The Autobiography of a Treeing Walker Coonhound

School—have you ever heard of a coonhound going to school? I knew all I needed to know—I didn’t need school. I think I was about 6 months old and Mopp must have been senile to think this one up. It began OK. Mopp got treats out of the frig and put them in a bag and brought them along in the car. A good sign, we weren’t leaving home without food. Finally, after a long drive, we arrived at this place with lots of grass, trees, and big buildings. Mopp put me on a leash (a leash is always a bad sign because it means that she and I would want to go in different directions). We walked into a large room in a huge building. I took one look at 20 humans standing next to 20 dogs—not one coonhound in the bunch. German Shephards, labs, poodles—poodles??? Give me a break. I pulled out of my collar and left. The door was closed and I couldn’t get out. Mopp was advancing on me. I couldn’t escape so I did the next best thing—I peed. Mopp wasn’t as mad as I expected. She just put my collar back on, picked me up (I wasn’t at my full weight yet) and carried me into this room with poodles.