Breed Profiles

The first time I heard a Bluetick Coonhound bay, I was a kid at my uncle's place, and the sound came rolling out of the dark woods like a foghorn with feelings. I thought something enormous was dying. My uncle laughed and said that's just old Blue, and he's telling the whole county he's found a raccoon. Decades later I own one, and the bay still stops strangers in their tracks, but now I know it means I have a happy dog with a job.

The Bluetick is an American coonhound, built to trail scent by moonlight and tree the critter at the end of it. That blue in the name comes from the ticked black-and-white coat that reads as a blue mist from a distance, a speckled pattern so distinct you can pick a Bluetick out of any lineup. Mine has the classic black saddle over a silver-blue body and those long, low ears that nearly sweep the ground when he drops his head to sniff.

Scent is the whole world to this dog. His nose overrides all else, including me, which is the honest truth every hound owner learns. Call him in the yard and he might come, or he might vanish into a fascinating smell for an hour, because the smell always wins. Training a Bluetick means training around the nose, not against it, and a recall that works is earned through sheer consistency and better treats than the woods offer.

The voice is the headline and the headache. A coonhound bays, a deep, ringing, carried-for-miles sound that is glorious in the field and less glorious at 5am because a leaf moved. I crate-trained him near the bedroom and taught a quiet cue, but I'll be honest, the instinct is strong, and a Bluetick who believes he's on a trail will sing no matter what you want. You don't get a silent coonhound any more than you get a dry fish.

Under the loud exterior is a soft, affectionate dog. Mine leans on me like a tree, follows me room to room, and melts into a puddle of hound the moment I sit down. He's wonderful with kids, endlessly patient with the clumsy ones, and he'd rather befriend a burglar than guard the house, which is a downside if you wanted protection and a joy if you wanted a family dog.

The coat is easy, which surprised me. Short, dense, and wash-and-wear, it sheds moderately and needs a weekly brush and the occasional bath after he's rolled in something he found delightful. Those long ears need attention, though, because they trap moisture and dirt, and a hound with an ear infection is a miserable, smelly hound. I wipe them weekly and check after every woods trip.

Exercise is not optional. A Bluetick confined to a small yard turns into a singer and a digger and a fence-tester, because the breed was made to cover miles at night. My guy gets long walks, a secure fenced area to roam, and scent games that let him use the nose that defines him. A tired coonhound is a good coonhound; an bored one is a complaint set to music.

He's stubborn in the lovable way hounds are. Smart, yes, but not eager to please the way a retriever is, so training is a negotiation with food as the currency. He'll sit, he'll shake, he'll even heel when the mood strikes, but he'll also give me a look that says we both know the nose is the real boss. I've made my peace with it.

The drool caught me off guard. Those floppy lips pool water after a drink and fling it across the kitchen, and a happy hound greeting you at the door can paint the wall. I keep a towel by the water bowl now and consider it the price of admission.

If you want a quiet, tidy, instantly obedient apartment dog, the Bluetick Coonhound will ruin your life. If you want a big-hearted, hilarious, affectionate hound who'll make you laugh daily and serenade the neighborhood, there's no better dog. Old Blue at my uncle's place set the standard, and mine lives up to every bay of it.

The kids on the street adopted him as their personal greeter, and he takes the role seriously, leaning his hundred pounds of hound against any small human who'll stand still long enough for a hug. He's never snapped, never even growled, when a toddler grabbed his ear or climbed on his back, which is the temperament I'd want in any dog around children, and the parents on the block trust him because I've watched that patience hold every single time. A coonhound built to run the woods turned out to be the gentlest jungle gym around, and the same dog who bays at a falling leaf will melt into a puddle for a five-year-old with a snack. The contrast is the whole dog, loud and silly and soft all at once.