Buford files raccoon

The seldom-shown Little Raccoon is a character who appears sporadically throughout "Buford", most often to play pranks on the dog, or in various "dream sequences" in which Buford imagines himself finally catching the raccoon. The Raccoon seems to have two main interests-causing trouble for Buford , and stuffing himself with Buford's shoo-fly pie. The Raccoon has a mischievous nature, a massive appetite, and a strangely oriental persona. He speaks seldom, but with an apparently Japanese accent.

He is identified by a thin bluekarate headband with a knot tied in front. Though the sequence on the intro in which Buford chases the Raccoon through a hollow stump seems somewhat playful, in the dream sequences, Buford seems intent on destroying the raccoon. To find out more click here. Duchess is Buford's "main squeeze", or love interest.

She is a show dog who stars in motion pictures. Physically, she resembles Buford, save of the fact she is a lighter shade of lavender, and obvious feminine attributes, such long eyelashes, and a bright pink bow. She appeared again, on "Don't Monkey with Buford", the series last show.

On that episode, she had an unnamed agent called Mr. Martin in a fanfic I wrote. Buford has a tremendous "crush" on her.

Though Buford is often a cowardly canine, when paired with Duchess, he becomes absolutely fearless, and will defend her to the death. Duchess really does like Buford as well. Unfortunately for both of them, Duchess must be away most of the time, though she does send her boyfriend an autographed postcard occasionally.

The series ends on a bittersweet note, with Buford bidding a final? Jeb Crowley is an old hermit who lives in fenokee swamp. He was introduced on the premier episode, called "The Swamp Hermit". He appeared on one other episode, "The Missing Gator".

The Boggs kids often bring him his groceries on the weekends. He has a pet alligator named Gertrude. Buford served as a foster parent for Gertrude's offspring once. Jeb makes the best shoo-fly pie for the kids and Buford. Buford, especially, is wild about this pie. Other segments were "The Galaxy Goof-Ups" and "The Galloping Ghost", which featured Nuggetnose, the ghost of a prospector who haunted a Dude ranch, and is pictured below.

About midseason, "Galaxy Goof-Ups" got their own early morning time slot, and the rest of "Space Race", showed later in the morning. Then, in Febuary , "Goof-Ups" was cancelled, and replaced with "Space Race" without its componants, in the early morning slot, while the Buford the Nuggetnose series were repackaged as one half-hour long late morning show, called "Buford and the Galloping Ghost".

After that, nothing was seen of the show for years until Cartoon Network began airing it in the nineties. The show was still titled "Buford and the Galloping Ghost", although the intro was slightly altered, and featured clips from both the "Buford" and "Galloping Ghost" series.

Recently, the show has been rebroadcast on CN's "museum piece" station, Boomerrang. The simple reason for this is lack of popularity. Truth be told, the show wasn't terribly popular though it lasted a full season, and that was at least longer than it's componant series, "Yogi's Space Race", which was cancelled before the year was over.

Then again, there were not many HB shows or Saturday morning shows in general that were. HB was kind of stuck in a rut at the time, with fewer and fewer hit series to come by. The funny thing was though, that up until the season, HB put out merchandise for virtually all their shows, even ones that lasted no longer than Buford did. The previous season, for example, saw a lunchbox, iron-ons, and coloring books for the C.

Bears, appearances by Undercover Elephant and Blast-Off Buzzard in each of the two coloring books respectfully. There was also a Skatebirds and Robotic Stooges coloring book, and a series of comic books produced at HB studios and published by Marvel comics, that featured the C. Bears, and Shake Rattle and Roll, among others.

All of these aforementioned series were cancelled before Buford premiered. In the next to last issue of said comic, the editorial page stated, "In the months ahead, on TV and in this here funny book, you'll be meetn' folks like the Galloping Ghost, and you'll be taking a peek into the Buford Files.

The only piece of merchandise to appear on a HB season that year in the US which I'm aware of, was one based on the Godzilla series, which, not coincidentally, was the only HB series that year to last into the next seasom, unless you count the New Fred and Barney Show, which premiered halfway through the year. This trend continued for the following season, and the one after that.

Then, in the season, the Smurfs came along, and everything changed for HB and Saturday Morning. At least, this was my theory. According to a guy I emailed, and who worked at HB studios on both the shows, and the TV stars comic, this theory seems partly right, but it went a little differently then that.

True, most of these shows weren't too popular he said he recalled Buford was deemed a flop pretty early on , but the studio didn't "decide" to do merchandise; it was up to the liscensing division to sell the shows to the companies who produced the stuff. He beleives they tried to sell most or the shows during this time, but apparently got few or no takers after But an unusual thing happened to TV Stars comic book which planned to do a Buford story.

According to him, the book was doing fairly well, as were the few other HB titles Marvel was porducing. It seems the editor at Marvel comics decided they should quit publishing material from a "competitor" and all their HB books were axed. However, there was one more TV Stars waiting in the wings at the time this happened. He recalls there was a "Galloping Ghost" included, but he does not think a Buford story was.

Nuggetnose, at least, came very close to having at least one peice of merchandise. Buford and other rare shows woulde probably have followed had the series been allowed to continue. The one single reference to Buford that I knew of was an ad for season that appeared in Marvel comics. Buford is pictured in lower left-hand corner.

He is the wrong color however. I have seen this book available on ebay, and was able to purhase it from another dealer. Note that two characters from the season, Buford and Dinky Dog, appear on the cover. Neither one has been included in any merchandise in the US that I'm aware of. The book includes a Dinky Dog story, and a Buford story, both on comic form.

Henry Corden — Sheriff Muletrain. Roger Peltz — Goofer McGee. Marilyn Schreffler — Wendy. Hal Peary — Fenwick Fuddy. The program was comprised of four unrelated segments that shared some of those characters. It failed to perform on the struggling NBC and was cancelled halfway through its sole season. In order to make it more maneuverable on their schedule, all of the segments were broken up into three separate programs.

They also looked as though they had not been set to catch animals, but that someone was trying to hide them. And look at this! Those are the tracks of a big cat, like the ones at Huffsteaders. But what are they doing, leading him on a lease? These panther prints are different! Buford, meanwhile was still examining the rusted tangle of traps when someone handed him a short, cylindrical object.

It looked like some kind of small, plastic spyglass. Almost without thinking Buford put it to his right eye to better examine the clues. Shrill, mischievous laughter erupted behind him. Buford looked at his face in a nearby pool of swamp water. The spyglass had left a black circle around his right eye. Angerly, Buford splashed water from the pool onto the black ring, washing it away. He glared behind him, growling in menace. Not more than three feet away from him, snickering like a Japanese imp, was the Little Raccoon.

Part 5. Lightening Strikes. As Buford glared at him, preparing to spring, the Little Raccoon stuck his thumbs in his ears, and waved his clever little hands mockingly. Buford was scarcely able to control himself. He charged the Raccoon in a lavender blurr. A grove of bushes lay ahead, directly in their path. The Raccoon, being very small, managed to zip under and through the grove with ease.

Buford, however, though he realized the trap in the last instant, was unable to stop in time and crashed headlong into them. Then he realized the bushes were chok-full of burrs, which now clung all over him. That infuriating, impish look still on his face, the Raccoon made a low martial-arts style bow, as though to some unseen audience. I can outwit any hound dog five times my size!

Then he was gone, with a wide flourish of his magnificent tail. Buford heard Woody and Cindy Mae calling him. Ordinary, he would have forgotten about the Raccoon, and gone back to sniffing clues. But maybe not…. He could get back to the mystery later, he decided. Buford squeezed free of the brambles, and shook the burrs loose.

Before long, he again set eyes on his small quarry. The saucy little Raccoon was sitting smartly upon a log, fastidiously grooming his overlarge tail. Once again, the Raccoon streaked away, Buford in hot pursuit. He still managed to stay ahead of his pursuer with ease, as he scampered around tree trunks, under bushes and through logs.

No opening or orfice was too narrow for the hound to pass through as well. Every once and a while, the Raccoon would glance over his shoulder in shocked fright, to see Buford still ready to pounce on him. The chase led deeper and deeper into the island. The swamp trees grew black and thick here, but always Buford managed to stay on his ringtailed, headbanded prey, guided at times by only the scent of his quarry. Suddenly, they burst out into a clearing.

The Raccoon dashed out across the clearing through the tall grasses, having been unable to loose the hound in the trees.

Buford streaked after him. Then the dog heard a sudden crashing off to his left, and one ear went up. Buford slid to a halt in the marsh grasses to see a deer-a young buck with two knobby growths that would bud into antlers-bounding off toward the trees. For a moment, he feared that he had lost it. But there it was again, and Buford renewed the chase. Again he tried to snag that vulnerable tail, but still the raccoon was able to outmanuver him. Then the Raccoon seemed to have disappeared.

Buford looked around through the gloom, but saw no sign of him. Then he realized that his scent stopped at the bole of a large cottonwood. His ears pointed above him, and he looked up. There, with his tail curled protectively about his small body, the little masked hooligan crouched, flinging some unintelliglble, Japanese taunts at him. Then something unbelievable happened. There was a tremendous crash, as a bolt of white-hot Southern lightening cleft the humid air, and split the tree in which the Raccoon was perched perfectly in twain.

Buford leaped back in shock, as the wood splintered, and one half of the entire cottonwood-the one in which the Raccoon still clung-came crashing down. For several seconds the dog did nothing. The pungent scent of burnt wood was sharp in the air.

Then he realized what this meant. Old Jenna was right! All he cared was that the Raccoon was where he wanted him. He felt suddenly very sure that the Raccoon was his this time. Buford needed no urging to run up the length of the downed tree. He found his prey lying dazed and stunned on the branch where he thought he was safe, eyes rolling in his masked face. Buford noticed a number of vines and creepers lying about, and these gave him an idea.

Snickering in wicked triumph, he seized the vines with his paws. Paws working with fiendish speed, he bound the Little Raccoon with them to the base of a thick branch that had broken off. Then he jabbed the Raccoon with a fiendish giggle. All at once, the Raccoon snapped out of his stupor and the eyes in the little masked face went wide in shock and horror, as it dawned on him that he was trapped.

The thought made Buford grin. That would be a fitting reward for a pie-snitcher. Buford whipped back his right paw with a fiendish sneer, ready to finish the Raccoon for good.

The Raccoon hung his head and shut his eyes, whining in a misery of fright, as he waited for the end. Then someone tapped Buford on the shoulder. He whirled around. And his every nerve went stiff with fright. Crouched on a thick limb directly above them was a perfectly enormous swamp puma. Buford knew without guessing exactly who it was, for his glossy black coat shone like midnight oil. And on the same limb in front of the puma, crouched the largest ugliest, mangiest opossum Buford had every seen.

Part 6. The car ground to a halt as the air escaped like a steam whistle. Never mind. Just get out, and put on the spare. Jenkins is stopping I think he knows we got an emergency here. Goofer pressed the emergency button on the stearing wheel, releasing the airbags.

Goofer squeezed out the door. The air went out and the bag deflated. Muletrain angerly threw the bag off and got out of the car. Just then Jenkins walked up. I can help you with that later if you like, sheriff. But can you take a look at my hogshed first? Come on, Goofer. The Sheriff reached into the car, and picked it up.

Says that panther just made off with one of his hogs not more than an hour ago. You tell them Tarkins boys to meet me at Jenkins farm. Goofer slammed down the lid of the trunk, and the three of them walked the rest of the way to the Jenkins farm. As with the Huffsteader stockade, the Jenkins hog shed had been broken into earlier in the night, and in almost the precise same manner, with the hinges on the doors hanging loose. Well, it shore looks like something got in here awright.

Possibly the same critter as robbed Huffsteaders. They do look like some kind of big cat tracks. Used to visat her all the time up at Pike road. Ummm- ummm! Buford crouched on the branch, as the eyes of the huge cat continued to bore into him. These were the raiders who had stolen from the Huffsteader farm! And these are my hunting grounds from now on. Buford remembered the deer he had frightened during the chase through the island, and realized that had caused the puma to miss his kill. As he stood staring goggle-eyes, unable to even move, the cat swept back one enormous paw, claws unsheathed.

In less than a second, the cat would tear into him. But the blow never fell. For the first time, Woundfoot took notice of the Little Raccoon, still bound and helpless, eyes tightly shut, whining for whatever Japanese spirits protected mischief-makers to save him. The cat flicked his paw in the direction of the Raccoon. Let him go. You heard what I said.

Let the Raccoon go? The words made him bristle in anger, and all at once he was fearless, even confronted by the puma. Play you some harmless prank? To make certain the puma meant what he said, Buford reached one paw toward the Little Raccoon. Woundfoot was serious.

Quickly, Buford retracted his paw. The puma resheathed his claws. He crashed through broken branches, and fell slumped on the side of felled cottonwood. Buford shuddered, and shook his head to clear it. He sprang to his feet and looked up, half-expecting the puma to come barreling down upon him. But the Swamp Phantom was gone, and Slyface was gone with him. They had vanished without a trace. No…not quite. His nose flashed, and there were their tracks, where they had come upon the fallen tree just moments before.

Hey Buford! Buford recognized the voices of Woody and Cindy Mae calling him in the distance. The beams of their flashlight pierced through the darkness of the trees. Buford howled to alert them. Before long, his two friends came crashing through the thickets. They look like the one at Huffsteaders! See how that right paw print is softer than the others. The started in the direction of the swamp buggy. Buford made one fearful backward glance into the surrounding trees before they moved off.

On the limb of the downed cottonwood, the Little Raccoon realized suddenly that he had somehow been saved. The hound that had been playing with him was gone. And not only that, the vines the dog had tied him up with had been slashed clean through. Whatever had done that had left deep claw-marks in the wood. The Raccoon leaped to the ground. And immediately saw the huge pawprints left by the puma. He knew now that he was honor-bound to repay the cat for saving him from the hound. But he also knew that pumas sometimes ate raccoons.

His life might be imperiled once more if he sought the puma out. But then he realized that if the puma had wanted to do that, he could certainly have taken him. He began following the tracks. Part 7. Sheriff Muletrain and Deputy Goofer sat at the kitchen table in Jenkins farm house scarfing down syrup-covered flapjacks. Just then the telephone rang. Answer it Goofer. Goofer answered. Tell you what. You kids meet us at the Jenkins farm.

The sheriff hung up and returned to the table. When the Tarkins boys git here, maybe we can finally start to sort all this stuff out. Bill and Steve Tarkins got out. He unlocked the back of the van and slid open the door. There, right enough was a full-grown swamp puma, pacing nervously in his cage. Ah never seen in these here parts before! I must admit I was having some doubts. Take it easy, sheriff. The kids and Buford went up to the cage and examined the panther.

Buford, however, was far from convinced. He was smaller for one thing. And not only was his scent different, there was another, stronger scent about him that did not smell like anything natural. Time we this animal to where he belongs. And now Buford says he smells paint on the cat. Buford sniffed at it, and his ears went straight up.

They began by searching around the Jenkins hog shed. Cindy Mae examined the hinges. Sure enough, they appeared to have been loosened, just as with the Huffsteader barn.

There were the tracks of the puma, with the expected drag-marks of his kill. But there were no possum tracks this time. Buford sniffed around and detected no sign of Slyface. His lanky legs tilted forward, nose beeping, his tail forming an arrow that pointed straight ahead. He led them across the field, and into the thick trees on the other side. Buford continued following the trail until it led them to a thick screen of vegetation. Buford looked up, suddenly confused by a new scent.

Then he realized. It was the scent of the Tarkins van! He squeezed in and under the branches, and the twins followed him. The paw prints ended here, and the booted prints of the three men were visible in loamy soil as well. But what astonished them all the most were the broad set of tire tracks.

Buford sniffed the tire tracks, and they followed him through the woods, and out to a road. They circled back to Jenkins place, but by then, the sheriff and Goofer were gone. How does she fit into this? I think we should take another look at that swamp.

They were nearing the Fenokee fairgrounds. In the field which served as the parking lot, a number of cars, vans, and one large semi were parked.

The lights were on, and field blazed with light. They could also see a number of people moving about. Woody drove closer, and to his astonishment recognized one of the cars-a long, white limosine.

I thought Duchess was in New York! She had visited Fenokee two times before, once during a movie shoot, and another time for a guest appearance at a circus. Both times Buford had come to her aide against crooks. At the circus, Buford had risked his life to capture the criminals who had stolen her diamond-studded collar. Buford and Duchess had remained penpals ever since, and every once in a while Buford would receive an autographed movie photo of her.

But it always saddened him that Duchess had to be away most of the time. But Buford was terribly excited by the suggestion that she might be right here in Fenokee, at this very minute.

At once, all thoughts of the current mystery evaportated for him. Just the thought of her caused Buford to feel woozy with love. Part 8. A Strange Bargain. The Little Raccoon followed the tracks he believed belonged to whomever it was that had liberated him. He believed in his procyonid soul that he was on a constant quest to cause as much mischief and mayhem as possible, especially for bloodhounds and coon dogs, and most especially for the purple hound with a Confederate cap who was out to get him more than any other hound.

And also to claim as many pies and sweets as possible for himself and to eat them. The thing was, he could never cause enough mayhem, or eat enough pies, so his quest never ended. But this time his quest had almost ended, when lightening struck the tree he was in, and the hound captured him. The trail belonged to huge cat with a damaged foot. It led the small mischief-maker into the very deepest part of the swamp-ringed island. Here the trees formed a dense screen overhead, shutting out any available light.

When he entered a particularly dense thicket, the sounds of fangs tearing flesh come to his small ears. Taking care not to snag his bushy tail on a briar, he crept through the thickets, until his eyes peered out at a sight that caused his tail hairs to stiffen, and his small body to tremble. In a small space, roofed by impenetrable thorn barrier, lay the carcass of a year-old heffer-the same one that had gone missing from the Huffsteader stockade.

Woundfoot and Slyface were busily munching on it. The Raccoon nearly turned tail and fled at the sight of them. Can we eat him, my lord? That shut Slyface up. Woundfoot turned a cold glare on the Little Raccoon. The Raccoon looked up, nodding vigorously. Now go away and wreck havoc somewhere else, before I change my mind and take Slyface up on his suggestion.

The Raccoon looked up pathetically, then turned to leave. The Raccoon turned around and looked at him expectantly. Slyface, remember the bakery we found yesterday when we were hunting? Take the causeway to the mainland, and be quick about it! Woundfoot turned his cold stare back to the Little Raccoon. The Raccoon perked up at the mere mention of shoo-fly pie. He wished he could eat it right now. The Raccoon looked up at him, all ears. Before they can pick up my trail, I want you create a diversion.

Those hounds will chase a raccoon over anything else. Meanwhile, Slyface and I will head in the other direction, and cover our scent by swimming Mocassin Creek. Do you think you can manage that? The Raccoon, eyes now gleaming with mischief, nodded swiftly. He made a low bow to his new master.

There you shall have your reward. And remember to serve me faithfully-no double crossing. Woundfoot eyed him carefully. Briefly, he considered what it would be like if he made the Raccoon replace Slyface as his servant. But he quickly dismissed the notion. For all his martial-arts pretense, he could tell just by looking at him that the Raccoon was far too unruly to be his servant, and was really only loyal to himself and to no one else.

There was no way he could be trusted for long. Grateful he undoubtedly was. Still, he was counting on his mischievous nature for him to lead the hounds away. As the Little Raccoon gazed up at Woundfoot, he felt safer than he ever had before. His mind already starting to fizzle with naughty, mischievous thoughts, he imagined how much fun it would be if he got that silly hound to chase him now, and watch his face when the dog came racing at him, only to see him standing smugly next to the sleeping puma.

He turned to go waylay the Huffsteader hounds, already starting to conceive what pranks he should use. Then realized he was pinned. Like Buford, he was unable to move. The cat had placed one paw down on his tail, anchoring him. But I prefer to handle things differently.

This tail of yours, for instance. Oh, I wonder how long it would take for it to grow back if it were shredded to pieces!! The Raccoon jumped back with a sharp squeal, terrified by the very thought of having his extravagant tail damaged.

The Raccoon curled up and dozed for a few moments, before the opossum returned, dragging a pie he had stolen from the bakery at the Fenokee fairgrounds. Likely it had been baked by Jeb Crowley himself, who was always a contributer to the Fenokee County Fair. Cen we eat it now? At once, the Raccoon fell to. He began scarfing down the pie, getting his masked face all sticky and stained in the bargain. Ya jest gonna let little knot- head here have it all? Just be patient, Slyface. The Raccoon had finished nearly a fourth of his pie, when Woundfoot swatted the pie away with his paw.

The Raccoon looked up pleadingly, but the puma was unfazed. Think how good it will taste then. The Raccoon whined, but Woundfoot only glared at him. Off with you! The Raccoon was off. Now hurry up with that pie! Part 9. The Wonder Dog. As the Boggs twins and Buford approached the fairgrounds, it became clear that Duchess was here after all. The large van read Duchess: Wonder Dog of the Movies. Buford, his heart thumping wildy, let out a long howl of pure, lovesick joy.

The howl lasted a full minute before fading into the night. A garland of canine cupids spun round his woozy head, making him even more dizzy. The twins parked in the grass lot and got out. He busily talking to one of the camera men.

Martin looked at the two teens in surprise, and then especially took note of Buford. Martin, scratching his balding head. Oh, a couple nights were okay, but then we had to cancel the rest of her appearances. It was like she was sick. Martin chuckled. Duchess is fine now. Her condition really improved once we agreed to fly her back to Fenokee.

I figure the love bug had bitten her something fierce. I talked my boss about the possibility of flying back to Fenokee. I told them that I thought there was a part in it just right for Duchess. He could scarcely credit his good fortune. Duchess was back, and they were making another movie? Duchess was madly in love with him? They might even be able to star in the same movie together? The thoughts caused his head to spin crazily.

Duchess raised her head. Paws around each other, Buford and his sweetheart began kissing and licking each other in a flurry f joy. But Buford and Duchess just looked at him with pleading expressions on their faces. Then they looked at each other. But can I come with you? Buford was confused at first. But at the same time, to have Duchess at his side-and to maybe get a chance to protect her if any danger should threaten them. It anyone tried to harm Duchess in any way, he would be there.

They both looked up at Woody again, and then at Mr. Martin was silent for a few moments, as he looked at the kids, and then at the two dogs. Martin walked away, then returned after five minutes. Buford, Duchess and the kids remained where they were. The producer of this film says we just might shoot something we could use for this here movie. Martin nodded. And what if he were to meet up with Woundfoot again? And suppose Duchess were there? But then the thought of Duchess in possible danger from the cat, caused Buford to bristle in sudden rage.

He had been terrified before upon meeting Woundfoot, perhaps rightly so. If he and Woundfoot did cross paths again, this time he felt he would be ready. Part The Poaching Camp. Buford and Duchess were perched on the prow of the buggy, as they headed out into the black waters of Fenokee. The cameramen and Mr.

Martin took a larger boat they had rented, equipped with headlights. They started out after the twins once their swamp buggy was far enough ahead, keeping their lights dim.

Again, they parked the buggy and got out. The scent of the two men had gone rather stale by now, but still his ultra-keen senses picked it up. He began following the tracks of the two men. And even though the scent was faint, Buford could tell it was same cat the Tarkins had shown them at Jenkins farm, and not the real Woundfoot.

He followed the tracks of the tree men and the cat, expecting them to lead back out to where their boat had been parked. Instead the trail made a swerve deeper inland. The trail was leading them deeper, into the core of the island, and Buford began secretly to get nervous. And then he picked up an even stranger scent-or rather a curious mixture of different scents very close by. The miasma of scents carried with it the scents of different species of animals, along with that of men, mixed with an assortment of sharp, unnatural odors.

Buford noted that the grove had been purposefully screened off with branches and clippings, as though whoever had done that was attempting to hide what ever lay within.

He turned to the twins and pointed with one paw toward the grove. In here! Buford poked his head into the grove. Duchess craned her head around him too, sniffing curiously in the gloom. To the showdog, all the scents were unfamiliar and frightening. To Buford, who had grown up in Fenokee, most of the scents were familiar, but in much concentration.