When I think of coonhounds, I think of Where The Red Fern Grows. I think of Old Dan and Little Ann treeing their first coon and Billy working his young hands to the bone sawing The Big Tree at the base in an effort to catch the sneaky coon.
When I think of coonhounds, I also think of Daisy.
The Daisy that buries my Christmas decorations.
The Daisy who chews on bones and milk jugs.
The Daisy who plays with my chickens.
For some reason, this lone duck did not take flight when Daisy entered the water. Whether the duck was injured or enjoying the sheer torture she was causing young Daisy is unclear.
But this game of cat and mouse continued for quite some time.
Daisy spotting the duck.
Then paddling toward it.
Eventually, Daisy was outsmarted, outmaneuvered, defeated, blown out of the water and simply outclassed by a webbed footed buoyant duck.