“Bobcat.” She warbled, her voice still a bit high.
“Warm, getting warmer.” Dasher seconded the find.
The whole pack rushed over, Pickens inhaled. “Finally.”
His littermate, Parker, said, “If you don’t hit in the first five minutes, you get bored.”
“Shut up.” His brother snapped back, they were off.
Aunt Daniella, window cracked, listened. “I do hope they get a good run. These temperature bounces don’t help, but the conditions are about perfect. Good driving, Yvonne, getting us out of there.”
Kathleen confessed, “There was a time when I might have had sympathy for anti-hunters. But learning, as I have, thanks to you all, I realize they have no concept of nature. We’re losing it, I fear.”
“We are,” Yvonne affirmed. “Let’s hope they’re gone when we get back. I don’t want to waste another minute on them.”
Shaker, now on the edge of his seat, the window all the way down, predicted, “If it’s the usual red fox we pick up here, he’ll cut over to Old Paradise in about ten minutes, but if not, I say this is a straightaway run.”
Skiff drove carefully. “They sound great.”
“You know the first thing you can lose when breeding is cry. It’s funny what you can add fairly easily and what you can’t.”
“That’s the truth,” she agreed. “What I’ve found is you can’t breed a den dog. That hound has to appear. I don’t understand it. On, straightaway. You were right.”
He loved hearing that, naturally.
Once hounds were cast, the protesters disappeared from their thoughts. You can’t let people spoil what you love, and neither huntsman was in danger of that.
Ronnie, in the backseat, put his hand on the headrest of Elise’s seat. “Hounds have found. You can see the two whippers-in moving forward and a bit outward. It’s easier to come into hounds than move out, because if you’re moving out you usually are trying to catch up. Betty has a clear path right now but Tootie is in the right place.”
“How can you tell?” Gigi asked.
“If you think of the face of a clock, hounds are at twelve o’clock, the huntsman is the button where both hands join. Your first whipper-in should be at two and your second whipper-in should be at ten. Many hunts use more than two whippers-in but Sister only uses two. She says if hounds need pushing up, she can do it. Best to keep things simple but our territory lends itself to hunting the old way. So many highways for other hunts.”
“The face of a clock. I can picture that.” Elise watched as horses picked up an easy canter.
“As I said when we drove off, there actually is a lot to it. As I also said, we usually don’t have protest drama. Never had people in pursuit before. We’ll get one or two at a county meeting but this was a first and I hope a last.”
Back on the field, the hounds now moved in a line, for the territory began to close in. Weevil, behind them, saw the coop in the old fence line, which fortunately would put him on a decent path in the small woodlands on the south side of Beveridge Hundred. He was on Gunpowder today and if he had given the Thoroughbred the horn, Gunpowder could have hunted hounds.
The bobcat charged through the trees, turned right toward the road somewhat visible through the trees still denuded. Leaping straight up an old black gum tree, the bark friendly to claws and climbing, he dug in, heading straight up. High in the tree he surveyed the pack from a thick branch.
Dasher reached the black gum first. Immediately behind him were Thimble, Giorgio, and Aero, now the fastest hounds in the pack. Dasher’s brother and sister remained in the kennel today or they, too, would have been right up front. Coming up ran Juno, Trident, and Zane, the rest immediately behind.
The bobcat looked down, baring his considerable fangs.
“Nothing we can do.” Zane sat down as Zorro and Audrey stood on their hind legs, hopping.
“If he were down here I’d teach him a lesson,” Zorro bragged.
“Idiot,” the bobcat growled.
Weevil also looked up. “Come along. Well done.”
Freddie Thomas, in First Flight, fished her phone out of her inside pocket to snap a photo. While it was a great way to smash up a phone, hunting with it, she from time to time would take a photo if it didn’t interfere with anything else.
Carter, next to her, also stared straight up and now everyone coming up, even Second Flight, did likewise.
Aunt Daniella asked Yvonne, “Can you see anything?”
“No. Everyone is looking up. That’s it.”
Ronnie Haslip with the Sabatinis got out of the stopped car, walked to the edge of the wood so he could see better. In a moment he returned, with a photo in his phone, which he showed them.
“The bobcat is up a tree. Big boy.”
Gigi felt the roll of cold air when Ronnie closed the back door. “Do you often chase a bobcat?”
Ronnie thought a moment. “From time to time. They are very elusive.
“Weevil will cast on the western side of the road. Soil’s decent here, holds scent a bit. You never know, especially now. Of course he wants to run a fox.”
“Why now?” Elise asked.
“End of mating season. Those foxes, usually young ones, may not have found a mate yet and will need to wait until next year. Doesn’t mean a few aren’t still out there looking, but in the main the long, fantastic runs from December to early March are over.”
“The females aren’t running?” Elise asked.
“Not much. They’ll stick close to their dens, forcing the males to find them. They look them over and when they become pregnant they really stick close to the den. The male usually stays with the female until the young disperse, which is, oh, early October here in Virginia. The young males are pushed out by their father. The female cubs might stay an extra year to help with next year’s babies. People don’t think foxes are social animals but they are. They cooperate.”
“That’s fascinating.” Elise watched as the handsome huntsman now on the other side of the road, having taken an old sagging coop, cast the hounds.
“Mother Nature doesn’t make too many mistakes.” Ronnie watched hounds. “If you think about it, most of her mistakes are extinct.”
As the car followers talked, Sister waited an extra moment before taking the old coop. Jingle, another youngster, a bit confused, stood in front of the jump. The master said nothing, waiting for the huntsman to call hounds or blow them on. She loved the tri-color girl but this was business. Jingle did not need to be listening to the master but rather her huntsman.
Weevil tooted two notes and the relieved first-year entry now knew to go to him. She vaulted the jump, flying to him and then rushing up into the pack, who ignored her frantic tail wagging.
The cars slowly turned around, for the road was narrow. Yvonne, in front, followed the hounds running close to the old fence, which turned into a new fence once they reached the corner of Old Paradise, where she stopped.
The next hour, stop and start, frustrated hounds as they picked up squiggles of scent only to lose it. As there was no wind, soil moist, temperature maybe 41°F, this should have been a stellar day. Wasn’t awful but it wasn’t stellar.
Sister, watching now as hounds cast again, witnessed a bright beam of golden sunlight seemingly slice through a dark cloud, where it reached the ground. The gold against the charcoal cloud illuminated the pasture around it. Had she been superstitious this would have been a sign of something, maybe hopefulness?
Parker opened. They all chimed in and hounds crossed the road, leaping over the two jumps. The one at Old Paradise was a stone jump with a telephone pole over the top. The jump into Tattenhall Station was a new formidable coop, painted black. A seven-board coop, so best be alert.