Until 1982, we lived in the mountains of North Georgia....Dillard, Rabun County to be precise.
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My dad was a professional beekeeper and we made sourwood honey up in the hollers of the mountains. Sourwood is some of the best honey around, and the trees grow in abundance up there.
This one ole boy, Cecil Carpenter, lived way up in the mountains and my dad paid him a trifle to keep bees on his land. My dad also managed the Dillard House restaurant to make ends meet in the offseaon. One day, Cecil comes into the Dillard House and he's got one of his arms all bandaged up like he's carrying a war wound. My Dad asked him, "Cecil, what happened?" Cecil went on to explain that his brother's hunting dogs had gotten loose in the night and had broken into his chicken coop and had killed a few of his laying hens. Cecil took out his shotgun when the dogs wouldn't "Get!," as he put it, and killed one of them. So, my Dad then asked him if one of the dogs had attacked him, if that was how he had been injured. "No," explained Cecil. His brother had heard the shooting and came over from next door to see "what in tarnation was goin' on." When he saw that Cecil had killed one of his hunting dogs, he shot Cecil in the shoulder.
My Mom and Dad, astounded, then asked him, "Did you call the sheriff to report him?" He answered, "No, since I kilt wone his dogs, and he just a-peppered me, I figure we's about ave-in."