Truth. I was seven, she was a year old and we took her to a nice farm in Clinton when she got to be snappish. (And no, I don’t think she was really killed or anything…I got to set her free.)
Back in the Sixties, people were a bit more lenient on stuff like that. Also, considering her family was a nice, middle-class den of suburban 'Coons, having her “not knowing how to hunt” wasn’t an issue…she merrily ate crawdads from the stream, handouts and tipped over the occasional garbage can, just like her family. And, considering we didn’t have coyotes, wolves, or painters (Felis concolori) in the area anyway, there just wasn’t anything to dodge.
