen and after awhile away up the branch “y-o-w”, “y-o-w”; and when the boys would get there, whether the tree was big or little it had to come down, or one of the boys would climb up and scare his coonship out. The coon was a bad fighter, and could whip a dog very quickly, unless the dog understood how to kill them; but when we saw a dog take a “running shoot” at a coon and strike it with his breast and knock it down, then grab it through the ribs, and hold it to the ground very tightly, we knew that dog was “onto his job”, for he would kill it pretty quickly.