When a Monster Appears

Some people don't like my accent, and that's fine, So I thought I would do this story in a different accent, and I hope they appreciate it. So here we go. Hello. My name is like I Gazick, and I like live in Raymond County, Georgia, which is the very top corner of the state, nestled in like the Appalachian Mountains. Like I came across your channel a while back, and hearing all of these amazing stories has given me like the confidence like to share my own, which has a lot

of similarities to many I've already heard on your channel. But I can't even stand to hear myself do that accent. Okay, back to the originally scheduled program. My story is a series of multiple events in the year of twenty fifteen, when I was twelve years old. Now, I've been an avid hunter and fisherman my entire life, and I've spent countless hours in these hills

around every creature we have in the woods, or so I thought. My family and I were living in a large property that was entirely surrounded by National forest, with the closest neighbor about a half a mile away. The small house was nestled in a bowl with a large mountain on each side of it

and a small pond and pasture near the house. The cabin we were living in was built sometime around the Civil War, and we were the first family to inhabit the home during the winter for at least seventy years, as it had no heating or ac My first encounter happened around late summer of twenty fifteen, and I remember it as if it happened last night. I shared my

room with my parents. My older siblings had the other room in the small cabin, and we were sleeping with all the windows open due to the lack of ac. Well. Suddenly I woke up immediately out of a deep sleep, and I looked over to notice my parents it's had woken up at the same time. We knew we heard something, but our inside dogs that barked at everything hadn't made a sound. Well. We began to listen in as we heard a yell coming from the woods on the side of the house our

room was on. There was also a small waterfall around fifty yards behind the house in the same direction. My half asleep twelve year old self had no idea what to make of it and figured that there was some drunk hillbilly in the woods having some fun. Whatever was making this sound began to travel down the mountain and closer to the waterfall, and then we were able to realize

how strong this thing's vocal capacity was. It wasn't quite to the waterfall yet, because its scream shook me in my parents' chest and the walls of our cabin. It resonated like no other sound I've ever heard, and it sent chills down all of our spines. We all agreed that piste off was an

understatement for the tone in which this thing was yelling. The closest thing I can describe to the vocalization was it was like an extremely pissed off Tarzan, and in recent years I've heard many supposed bigfoot vocalizations that sound identical to what we heard. It somehow was able to navigate up to the other side of the valley within a span of what felt like five to ten minutes, which

means this thing was really moving. Once it crossed on to the other side of our property, we noticed a group of dog hunters at our gate and realized their hunting dogs were on the trail of whatever this was. We those hunters left in a hurry, and I heard no gunshots. If only I could get their account of what they saw that night. Now, my second occurrence happened in late fall of the same year, again twenty fifteen, and

it was deer season. My dad and I decided to set up a small coalm and tent at the edge of a pasture in order to hunt the next morning and walk up the old logging road that ran to the top of the small ridge. This was the same small logging road where the hunters ended up going the night of the previous occurrence. We froze our butts off all night, and in our half sleepy state, had something large come by the tent. I'm not saying that it was a sasquatch, but we sure had that

classic being watched feeling. Before SunUp, we started walking up the logging road, checking the ground the entire half mile up in search of scating tracks. And we sat on the top of the trail for around five minutes and for some reason decided to make our descent down the mountain. On the way down, we stopped dead in our tracks. Our jaws were on the ground when we noticed the largest pile of scat I've ever seen in my life. It

wasn't bear scat, because I've seen that countless times running these hills. It was a dark green and was very so of human feces, just about five times larger than anything a person could do. But it wasn't larger than what my grandson can do. I hope he doesn't hear this, but man, that kid can. That kid can push out the biggest turds I've ever seen in my life. Anyway, on with the story. It also had deer hair throughout the sample, and it was still steaming. It definitely was not

there on the way up the mountain. My dad still kicks himself for not taking a sample of whatever we found. We had left our tent up in order to go back and hunt a few days later. But when we woke up a couple of days later and noticed the tent was flattened, we figured a limb had come down on it or the wind took it out. We disassembled the tent and investigated, and we saw that the tent poles that snapped together to make the frame were snapped in half, every single one of them.

My dad and I tried together to snap one, and we couldn't snap it. It was odd, but I've heard similar accounts as they seemed to be extremely territorial. My third and last occurrence happened in December of twenty fifteen or January of twenty sixteen. We were moving out of the old cabin and into a newer house on the other end of the county. My father and I were taking the last load of stuff with the U haul trailer behind our jeep, and it was two am. I had a brief fault before we

left, what if we see this thing on our last night here. We started down the long, winding dirt road and the thought had left my mind. We took a right turn at the first blacktop road that we reached. As our lights turned with the vehicle, we noticed a large bipedal figure seventy yards in front of us, standing broadside on the road, facing down a large thirty foot deep bank that led to a large marsh or swamp below. This thing was around seven feet tall and had passed dark hair covering its body.

It had large muscles, but it wasn't necessarily broad shouldered. Its face had the least hair in the skin looked grayish, and its eyes glowed of vivid orange, and we're around seven or eight inches apart. This thing looked at us and it did a double take, and we were able to notice its human like expression. I've always described it as an old crap look that it gave us, and you could tell we were absolutely not supposed to see

this thing. Another interesting bit of information is that deer would always congregate in this exact stretch of road around the same time that we saw the creature. Maybe that explains the deer hair and the scat. My father and I were white as a sheath the entire way home and didn't speak a word to each other until the next day. I've had a few more instances since then, but that is my most memorable set of occurrences. Now everyone is entitled to

their own, but me and Dad know exactly what we saw. Thank you for all the amazing work you do. Okay, he's gonna talk about the channel. He likes the Channel, but this was Let's see. This guy's name is Isaac. This is a very good story. I hope I didn't ruin the first the beginning of your story by using an accent that I've learned from the younger generation seeing them on YouTube and around town and listening to them talk, and so I thought I'd try another accent out. This was a

great story. I really appreciate you, Isaac. Hi. Everyone, Welcome to the Dixie Cryptid podcast, also known as the what If It's True Podcast out on the podcast Network. That means if you have a podcast app like Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Podbean, Google Podcast which is going away soon, Amazon Music, Audible, you can listen to this podcast any podcast app. Just do a search for what If It's True. It'll be right there at the top. It's actually that podcast is doing really good, and it's the

same stuff I upload here. I just put it out on a non video format. There are several new people following along. I know this because I see it in the comment section and I get emails from people saying they enjoy the channel. I appreciate those emails so much, and I feel like it is that time of year where I need to make some disclaimers on this channel. The goal of this channel is not to get you to believe in Bigfoot

or dog Man or any of these cryptis that people write in about. The goal is also not to present any evidence videos blurry pictures, which they are all blurry pictures. This is not an evidence. But this is an entertainment channel. All we do is tell stories. It just so happens that the stories are about monsters, and those are always exciting. So that's all I

do. I just tell fun stories that people send me. Some er frightening to Some people who send these stories claim they have seen some kind of creature, some mythical creature, and they are traumatized by it. I understand that fully. But the goal of the channel is to entertain you. So with that being said, let's finish up this podcast. I've got several more stories, so hold on to old weaves. All right, here we go. All right, this is an email I got recently. It's from a seventy

year old man, and this is crazy. You may not believe it. He even says at the end, you're probably not going to believe this, but he swears it's true, and he writes really well, and let's jump into his story. I'm seventy four years old. Up until four years ago, I lived in South Mississippi near the land that has been in our family for over two hundred year. Our farm consists of several hundred acres, and most of it is heavily forested. The rest of it is operated as a

cattle ranch. Virtually all the land within a few miles of us is owned by relatives. I don't want to be tedious about the layout of land, but it is critical to the events I'm about to describe. I've recently retired from my practice, and I'm more comfortable telling these stories now. There are people that would be hesitant to entrust their care to a bigfoot nut. Furthermore, for the benefit of non Southerners, we all aren't toothless and bread morons.

Me and four of my parents' grandchildren have doctorate degrees. I'm not bragging. I'm just letting you know we aren't psychotic nuts. Some of us are, and some of us are not. Some of us are pretty smart. I think, you know, I think the South has in some people's minds they have an image of. I don't know what they have an image of,

but this is uh. I don't I know I'm off topic here, but I know tons of really smart people, well educated people, professional people like this writer, doctors, lawyers, accountants, engineers, architects, UH and so I would say, you know the demographics as far as you know, the level of ability and the level of the job that you do is probably the same as anywhere else in the country. It's just we talk different, so that makes But I can change my accent, I can. You

just heard it in the last story. I can change my accent. I sound like someone totally different. That's right. Five years I've become the master at audio narration. Not really, oh man, I'm just rambling. Let's get back to the story. All of these incidents occurred in the east side of the Pearl River in Lawrence County, Mississippi. It gets little notoriety,

but the Pearl River swamps and bottom lands are immense. Going from Jackson to down south to the Honey Island Swamp in Louisiana, that is well over a thousand square miles, and if you include the connecting rivers and swamps, the area is overdoubleedy. Yes, there are areas in the US where an accomplished being can disappear forever, and it does happen. Once you leave the swamps. You were in heavily forested hills with only a scattering of fields and pastures

to disrupt the landscape now. My first story is brief about the nineteen sixty three duck hunting season. My younger brother and a close friend who was part of the only family who lived in the swamp, went duck hunting there. We knew the swamp like other people there, knew their lawn. We didn't use a p road to travel. We knew how to travel the connecting sand

burns left by the annual flooding of the Pearl River. The narrow sand hammocks provided an easy way to travel, as long as you remembered which way to fall them through the maze. The weather was bitter cold, and occasionally spitting a little sleep in the evening. Darkness came early because the heavy clouds were soaking up all the sunlight that there was. We decided to get out of the swamp because we had not felt the need to bring a flashlight as a

crow flies. We were only about three quarters of a mile from the truck, but we weren't crows. We were facing nearly two miles of walking in the dry sand, and in case you don't know, walking in sand is tough enough even if you didn't have all of your hunting equipment. We were less than halfway back, when the black clouds covered the sky with only an occasional break that allowed us to take our bearings. Only a few minutes after

that, we became aware that we were not alone. These sandy paths that we were following were not straight, but twisted and turned around the water oaks and cypresses. Due to the serpentine path, we could only see for a few yards behind us, preventing us from having a clear view of what was making the heavy thumping in the sand. Our guide, like us, was only in his early teens, but he was initially unflustered by whatever was walking

behind us. He said he had heard it before and partially seen something. He had talked to his father about it, and they deducted that it was small black bears that had been relocated into the bottoms of South Mississippi. We could occasionally see the hooking shadow of what was behind us. The trees prevented us from seeing a complete silhouette in this animal. At this point we knew it wasn't a person. We could tell enough that this was not a bear.

It was simply too big and tall. We could never see the legs to see if it was on two legs, but we could distinctly hear the very heavy steps of two feet with a long stride, and it was closing in on us. Our relaxed walking changed to a light trot, and in the end we were running. We got to the truck and we turned on the lights and then cranked it and we backed up until we could find a

place to turn around and get out of there. We tried telling others what had happened, but after being ridiculed as scared kids afraid of the dark, we never mentioned it again, even to each other. Now it may not be related, but every few years, cattlemen in our area would have instances, usually the same day, of livestock tearing through fences to get away from something. And most of the cattle are gone now, so I don't know

if that thing is still coming around. The cattle were so scared that sometimes it would take two or three days for them to calm down. Now this story will require little patience to get through, but I think the weight is worth it. So listen on. Our farm lies about two miles from the Pearl River, with a small tributary running through our land. One mile north

of us is an unusual landformation for the state of Mississippi. There's a huge land elevation that can only be called an escarpment in a few hundred yards that most of the land rises two hundred to two hundred and fifty feet, and in the eastern end of it, it makes a curve that is at its highest and does so within fifty or sixty yards. It is at this highest

point that my event happened. There's a small creek that cuts a narrow gully one hundred and fifty to two hundred yards across, and it goes down one hundred and fifty feet where it cuts a gully through a layer of soapstone, making another gully with near vertical walls forty to fifty feet high and about twenty feet apart. Now these distances are an important part of what happened to us.

The gully is a solid canopy of old growth hardwoods. They were never cut because it was just too blooming hard to get the trees out of there after cutting, so they were just left of. This area is a bonanza for wildlife. After coming down from the escarpment, the walls are much less angled and they travel about one and a quarter miles to my aunt's land. I loved hunting squirrels and rabbits and raccoons in and near there. I would

wait in calf deep water so I wouldn't give myself away. I would go up to where the high walls of the escarpment towered off the stream, and there I would stop. Now, the woods up there were teeming with wildlife, but I couldn't make myself go up there. The only way I can describe it is that it just didn't feel right. It didn't matter how bright the sun was, but I was basically too scared to go. I was over six foot three tall and nearly two hundred pounds, but that place scared

me to death. In the winter of nineteen sixty five sixty six, after football season was over, close friends of ours were having a problem with raccoons. They owned a few thousand acres, some of which was on the top of the escarpment. One hundred acres had been cleared for pasture on the north side of it, and going south to the brink of it. The raccoons had discovered the feeders with the crushed corn covered with molasses, and they were

running a lot of feet. The owners two sons were two and three years younger than me and knew that my brother and I enjoyed hunting raccoons. Well, we set up a meeting place on an old dirt road that went through their land and by this large pasture, and when we got there at dusk, we part next to the family ancient cemetery. Walking through a cemetery, we'll get your blood pumping on a nighttime forest hunt into the woods, and

that'll make Sleepy Hollow look like a sunny resort. The raccoons were holed up down the steep gully, so that is where the dogs went, and we had to hold on to trees to keep from falling into the gully. These dogs had just returned from hunting mountain lions in Colorado. They were seasoned fighters and there were great trailed dogs. They were ready to go, so we turned them loose. Now there was a narrow but solid ledge where we could

walk, and we went about a half a mile. When the hunt, so to speak, went really far south, the boorstreous hounds went suddenly silent. They had intreated just silence, when all of a sudden all heck broke loose. It took a few moments to realize all the screaming like a banshee was coming from the dogs, and then the woods became quiet until we heard the hounds tearing up the woodland undergrowth getting back to us. Now we were

hunting raccoons. Our only equipment was a flashlight, a kerosene lander, and a single shot twenty two rifle, hardly what you would call heavy firepower. The dogs were whimpering with their tails tucked between their legs, and no amount of kicking could get them to leave us or the kerosene lights illumination, and we were befuddled as to what to do. So as far as what to do, decision was made for us. We heard something opposite in the gully.

It was making no effort to be quiet, and we thought it best to end the hunt there. And then we started climbing out of the gully with the dogs underfoot, and we had only gone a short distance when we heard whatever it was land outside of the gully. Two things struck us. One was how had it been able to jump clear across the lower gully?

And secondly, whatever it was made a huge impact when it landed. We needed no further encouragement to try to pick up the pace, but the underbrush only got thicker as we got closer to the top, and then we heard the crunching of footsteps and the bushes just a few yards behind us. We stopped a few times and shine the flashlight in the direction of the steps.

They would only stop for a second and then continued circling us. When we emerged from the woods into the pasture, the dogs abandoned us and ran off to the distant trucks, and we had no choice but to walk out in the pasture. But near the woods, we could still hear the footsteps just inside the woods, but it never came out into the bright moonlight of the pasture. At the trucks, we found the cowardly dogs huddled inside a box on the back of the truck, and with the truck lights lighting the area,

we spoke lightly and we drove home. Now, that was nearly sixty years ago, and none of us has hardly talked about it since. My granddaughter wanted to hear the story, and I for once opened up about it at eight years old. She isn't judgmental about it. She just accepts it, and that's enough for me. I'm not expecting hardly anyone to believe this. That is their problem, not mine. I just had to get it out. Thank you. Well, you've actually seen this thing at some point,

and that I think. I think you had a visual in your first story. You knew something was circling you as y'all were coming out of those bottoms. But this is a great story, and I think the moral to this story is I can tell by the way he writes he's reluctant to tell the story because he's probably told it to other people and he's been laughed out a lot. You know, you get a little bit of a complex when

that happens. I can just feel it in the way he writes. And it was really cool that his granddaughter listened to his story and didn't judge him. She was probably there with her eyes as big as golf balls, listening to her grandfather tell the story about a monster down in South Mississippi. That's kind of how I was when I was reading it. But it's a South Mississippi man looking back on sixty years and I don't guess he's had any other

encounter since then. But it was really a good story. This story is from a man who does not say if I can use his name, so I won't. This is kind of one of those stories I think will really entertain you because it's a good story. It's written pretty well, it's been edited. There's been some material that was not germane to the story taken out, but we cut it down to actually what happened in his event, and

here we go. I have commuted on a bicycle for many years. At night, I have so many flashing lights and reflectors that I resemble a Christmas tree. It would be impossible to miss seeing me. More specifically, I have a headlamp on both my helmet and handlebars. I used to ride calmly both night and day through the city, but not anymore. This story reminds me of a story that I actually wrote about a buddy of mine. The video is called Frank the Tank. If you guys hadn't heard it, do

a little search for it. Dixie Cryptid Frank the Tank. It's really a funny story and it's a true story. It's one hundred percent true. So if you want to get a a chuckle, just do that. I might end screen it at the end of this video. Anyway, let's continue with this man's story. Being both former military and police adds to both my observation skills and my awareness of my surroundings. I am aware when I'm being watched.

Over the years, while riding close to the green belt, a creek, a park, or a town lake, I've occasionally had that feeling come over me. I figured it was a street people watching from their campsites. One night, while riding north on Shoal Creek Boulevards south to the intersection with Allendale, I spotted something in the distance that appeared to be a large raccoon that was hunting bugs under the street lamp ahead of me. Now, I'm

quite used to seeing raccoons and other nocturnal critters at night. These used the storm drains for both their homes and as a subterranean highway system. They bolt down a drain as soon as they spot me. And there's actually quite a ver variety of wild animals that make the city their home, and a lot of them are nocturnal. As I got closer, I noticed that it either had no tail at all, or if it had one, it was very short, and I presumed that it had lost it in a fight with a

dog. I got closer, and I realized it was an exceptionally large for a raccoon and unusually rusty in color. And then it noticed me, but it didn't run. Its eyes didn't reflect light and the same way a canine or a feline's might. It didn't seem overly concerned by my approach, and it kept an eye on me, but it continued to play in my fascination. I slowed down considerably to look at it. It seemed to have no fear of me, and only became nervous when I stopped within ten feet of

it. I think it was studying me as closely as I was studying it. I was close enough now to see that it had unusually intelligent brown eyes and a decidedly primate face that most closely resembled a baboon, complete with the short snout and large canines. Its hands and feet also resembled a baboon, with large, tough fingernails. It appeared to be quadrupedal, though its body was proportioned more like a cross between a grizzly bear and a gorilla, with

broader shoulders and disproportionately long hind legs. I guessed it to be a juvenile that weighed around thirty five pounds. As an adult, it would likely have been as large as a mountain gorilla, and it should have weighed several hundred pounds well. We stared at each other for a while, and then it bounded off into the darkness for the green belt. Since the grass had not been mowed lately, I lost sight of it only after a short distance.

At this point, I was befuddled. I have an almost encyclopedic knowledge of animals worldwide, from both books and firsthand experience, but I could not classify this creature. I can identify a creature by seeing only a portion of it, and I can provide a lot of information about it. But this thing, I had no clue what I had seen. That made me uncomfortable.

I continued my commute through the area I felt myself being watched. After that sighting, I made the conscious decision to try to spot what was watching me, and one night I spotted my little friend playing under the same street light. This time, I was going to try to interact with it to learn more about it, and I parked the bike and approached on foot. I squatted down and it plopped itself down on its butt. We watched each other while I tried to figure out how to proceed. I sat down cross legged

in the street and we began to play. This thing caught a junebug and handed it to me. I played like I was eating it, which made it life. For lack of a better word, at my antics, I thought it was hilarious. When the boat crawled out of my hand and onto my nose, I named the creature baby, That's what I called it, and it edged closer until it could reach out and put his hand in my open palm. I heard an odd sound at that point, coming from the

green belt. It seemed to have the same meaning as a human going to quietly get someone's attention. Baby and eyebow stood up and looked in that direction. What caught in the headlamp of my helmet was unnerving. It appeared to be the mother, a very large mother. She looked similar to the baby, but she stood tall and straight and appeared to be by peedle. There was something intelligent in her appearance, and she acted nervous at my proximity to

her offspring. She raised her hand to block the bright light of my headlamp from her eyes, and then she said something a bit louder to the baby, who immediately bolted toward her on all fours. He left up on her and she scooped him up to ride on her shoulder, and then she duck down and they both faded into the night. The small creature was a toddler, and it appeared that I had greatly underestimated how big he would grow. The next day, I stopped at that spot and I checked for signs.

I was looking for footprints, hair, or anything of the creature. I remembered the sapling that the mama had been standing beside, so I checked it out, and I realized that it was not a sapling at all. My best estimate is that mama stid eight to nine feet tall and weighed close to one thousand pounds. This was not something that anyone would want to piss off.

The only sign that she had been there was the remnant of her scent on the vegetation, which rivaled that of a street person who had not bathed in months. But it was musker and more rank. I find myself wondering if this is the source of the werewolf legend, and where it fits into the pantheon of near human primates that exists throughout the world often look for my little friend and his mother when riding through the area. I'd like to get

to know them better, since they seemed less shy than bigfoot. My encounter was peaceful, but the strong resemblance they had to baboons and the reputation baboons have for being dangerous, I think these things could be dangerous as well. After all, baboons do kill leopards. And that's the end of his story. Okay, So Nioma edited this for me, and she did a great job doing it, and she cut right to the chase. And this was a very good story and I appreciate the gentleman sending it in. The problem

is I'm undecided on what exactly he saw. Nioma thinks that he probably had to run in with a gugwey. Now, if you don't know what a gugwey is, you'd probably have to listen to some other podcasts because I'm not sure what a gugwe is, but I think it's some form of a bigfoot. But it's like a meaner. It seems like I remember someone saying the word gugwe means face eater, who's that's a nasty name, eats faces. But you can look it up gogwe if it's on the internet. If you

do a search, I'm sure YouTube videos will pop up. She also said it could have been a dog man or the writer thinks that it could have been a were wolf or a dog man or this is the animal that propagates the myth of a were wolf, so who knows. At any rate, this was a really good story and it was interesting. I don't think i've read one like this where the guy finds the baby, you know, the toddler. They interact, they almost play with each other, and then the

mother, who was standing off in the woods, doesn't attack. She just calls the baby to her and they walk off in the wood. So it's a good ending, great story, and thank you very much to the writer. All Right, this is a short little story that I think is really good. I actually sent it to Nioma to edit. She sent it back and said it doesn't need any editing. So again, it's short. I'm just going to read you what the person writes. She absolutely says do not

give her name, so I won't. Here's how the story goes in the fall of two thousand and three. My youngest son and I were watching NCIS or some other crime show on television in the living room while my husband worked on the computer in the back of the house. My son was sitting on the part of our sectional sofa that was along the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen. The show had just gone into a commercial break when I heard a loud, guttural voice say get out. It sounded like it

came from the wall directly behind my son. I immediately got chills all over my body, and when I looked over at my son, he was pale. He looked terrified. Are you okay? I asked, Did you hear something? He asked in reply, Well, yeah, I answered tentatively, and then I asked, what did you hear? I didn't want to add fuel to the fire scare him any more than he already was, so I didn't want to come right out and say what I had heard. It said, get out. He told me he had heard the same thing I did.

My first thought was that my husband must be playing some computer game and the sound came from there. But when I called back and asked him, he said that he wasn't, and then he asked me why, and I told him, Now, my husband is not one to believe in such things, so he laughed it off. As for me, I was ready to follow the advice of the disembodied voice and move out on the spot. That's not funny, but it is kind of funny. Of course I didn't,

but it took some convincing on my husband's part to keep me there. He was always like that, though. One time he was in Virginia helping his brother who was a very sick man. It was April and Arkansas gets a lot of bad storms in that time of year, at least that part where we lived. It was round five point thirty PM and the sun hadn't set yet, but because of the storm that was coming in, it was already dark outside. My son and I were in the living room again watching the

weather alerts on TV when he said, Mom, are you flashing? What do you mean? I asked, look up the ceiling. He said he thought I had a piece of jewelry that was reflecting on the ceiling. I wasn't wearing any jewelry. There weren't any vehicles passing by, nor were there any lights out there to reflect inside. Despite this, up on the ceiling was a dancing ball or a white orb of light about the size of an

orange, moving around real fast. It lasted for fifteen seconds or longer while we quietly sat in awe and stared at it, and then it was gone. I told my son that I thought it was one of his grandparents or a guardian angel watching over us during the storm. Tornadoes were common in our area, and I thought the explanation might make him feel more comfortable, and it made me feel better. Anyway, Seeing an orb in person isn't quite the same is seeing it in a photo. I called my husband later to

tell him about it, but once again he laughed it off. These things always happened to you, too, he said. I'd have been happy if they happened to him once, and I could have been the one to laugh it off. I agree with her. My wife's the same way. She sees things, hears things. She hears things on the internet. She gets real concerned about it. I have a pretty good sniff meter. No, I'm not saying I'm always right, but if something sounds so outrageous, I'm

the biggest skeptic in the world. All the banks are collapsing I don't know if that's true or not. I mean, you could just make up, you could just think of all the things that get blasted out over the internet. I think that has a lot to do with a lot of the censorship that I don't think these social media platforms trust the people to use their own discernment and critical thinking skills to sort stuff like that out. Again, I'm

not very smart, but I can sniff that stuff out pretty good. So anyway, my wife is always like, well, always something like that would happen to you one time, so I understand exactly what this woman is say For the woman who wrote the story, this was really interesting. Especially the voice in the first part of the in the first part of the story was really good. It's scary for y'all. I wonder if anything else has happened. I wonder if they still live in the same place. This was back

in two thousand and three, but anyway, very interesting. Thank you, ma'am for the story. This is about Bigfoot. I thought this was really really good. It's an audible it's an audible experience she has with Bigfoot. It's a woman and she doesn't say to use her name, but this is kind of interesting. She writes my dog Zeke as a highly opinionated red healer. He and I live on a partially wooded twelve acre plot that sits on the border of Brown County in Johnson County in Indiana. All around us are

plowed fields and thick wooded prairie that is teeming with wildlife. There's a creek that runs through the back part of our property, and across the road is a cattle farm, part of which includes one hundred acres of forest that my dad refers to as the Big Woods. I work second shift as a medical technologist at our local hospital, so naturally I get home late at night. Earlier this winter, I got home from my shift around midnight, like I

always do, and I changed into some loungewear for bed. It had been a stressful night. I was looking forward to unwinding by listening to Da Roberts Wild Hunt Odin's Cough Oh. I recorded that that's cool. I'm so glad you listened to that audio book. Aside from having a lot to say about everything, Zeke has a blighter that you could set by a clock. I knew he was going to want out at two thirty because he always wants out at two thirty am. Even if I could have laid down and gone right

to sleep, it would have been pointless. Zeke is going to want outside soon, I thought, And as expected, Zeke came to me at two thirty, jumped on the bed and said, in his own dogway, come on open the door, lady. I did as I was told, but not before putting him on a leash. Australian cattle dogs are headstrong animals and

natural herders. If a deer or a rabbit or any other creature happened to be running through our property, Zeke would have made it his business to escort it off our land and on to our neighbor's land, and maybe even all the way over to the the other side of the next county. But even on a leash, he was likely to stand in the yard like a drill sergeant, issue instructions to whatever animals happened to be out there. But at

least I wouldn't have to spend a cold Indiana night chasing him around. The leash was as essential to keeping me from taking long walks in the middle of the night as it was to keep Zeke and check we stepped out onto the porch, and Zeke went on down into the yard to do his business, while I stood there taking in the cool air. It was a quiet night. There didn't seem to be any trespassers out there for him to complain about. Well, he did his thing and then hop back up on the porch

so we could go back inside. We had turned our backs on the world and were stepping toward the door. With three loud, sharp wraps that sounded like a wooden ball bat smacking a solid tree broke the silence. I jerked around and stared over at the big woodos where it came from. Zeke spun around and stared in the same direction. Instinctively, I tighted my grip on the leash. Normally, a strange noise was Zeke's. Kew to test the limits of it and to bark wild insults in the direction of the intruder.

But he didn't do that this time. He stood as still as I was and stared off in the same direction. We looked at each other, and then he turned his head back and lifted his nose to sniff the air, and I watched him, expecting him to break out into the yard. With a round of loud barking, but he didn't. He turned and looked back at me. What the hell is it, boy, I asked. His expression was as lost as mine. Let's go inside, I told him.

I barely got the door opened where he scooted through it. I closed and double locked the door just to be safe. I've never seen Zeke react like that to anything. We didn't see what made those sounds, but I'm pretty sure I know what it was, or I think I do. These things are real and anybody who goes looking for them is crazy. Oh what a good last sentence. Yeah. Probably, I mean, I don't get many stories where they're mean, but still, you know you don't want to intentionally

go out and find a monster. But this was a great story. These cattle dogs are so smart. More than the noise, the fact that Zeke did not pursue whatever was out there making the noise when he normally would, because they are aggressive in corraling and hurting. I've had a couple of heelers before, and I couldn't let They were at a steel shop I worked at, and they would constantly heard my shop hands that were working for me,

and they just heard people in different directions. They nipperture heels, they scare little kids. Some of them can I'm talking about healers. Some of them can be quite aggressive. They're just doing what they do. Which this leads me to another discussion about dogs. I've had a few emails where folks ask, how are your dogs so well behaved? The answer I have to that is, and I haven't always been this way, but probably the last twenty years, all the dogs I've had, I treat them like dogs. I

don't talk to them much, I don't baby them much. I pet them, I let them know that i'm their leader and that I'm a compassionate leader. But I treat them like a dog, and dogs appreciate that. If you have dogs and you're being overly affectionate with them, you're feeding them too much. You're giving them too much rain. These dogs look for people to be their boss. They need a leader. Domestic dogs are not They're just

not geared to make it on their own. They need human leaders. So to me, unless you have a crazy dog, the best way to have a good dog is treat it like a dog. I don't. That just popped in my head. I don't usually give it advice on this podcast, but I thought I would let you know if you've got dogs, you won't well behaved dogs. Give them a little freedom, but treat them like a dog. Don't talk to them. They don't understand English. They understand sounds,

repetitive sounds, they understand you know. They put two and two together, and it's all about instinct. And so if you remember that you treat them like that, they'll love you for it. I'm telling you, the dogs will love you for it. So that's my advice on how to handle dogs. I'm not a professional trainer by any stretch, but I think any trainer will tell you treat a dog like a dog. They're a dog,

they're not a human. All right, Enough of that. Thank you to the woman who sent this story in about Zeke and his his reluctance to go chase after whatever was knocking on that tree. Thank you, ma'am. Now I think that'll wind this podcast up. Thanks for listening, Thanks for listening to the end. Thanks for following along with the channel. I appreciate you all so much, and I look forward to the next podcast, which will

be it will be so thanks for listening. I will see you guys on the Next One listen