I never knew a coon or fox hunter that even killed the animal.
I coon hunted with two different guys back in '73. One was an ol' guy named Eustis. Eustis had a pack of five Black and Tan Coonhounds. Purebred, beautiful dogs, all bred by him. All Eustis wanted to do was turn his dogs loose, then sit around the campfire drinking moonshine and listening to the dogs track and bay. It was peaceful out in the woods on a chilly night, sitting at the fire, listening to the dogs and hearing Eustis's stories. When they treed, we'd go find them, leash 'em up, and head back to the truck. That was Eustis coon hunting. I enjoyed his company, and for some reason he seemed to enjoy mine.
Other guy was named Jackie. Everybody (except me) called him Jackie-Boy. I went with him and his brother Earl one time. Just that one time. It was Earl's first hunt with him, too. Jackie was your typical good ol' boy, a Bubba to the core from Gaston County. Ran two Redbones and one Black and Tan. He had a way of talking...bragging, actually...that set a person's teeth on edge. I regretted going on that hunt before we'd gone a mile from the truck. He liked to shoot the coon in the butt, knocking it out of the tree so the dogs could get at it, then he'd be jumpin' up and down whoopin' and hollerin', egging the dogs on. That finished the job of turning me against him. Even his own brother cussed him for it. I never went again. Earl called me up the next day, apologizing for his brother's behavior.
Just as an aside, Eustis is long gone now. I guess his line of Black and Tans died out with him. They were great dogs, perfectly marked and colored, and Eustis was a gentleman. And a gentle man.
And Jackie? I'm shaking my head thinking of him. He died in a car wreck. Fell asleep at the wheel on his way back home from a night of jacklightin' deer somewhere up past Forest City. Run off the road. A big American Beech tree did him in. True story. Karma? Not for me to say.