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Hunting & Fishing
Coyotes on the fence?
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<blockquote data-quote="Sgt Dog" data-source="post: 3057974" data-attributes="member: 15840"><p>Grandpa had one dog name Slick. He hit a strand of barb wire full-speed and cut his throat wide open. Tried to save him but esophagus too badly damaged. Died with his head in water trough. Another of his dogs went out on his own unbeknownst to him - not a recommended or intended thing. Got hung up in the wire and the coyotes took their revenge right where he was hung up. Found him in the morning. No left one alive to elaborate but that is what I remember around the kitchen table. Older brothers are gone but they caught the tail end of Grandpa's grayhound days. Their experiences were coming back excited and bruised after bouncing across pastures lickity-split in the cab of an early 40s pickup truck. That was after he didn't ride horses anymore. A rope routed over the cab where he could pull it to open a gate on the dog box in the back. Boys said those dogs would bound off the top of the cab, hit the hood one time and be off like rockets. You can imagine the excitement for a couple 5 and 6 year olds. Us little brothers sure had our mouth opened while listening to their stories and Brothers Matt and Mark told me in later years how Gramma would give Grandpa the dickens if he brought them home with knots on the top of their head from hitting the cab, like he sure enough did a time or two. Can you imagine that nowadays? I spent a lot of time as a grown man on that farm visiting Gramma. It was just outside Winfield Kansas.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Sgt Dog, post: 3057974, member: 15840"] Grandpa had one dog name Slick. He hit a strand of barb wire full-speed and cut his throat wide open. Tried to save him but esophagus too badly damaged. Died with his head in water trough. Another of his dogs went out on his own unbeknownst to him - not a recommended or intended thing. Got hung up in the wire and the coyotes took their revenge right where he was hung up. Found him in the morning. No left one alive to elaborate but that is what I remember around the kitchen table. Older brothers are gone but they caught the tail end of Grandpa's grayhound days. Their experiences were coming back excited and bruised after bouncing across pastures lickity-split in the cab of an early 40s pickup truck. That was after he didn't ride horses anymore. A rope routed over the cab where he could pull it to open a gate on the dog box in the back. Boys said those dogs would bound off the top of the cab, hit the hood one time and be off like rockets. You can imagine the excitement for a couple 5 and 6 year olds. Us little brothers sure had our mouth opened while listening to their stories and Brothers Matt and Mark told me in later years how Gramma would give Grandpa the dickens if he brought them home with knots on the top of their head from hitting the cab, like he sure enough did a time or two. Can you imagine that nowadays? I spent a lot of time as a grown man on that farm visiting Gramma. It was just outside Winfield Kansas. [/QUOTE]
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