Sep 29, 2013 | 1336 views | 0 0 comments | 6 6 recommendations | email to a friend | print


The rifle shot probably lasted less than half a second. Yet that sound still remains with me fifty-two years later. Her owner was drunk, but would have eventually killed her anyway. Because, because she was not a pure breed hunting dog. That quadro-mix mongrel, blind in one eye, was a bitch in the worst way. Her owner had let untreated mange destroy half her coat. The bald areas, exposed to strong Texas sun and swamp mosquitos, had left her pathetic. Large brown, crying eyes were the only beauty she had left.


Please understand, 40 years ago east Texas men bragged more about their 'coon dogs than wife or male children. That's why Mixie, the mixed mongrel, lay dead that night; her head still buried inside a hole in the ground, her mouth still clinging to the tail of a fast digging armadillo.


Jim Posey, man's best friend's murderer, re loaded his rifle, "Just in case she moves again 'cause' coon dogs don't dig up no armadillos." From the light of our coal oil lantern I saw he had made a clean kill. A hole behind her left front leg and a large bloody pit behind her right had destroyed both heart and lungs in one shot. Mixie would never embarrass him again.


I don't remember exactly what happened next. I do remember my 12 year old fists beating the face of a very large 35 year old man. I do remember wanting to kill a man for the first time in my life. I do remember gently pushing Mixie completely into that hole she had died in and sealing it with blood-stained dirt.


Andrew J. Hewett
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