'Twas the hunt before Christmas, when all round the camp
Not a creature was stirring, no light on my lamp;
The stockings were hung by the dog box with care,
In hopes that St. Double U soon would be there;
The children were nestled in their sleeping bags;
With visions of tree leads and early-drawn tags;
Ma in her safety orange Richardson cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out from our campsite arose such a yell,
I sprang from my bed and exclaimed “What the hell?”.
Out of the tent I did fly like a fox,
Dropped the tailgate down, and then unlatched the box.
My strike dog did sing, with a bawl and a chop,
And I squint through darkness to see what was up,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a Ford F-350, a box in the rear,
A big jolly driver, all soggy and muddy
I knew in a moment he must be St. Buddy.
So rapid his redbones and walkers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Della! now, Bonnie! now Dusty and Blue!
On, Rosie! on, Josie! on, Cletus and Drew!
To the top of the treeline, yes hear daddy call!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away, y’all!"
And faster than lightning, the hounds they did fly,
To tree prey for their master; A large, rugged guy
So into the hills his potlickers flew
With the truck full of Garmin, St. Woodberry too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard the hound’s paws,
As they jumped from the truck with good Buddy Claus
I cleaned off my Alpha, and quieted my hounds,
Down the side bars St. Double U came with a bound.
He was dressed all in Pro Staff, his head to his boots,
With a Colt on his side, (just to settle disputes);
And bundles of Garmin brought tears to my eye,
With Fenixes, Trashbreakers, 200is.
His beard—how robust! His dimples, how merry!
He was covered in snow and his face was so hairy!
His truck-sleigh was massive, with all-terrain tires
His beard and his cheeks were as bright as the fire;
He smiled, with jerky chew up in his teeth,
A 2XL sweatshirt, with wool underneath
He had massive biceps, his huge houndsmen arms
Crushed a can with the sound of a steel guitar
He let out a belch, a big jolly gent,
And left big, sweaty boot prints wherever he went
A wink of his eye and a tip of his hat,
He smelled richly of training scent; fox, bear, and cat;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his job,
Filled the stockings with collars; then called all his dogs,
And laying his finger to point right at me,
His handheld did vibrate to say game was treed;
He sprang to his truck, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew with the speed of a missile.
But I heard him exclaim when he drove out of sight—
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
