Aug. 31, 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
267 
Wild Dogs and a Talking ’Possum. 
Raleigh, N. C., Aug. 12. —Editor Forest and 
Stream: A regular campaign has been made 
against wild dogs by the authorities of the 
Hospital for the Insane and by other people a 
little southwest of Raleigh, where there is a 
forest, now owned by the State, of something- 
like a thousand acres, this being one of the 
finest in North Carolina, some of the trees be¬ 
ing six feet in diameter, oaks, poplars, pines, 
etc. These dogs are found to have gone wild 
in a very singular way. About thirty years ago 
labor agents came into this State and, working 
largely through the negro preachers and other 
leaders of that race, induced over thirty thou¬ 
sand of the blacks to leave North Carolina and 
go to the Southwest, mainly across the Missis¬ 
sippi River. One preacher got a dollar a head 
for those he induced to go, his rake-off being 
$300, and after this work was done he departed 
for fresh fields. The negroes always have dogs, 
usually a hound or cur of very low degree 
indeed. 
In a scattered settlement of negroes some 
three or four miles from Raleigh, where the 
dogs were numerous, the owners, to use the 
darkey phrase, “pulled up and left.” Usually 
with the blacks to move merely means to “put 
out the fire and call the dog”; but this time they 
did not call the dog, and so the latter was left. 
Masterless and uncared for, the dogs went wild, 
and they ruined two herds of cattle, and have 
been killing sheep and even goats. The hospital 
authorities have been giving them the shotgun 
treatment, and in eighteen months have killed 
forty-five, while other people have added to 
this list. These half-savage beasts, which are 
curiously blotched and look very like hyenas, 
breed in little caves and hollow stumps and 
under rocks, and not long ago a hunter went 
to a trap he had set, when suddenly a wild 
bitch sprang at him from a little cave in which 
were her pups. He had to shoot quick to save 
himself. He found six pups, which he put out 
of action in short order. 
The average North Carolinian is country- 
bred and loves every outdoor sport, day or 
night, including, of course, ’possum and ’coon 
hunting. The writer is a devotee of these 
sports, as well as all others with dog and gun. 
One of the best stories he has ever heard was 
told a day or so ago by Mr, Allston, a member 
of a family which for generations untold has 
followed field sports. On the Roanoke River 
north of Raleigh and near the Virginia line, 
where the negroes do a great deal of ’possum 
hunting, lives a man named Allen, nearby him 
living a negro named Zeke, who because he 
lives nearly all the time on the river or in it. is 
known as “Roanoke.” This negro told Mr. 
Allen he was going out on a certain night last 
winter, said he was going to catch him a fine 
'possum and told him the direction he would 
follow. Mr. Allen slipped out into the woods 
and climbed a tree on which there was yet a 
lot of foliage, the tree being a very large one. 
Presently Roanake’s dogs came along, taking 
Mr. Allen’s trail, and up came Roanoke, who, 
after the manner of the darkey, addressed him¬ 
self to the atmosphere and his dogs, saying: 
“Dey shooly has treed him, far and squar, but 
dat tree is too big fur me ter cut, and I’m er 
gwine to climb it.” Suiting the action to the 
word, he began to climb, the dogs barking and 
looking up into the tree. When Roanoke was 
something like ten feet from the ground, Mr. 
Allen cried out, in the deepest voice, “Who you 
cumin atter, nigger?” At the words Roanoke 
fell out, and his three dogs, thinking he was a 
’possum, jumped on him and bit him hard on 
his legs, while he yelled and threshed about 
with his hands, shouting as he did so, ‘Keep off, 
you d- dogs; de devil’s right here.” 
Roanoke limped off for home and Allen, com¬ 
ing down from the tree a little later, made his 
way to the old darkey’s house and there he 
found Roanoke with his head in his hands, in 
front of the fire-place. Mr. Allen knocked at 
the door, after he had peeped through it, as it 
was partly open, and Roanoke limped to it. 
Mr. Allen said, “Roanoke, I hope you got me a 
’possum.” 
Roanoke replied, as he looked at his torn 
trousers, “Bless God! Mr. Allen, I ain’t never 
gwine in dem woods no mo’. I slioly treed de 
devil, er else er’ possum what kin talk, fur one 
uv dem two things hollered at me fum er tree, 
whar my dogs, which is trusty dogs and never 
fails, had treed dat sumfin.” 
Mr. Allen, not cracking a smile, departed, 
and the next day told Roanoke’s experience, 
while he gave the poor fellow a solatium to salve 
his dog-bites. If Mr. Allen hadn’t told the 
story, Roanoke would have gone to his grave 
believing that he had either treed a devil or a 
talking ’possum. Fred A. Olds. 
The Fish Crow. 
Holyoke, Mass., July 22.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: Recently you printed an article, en¬ 
titled, “Do We Need the Crow?” Three sum¬ 
mers ago I lived by a lake in the western part 
of Vermont by the name of St. Catherine. Near 
the lake shore a fish crow built her nest in the 
top of a rather tall, slim hemlock tree in a thick 
growth of forest. When the young ones were 
nearly grown, they were blown down by a 
heavy wind. A party nearby killed one and we 
got the other two. One of these was hurt and 
died in a few days. The other one, which we 
called Joe, was quite intelligent and knew its 
name. At first we fed it bread crumbs, but 
when it got older, so that it could feed itself, it 
would open its mouth and take the bread and 
then throw it away. It never would pick up 
any bread crumbs, but would always swallow 
pieces of meat or fish. I think this shows that 
the fish crow lives on an animal diet wholly, 
and does not like grain of any kind. 
Joe was very fond of raw fish. When I was 
dressing any, he was always on hand for his 
share. I had a small garden, and while work¬ 
ing in it, this crow would follow me and pick 
up all of the bugs and worms, but would never 
pick up corn. A number of times I saw him 
stop and listen to the ground, and then make 
two or three powerful picks with his beak and 
fetch out one of those large white grubs, the 
larvae of the June bug. He would put it under 
his toe and pick its head off, then eat the rest 
of it. 
The young fish crow is quieter than a young 
field crow. It does not make so much noise, not 
even with the old ones. I do not think the fish 
crow can stand cold weather. Mine died when 
the first cold weather came on. The others 
leave the last of September or first of October. 
I had a good chance to notice the habits of the 
old birds, as the nest was only a few yards from 
the house where I was stopping. In the same 
grove were a number of nests of other birds. 
A flicker had one in the top of a dead limb on 
a beach tree. A few yards away some other 
kind of bird had her nest, and nearby a robin 
had hers near the house. The fish crows never 
disturbed any of these nests. My opinion is that 
they never do this. 
These fish crows always flew out over the 
water and returned the same way. Their flight 
was more like that of the dove—a light gliding 
stroke with their wings. I think they do not go 
out into the fields like a field crow, but stay 
near the water where they build their nests. 
There should be laws protecting their nests within 
a certain number of yards of the lake shores. I 
think they do little harm, but eat large beetles 
and worms that smaller birds cannot master. 
This crow comes further north than Connecticut. 
The field crows that came to the lake to drink 
were larger and more of a blue black color. 
They stay through the winter here, but the other 
kind go South. The fish crow is of a flatter 
build and more of a brownish black. I think 
the two keep separate. The fish crow should 
be protected, but we may have too many of the 
field variety sometimes. Ellis L. Dudley. 
“The Winter Sleep of Brute Creation.” 
Brewer, Me., July 15. —Editor Forest and 
Stream: In the July 6 issue of your paper I 
notice that Leonard K. Hirschberg, A.B., M.D., 
etc., makes the statement: “The hedgehog en¬ 
ters into a deep sleep comparable to that of 
mosquitoes and fireflies. It retires to some rocky 
crevice, beneath, some gnarled roots or inter¬ 
twining vines and twigs. Perhaps it is lucky 
and finds a disused cellar or water pipe. Here 
it maintains a foodless slumber until far into 
the spring. In the South, and even in some 
parts of Canada, the hedgehog awakens at 
periods and seeks food.” 
After reading the above, the impression re¬ 
ceived is that the gentleman has been reading 
of the hedgehog of Europe, and that by some 
means he has conceived the idea that the Euro¬ 
pean hedgehog and the porcupine of this coun¬ 
try are one and the same animal. Since he 
speaks of the “hedgehog” in Canada, it seems 
only fair to take exception to some of his state¬ 
ments. 
In the first place there is no “hedgehog” in 
this country and never was. He evidently refers 
to the Canada porcupine, but as to the Canada 
porcupine hibernating I can say that they do not. 
Mr. Hirschberg is, in fact, the first person I ever 
knew to make such a claim. 
Not only are the porcupines traveling about 
