The Taylor family is still known for its love of beagle packs, and Dungee's father, Edward, and uncle Bill still hunt with him. "Growing up," his uncle Bill tells me, "we were hunting for the pot. And we hunted rabbits, coons, possums, and any bird big enough to clean." Days spent behind a mule and plow were followed by nightshasing dogs through the big woods, and the dogs were in the game for more than sport, too. "Back then the dogs were poor-hungry all the time-and they would run the daylights out of anything, yes, sir," Bill says. He grins behind dark sunglasses, his smile turning the corners of trim lambchop sideburns. The beagles weren't the only ones with limited resources. "We didn't hardly have any shells. We used sticks, rocks, whatever we could to save those shells. The dogs would run 'em so hard, they'd go into holes, and that's what you wanted them to do. We'd just dig them up."