Belle belongs here, too.
Enjoy,
Steve
BELLE
Grandpa Hank�s favorite hound was named Belle.
It was the mid-1920s and Hank was a bachelor. Hank had lots of hounds, of course, but Belle was special. When it came to running lions and bears in the Sawtooth Mountains, the two were a team.
One day, Belle went missing while after a big tom cougar. Hank eventually walked down the lion and killed it with his .30 Remington, but Belle was not there ... she was either killed, got diverted by another lion scent trail or fell over a cliff.
Hank and the rest of his hounds spent the next two weeks in the mountains, just searching for Bell. They never found any trace of that wonderful and loyal hound.
Years later, I remember standing in the back yard of our farm as night closed in. When God spread sapphire-blue ink across the sky and the first stars showed, we often stood in wonder. The land became quiet and the wind died down.
It was then that Hank swore he could hear Belle baying. She was still after lions, she had a big one up a tree and was waiting for Hank to come help her out.
Hank blamed himself for failing his beloved hound.
After a while, we'd walk into the light of our covered back porch and there would be twin wet tracks down his wrinkled cheeks.
Dang, Hank loved that dog.
Of course, it was impossible for Belle to still be alive thirty years after she disappeared in the mountains. Still, Hank heard her baying almost every evening ��
and I did, too.
by Steve
