Рита Браун - Out Of 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.

Aztec popped over but the seven-board coop deterred some riders, who drifted back to Second Flight. Hounds roared over the back pasture of Tattenhall Station down to the strong running creek before the railroad tracks. Sister noticed in the distance no cars were parked along the road. The protesters had been dispersed.

The fox, a healthy red, turned south and within minutes all were on Beveridge Hundred again, where the sly fellow made straight for the main house then veered off to Yvonne’s dependency, executed a confusing circle only to blast straightaway back to the road, where the cheeky devil ran straight down the macadam road for a quarter of a mile. Ruined scent. By the time hounds reached the road, the loathsome smell of oil and gasoline, not very discernible to the humans, fouled the fox scent. Sister, clearing the two jumps to reach the road, pulled up on the side. Weevil stood in the middle of the road, blowing his hounds back while the car followers blocked one end of the road. Tootie quickly stood in the middle of the other end. Fortunately no cars were about.

“Good work,” Weevil praised his hounds, gathering them as he trotted back to Beveridge Hundred.

Sister, following, thought they’d done as much as they could on a strange day. She’d let him determine the next move. If at all possible she did not intrude on a huntsman’s decisions.

Weevil, sensibly, chose to hunt back toward Tattenhall Station, where all they found were four deer shooting in front of them. Hounds paid them no mind. Twenty minutes later all reached the parking lot.

Once in Tattenhall Station everyone found a place to sit with food and drink, including the car followers. Elise bubbled with excitement and Gigi, less excited, was happy with his wife’s enthusiasm. Ronnie made certain to introduce them to others, seating them amidst a lively group.

Along with the day’s sport, the protesters provided discussion.

Aunt Daniella, head of the table, listened and laughed. “If people are out here on a brisk Saturday, you know they have nothing else to do. Then again, some people like to be upset, to have a cause that brings them attention.”

Sister happily dropped into a chair. Gray brought her Perrier with lime plus a salad. She thought she wasn’t hungry but once she ate a bit she discovered she was.

Betty, now next to Sister, devoured her macaroni and cheese, always a favorite on a cold day. “Have you all been keeping up with this virus thing?”

Yvonne replied, “Not too much. The information is conflicting.”

“Odd,” Carter simply said.

“As far as we know today, anyway, anyone whose health is compromised with a chronic condition or who just had an operation, or who is older, is more in danger.”

“I’m not worried,” Sister flatly stated. “Old though I may be, I’m in better health than most of the forty-year-olds sitting behind a computer in a corporation. I’m not going to worry until we are given clear information, and even then I have to ask, who does this really benefit?”

“Cynical.” Betty lifted one eyebrow, dropped it. “I am, too. It seems to me if there’s any way someone can figure out how to profit from a virus, they will.”