From The Lyon’s Den:

The Bay Of A Hound
Right between the eyes

By Kimberley Lyons

As I stepped outside I knew it was here. I took a deep crisp breath of the sweet scented air and wrapped my sweater tightly against the morning chill. Autumn has arrived at last! I have said many times that if I could find a place where it was fall all year long, I would move there in a heartbeat. I mourn for it as the first snowflake falls; I dream of it through the promise of spring and pant for it in the heat of the summer. Fall brings with it all the things I love the most in the outdoors and along with it the many memories this are the very foundation of who I have become.

This evolution began almost thirty years ago with the bay of a hound.

Truly there is nothing that calls me back more than that sound. As the first of October approached all those years ago Big E and I had been dating for about seven months. He informed me that either I learned to enjoy coon hunting or he would see me after the season ended. His faithful black and tan coonhound named “Snagglepuss” would take preference as she needed no calendar to tell her hunting season was here and she had come to the end of her chain, so to speak.

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