Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Small Game The wolf squirrel dog named Puppy

Believe it or not by far the best squirrel dog I have ever hunted over was a 120 lb Norwegian Elk Hound named Puppy ! I think I was maybe 8 when I found him all alone in the deep forested mountains of Virginia.

As it was I was deer hunting when I heard a dog barking deep down in a hollow on our family land. This particular land has been in our family since the days of stomping American Chestnuts with your bare feet was considered normal and when the boys would fill their bike tires with dehydrated apples and pour spring water on them to inflate the tire.

We went there every year up until the late 90s for our annual Thanksgiving deer and turkey hunt with the entire family and my best memories to this day were certainly on those ridges, in that hunt camp and around those streams with my entire family including my Mom, Dad, my brother, my sister, my grandmother and grandfather and my great grandmother and great grandfather.

At any rate back to the wolf squirrel dog. I heard him barking frantically way down in the hollow and thinking he may be hurt or something I started heading that direction. As I came over the ridge and looked down into the bottom I saw him! He was a beast of a dog, more gray than black with a huge mane, thick shoulders and a big thick tail.

To me he looked like a large wolf like critter, maybe some sort of Creeker dog mix as they are known up here. Creekers were a group of tall, ugly and muscled half human creatures known to drive their old jalopy trucks up and down the dry creek beds doing their evil business at night. This evil business of theirs was that of kidnapping children and especially those that did't do their chores or those who talked back to adults. It was safe to say that this here dog must have been one of theirs from his looks as he leaned up on the tree with his front paws, knashing and chop barking like a hound.

I don't know why but I approached closer and timidly. Even with my trusty rifle in hand this creature just looked plumb scary and evil. As he saw me approaching he trotted over to me confidently wagging his tail and panting. I was in a trance and time stood still for me as he approached. He stopped within about 10 feet of me, looked directly in my eyes, cocked his head to the side and barked only once, but loud as all hell directly into my face. He did this it seemed as to scold me for goofing off and not getting there sooner. The worlds fate he attempted to convey to me was now in our hands and life itself certainly depended on what happened next. I stood dumbfounded until again he trotted over and barked directly in my face then ran back to the tree. I remember trying to piece the puzzle together and then the light blinked on , my fear subsided and I understood the mission that I had been chosen for as I looked up and saw there in the tree the entire reason behind our meeting. Way up in the very tippy top of a tall hickory waved the bushy tail of a Gray squirrel !

Being that I now understood the dire consequences of the situation I spun around and ran all the way back to the cabin. I tossed my rifle on the old corn mattress and iron framed bed and picked up my single shot 20 guage, grabbed some shells and hit the trail a running. I should mention that though every adult at camp saw me do this not one questioned me or tried to stop me. They all knew I would never run with a loaded gun and that I was onto something hot! This was the 70s and America was still America.

Well as it turns out Puppy must have thought I had deserted him on our first challenge together as about half way back up the trail I see him running full bore directly at me in chase mode nose to the ground following my scent trail. He saw me about the same time I saw him. He stopped barked once and spun on a dime headed back to the tree.

That was one the first of many squirrels to fall to the ground that week. It didn't take long for us to figure out that God his very self must have put us together. He was the perfect squirrel dog except for his size and appearance and I was young, a hunting finatic and full of energy. I felt full and complete in the woods with old Puppy by my side and we were welcomed with pats and praise when coming back into camp as every one else there loved squirrel dumplings and gravy which made me even prouder.

My Grandmother however, always the cautious one of the bunch, must have said a dozen times that dog there is a wolf and he is gonna eat you sooner than later. My Mom and Pops however had already seen us in action as had my grandfather and great grandfather so he got the nod to stick around.

Well anyhow old Puppy and I we struck up a tight friendship and killed a pile of bushy tails together over the next few days. I even got permission to let him sleep with me in the old Chestnut log and tar papered shack. In the mornings he was rip roaring ready to go as was I. Puppy would even help me put on his orange vest my Dad suggested he wear so that a deer hunter wouldn't shoot him accidentally.

Like a great squirrel dog should he would always hit the opposite side of the tree from me to push Mr. Bushy around for the shot. Soon as the squirrel was confirmed dead by his nuzzling it was off to the races for Puppy with me shoving the dead one in my vest and hauling ass like the blazes after him with my 20 gauge single Harrington and Richardson and a pair of hand me down camouflage pants filled to over capacity with shells for a just in case moment.

That Wednesday before Thanksgiving day we heard a strangers car coming up the shale drive way around lunch time and Puppy started going absolute nuts. Turns out it was his owners, a very kind and lovely elderly couple that lived on their farm about a mile away. My heart immediately sank and my throat grew tight as figured out what was going to happen now. My pops and the man moved over towards the well house and talked quietly out of hearing distance. I remember the farmers wife and I petting the wolf like dog she had named Puppy as a tear turned down my cheek. Turns out she said old Puppy was a Norwegian Elk hound and much bigger than most. I also remember her saying something very kindly to me about me getting a dog like him one day. My throat squeezed and I gritted my teeth as I hugged old Puppys neck tightly not wanting to let go.

Then I heard it "Well that will work!" Roared the the old man but joyfully. He then laughed out loud and slapped my pops on the shoulder. He started heading my direction and I feared the worst was now upon me as he said " tell ya what kid your Dad has rented Puppy till this Sunday, you take good care of him till then and you owe me 12 cleaned squirrels when you drop him off". I gave him a big old southern " Yes Sir !" and that of a determined young man and headed for the shack to get my gear ready for the evening hunt. I was ecstatic as was Puppy, he was staying!

We caused a lot of terror in the local bushy tail community for the next several days and filled many a pot with the delicious little tree dwellers. All told we were allowed three more days of some of the best squirrel hunting fiascos, legend and lore that has ever been heard of or told about around these parts. From big old Red Fox squirrels hiding in hickory holes to Grays hitting the ground and finding a hole to bury in we had seen it all together. We were most certainly the best squirrel hunting duo this side of the Mississippi.

That Sunday finally rolled around and as promised we dropped him off at his owners farm with 12 cleaned squirrels. I can remember hugging his big old furry neck and giving him a big squeeze saying I will see ya next year and I will be a year older and have a 12 gauge when I come back. He panted hard in my ear licked my face as I said my goodbyes and made my promises. I reckon I cried all the way back to South Carolina that trip.



Every year when I went back to our family property in the beautiful mountains of Virginia I would listen and look for him. I would cup my ears with my hands just as my Dad had taught me in hopes of hearing him barking way up high on a hardwood mountain ridge or possibly down in some deep dark bottom by the creek. I would holler "wooooooouup" for him as we had used in the past to locate one another in the woods. In the end no matter how hard I tried, I would never hear his bark again.


As it turns out Puppys owners had come up the following Thanksgiving while I was out hunting the mountain ridges. They told my pops that Puppy had gone down hill pretty quickly after we dropped him off that Sunday and died about 3 months later at the age of 14.

It would seem I was his last Hoorah and he was one of my all time best.

Had a very similar thing happen when I was in high school in S. Georgia with a pointer named Frank....
Phenomenal bird dog...

Good story strick9! I love to squirrel hunt with a good dog.
What part of Virginia was your family's place in?

Awesome story! I loved it.


maddog

Thanks fellers, I have since updated it a little more after talking with my Dad. The family place is over in Bath County bordering the George Washington National Forest.

we were practically neighbors then, I've spent almost all of my life hunting in Highland County just north of bath.

thanks again for the great story

Thats pretty cool. I sure do miss it up there brother!

Great story. Thanks for sharing.

Great read, Thank you!

Awesome read, thanks for sharing

Good story. Thanks for posting.

Good one Dave!

I grew up always having a good squirrel dog and have some fond memories of those days.

I recently picked up a 5 yr old black mouth cur gyp in Missouri for a pal who found her for sale and had to have her. As soon as this work project is done and the leaves fall we plan to see if she's what the seller claimed she is.

i hunt squirrel with a BMC. dog is NUTS on squirrels

Robster, I think we may have spoken a time or two about your BMC over on the hide?