A lot of my friends are in to deer hunting and get all hyped up in the fall when the season starts. I've never gotten in to that but have hunted when the need arises my entire life. I ran in to a good friend a few weeks ago and we started talking about our "hunting days" back in the early '90s when we were teenagers.
When we were in high school my best friend lived on a 350 acre piece of land in Barnesville, GA. They had the standard farm fare....horses, cows, chickens etc... At least twice per year his dad would call us to come down and clear the dogs off the land. Packs of wild dogs (most released by their owners in the middle of no where) would roam the land in groups of 20-30. They attacked chickens, ducks and any other farm animal they could corner. They also kept the deer from coming around. One year he let the pastor of his church hunt deer on the land and the pastor was attacked by a pack. After that he would call us in the late spring and late fall to come take cae of them. We would hunt them with our various rifles. I always carried my SKS and my older brother had a 13rd tube fed 22 that he could empty quicker than I could my SKS. My buddy carried an Ariska on the first trip but changed to a Remington 1100 after wards.
One year his dad called and told us that a pack of dogs had killed an old horse that they had been boarding. He asked if we were up to a little hunting. We just thought they were stupid dogs that would be easy to take care of. The first hunt was a real eye opener. We spent the night on the farm on Saturday night and you could hear the dogs barking in the distance throughout the night. The next morning we headed out at sunup. We were walking a trail that they had used the night they took the horse and about 1/2 a mile into the woods you could smell them. Then, about 100' in front of us there was a mid-sized, harmless looking dog sleeping in the middle of the trail. My buddy was going to take him out and I told him that he was crazy and to leave it alone. I tried the cutsey-voice "come here little poochey" thing and he started barking an alarm; That's when we realized he wasn't a lone, lost puppy. All around us we started hearing movement and a couple of dozen other dogs all came out of the trees. Several immediately circled around us in what appeared to be a well thought out flanking maneuver while others ran about 100' up the trail, turned and started barking. I would say that at least half of them decided to come after us. I'm sure we looked hilarious... 3 teenaged boys running as fast as we could through the woods screaming like girls completely oblivious to the fact that we had guns. We ran toward a berm and dove over it in our best Iwo Jima impressions. My older brother (19 yrs old) came up first, turned and started popping 22 stingers into the pack. I was surprised but they dropped one by one when those little buggers hit. I turned and popped 3 or so with my first stripper clip and my buddy got off at least one shot with his Ariska. Out of the dozen or so that were charging us only 3 ran off. From that point on we took it a lot more serious. We ended up finding a lot more of them later that day and again the next morning. In all, we took out about 25 of them on the first trip.
One interesting thing was that every feral dog we shot would be 100% gone the next morning without a trace. I'm guessing the rest of the pack ate well that night. We probably did this twice a year for 4 years and would bag 40 or so each year.
Anyway, sorry if you just wasted 5 minutes of your life listening to one of my old memories. Lets hear some of yours.
When we were in high school my best friend lived on a 350 acre piece of land in Barnesville, GA. They had the standard farm fare....horses, cows, chickens etc... At least twice per year his dad would call us to come down and clear the dogs off the land. Packs of wild dogs (most released by their owners in the middle of no where) would roam the land in groups of 20-30. They attacked chickens, ducks and any other farm animal they could corner. They also kept the deer from coming around. One year he let the pastor of his church hunt deer on the land and the pastor was attacked by a pack. After that he would call us in the late spring and late fall to come take cae of them. We would hunt them with our various rifles. I always carried my SKS and my older brother had a 13rd tube fed 22 that he could empty quicker than I could my SKS. My buddy carried an Ariska on the first trip but changed to a Remington 1100 after wards.
One year his dad called and told us that a pack of dogs had killed an old horse that they had been boarding. He asked if we were up to a little hunting. We just thought they were stupid dogs that would be easy to take care of. The first hunt was a real eye opener. We spent the night on the farm on Saturday night and you could hear the dogs barking in the distance throughout the night. The next morning we headed out at sunup. We were walking a trail that they had used the night they took the horse and about 1/2 a mile into the woods you could smell them. Then, about 100' in front of us there was a mid-sized, harmless looking dog sleeping in the middle of the trail. My buddy was going to take him out and I told him that he was crazy and to leave it alone. I tried the cutsey-voice "come here little poochey" thing and he started barking an alarm; That's when we realized he wasn't a lone, lost puppy. All around us we started hearing movement and a couple of dozen other dogs all came out of the trees. Several immediately circled around us in what appeared to be a well thought out flanking maneuver while others ran about 100' up the trail, turned and started barking. I would say that at least half of them decided to come after us. I'm sure we looked hilarious... 3 teenaged boys running as fast as we could through the woods screaming like girls completely oblivious to the fact that we had guns. We ran toward a berm and dove over it in our best Iwo Jima impressions. My older brother (19 yrs old) came up first, turned and started popping 22 stingers into the pack. I was surprised but they dropped one by one when those little buggers hit. I turned and popped 3 or so with my first stripper clip and my buddy got off at least one shot with his Ariska. Out of the dozen or so that were charging us only 3 ran off. From that point on we took it a lot more serious. We ended up finding a lot more of them later that day and again the next morning. In all, we took out about 25 of them on the first trip.
One interesting thing was that every feral dog we shot would be 100% gone the next morning without a trace. I'm guessing the rest of the pack ate well that night. We probably did this twice a year for 4 years and would bag 40 or so each year.
Anyway, sorry if you just wasted 5 minutes of your life listening to one of my old memories. Lets hear some of yours.
for a little helping of .410 slug to the chest.
