I’d read about them in Where the Red Fern Grows long ago. Being from the north, we had never seen one in real life. But we sure were enthusiastic about the idea of owning a redbone someday. At one point when Gambit was little, we thought he might have some redbone in him.
A litter of redbone coonhounds entered the adoption program around the time we had Beauford and Sierra. They were listed as mixes, but they sure looked like they might be purebreds. If so, they just weren’t bred for show standards since they had some decent sized white markings.
Boy were they cute.
My husband was eager for a coonhound puppy to be ready for foster. He hoped maybe it would end up being the right dog for us. If it wasn’t, there was still the opportunity to train an intelligent hound. At the same time, we were ready for a break from having multiple dogs once Beauford was adopted.
After a few weeks, Gambit was getting lonely and we decided to see if there were any more dogs ready for a foster home. As luck would have it, one of the next dogs on the list was one of the redbones!
My husband brought home Nellie, who was actually Frances, a problem easily corrected by swapping rabies tags. Nellie was a 4-month-old who, like Sierra, knew she was adorable.
Her running was in that awkward phase that can only be described as gallomping. She loved to flop down on dog beds but was an expert at sliding off of them. When she drank or sometimes when she slept, the tips of those long hound ears would lay in the water bowl. Her presence was always made known through a variety of vocalizations like a true hound.
And she was right in the midst of teething.