Рита Браун - Out Of Hounds

The gray vixen Georgia lived in the schoolhouse in splendor. She rarely gave hounds a run but the hope was another fox may have visited her, sort of like visiting your rich aunt. Georgia had everything, plus Cindy Chandler would open the door, put in a large bowl of dog food sprinkled with treats. If weather turned ugly Georgia need not trouble herself. Sister fussed at Cindy because the fox didn’t give them runs, staying right where life was easy. Cindy would laugh, which settled it, as no one could argue with such an inviting laugh.

So down the terrace they would ride once off the flat site, down to the two ponds at lower levels before them. The small waterwheel sending water from the upper pond to the lower via a buried pipe, end sticking out at the lower pond.

Hounds veered toward the woods to the right of this. The moisture intensified scent.

“Someone.” Diana kept walking.

Her littermate, the egotistical Dragon, walked beside her. “Red.”

“Yes. We’ll see.” She continued walking but not speaking.

Dragon irritated many of the other hounds but none so much as his own littermates. Diana seemed to be the only one who could work with him, so his hunting days were limited to hunting with her. He was fast, strong, and determined, which was the good part. He thought nothing of pushing another hound off the line, going first, taking credit. The younger hounds would now push back, so Weevil had to keep an eye on him.

Ardent walked fast then trotted. “Two of them.”

The scent, having warmed, revealed a double line. The humans had no idea but the hounds, noses down, now trotted. Finally all opened.

Cindy, over the years, opened many paths in her wooded areas helped by the hunt club. Those late spring and summer days brought everyone out with limb loppers, chain saws, even a bushhog.

Thanks to a wide path, hounds and horses could run without negotiating debris.

Rickyroo, ears forward, listened intently. Sister, leg firm, relaxed on the fellow, for he was a most sensible horse. His smooth gaits made him a joy to ride.

“Split!” Dragon bellowed before Diana could say the same.

While he cut to the left, she did not. She slowed, nose down, going from one line to the other to determine which was the hottest. She turned to the right while Dragon could be heard, booming deep voice, on the left.

Weevil, not a moment’s hesitation, followed Diana.

Tootie, on the left, per usual, now had the thankless job of pushing Dragon back to the pack. Weevil might thank her but Dragon would make her work for it. He was determined to be right. To hell with the pack, which is a major sin for a foxhound.

“Dragon, leave it.” Tootie called his name.

“Screw you,” he answered.

As he did not respond to his name, Tootie unleashed her crop, the kangaroo woven crop ending in a tightly woven plait of hay twine. The sound cracked like a rifle shot. His head came up and she rode right for him.

Now beside him, for Iota could easily keep up with Dragon, fast though he was, Tootie turned her right thigh in, pivoting as she leaned over on her left side, and this time aimed her cracker right for Dragon’s rear end. Easier said than done, but Tootie, practicing over the years, nailed him.

“Oww!” he yelled.

“Go to him.”

Dragon did turn right and hurried to catch up. Hardheaded, he couldn’t be taken out with youngsters, as he might lead them astray. He would have today. Dragon was lucky Sister kept him, to use him on days when the veterans were out with only Diana from his litter. His nose and drive were worth it but she was the only person who thought so.

The pack, full cry, raced through the woods, emerging on the far eastern side, a plowed cornfield forcing riders to go along the side. No one should run through plow anyway. Bad enough to risk a crop even if the shoots had not come up, it was also a good way to bow a tendon if the going was deep, which it usually was.

Hounds could go over the plow. Weevil skirted the large pasture. A simple tiger trap in the fence line gave him a way out because hounds were now racing across an old meadow.

Hounds reached the far side of that meadow, once fenced, pieces of the fence standing, the rest fallen down. Scent disappeared.

“Push him. Push him,” Weevil encouraged.

Hounds fanned out but their fox, now racing away, had foiled his scent by jumping up, then climbing to the top of the remaining fence, walking that top board then jumping off hundreds of yards away.

The field waited. Hounds tried. Weevil gathered them and hunted back. Two short runs rewarded them but that was the day.

After the hunt, they gathered in Cindy’s house, light and sunny. Carter carried a box in, placing it on Cindy’s sideboard.

Sister, Kasmir, Alida, and Gray stood at one end of the big hunt board, for Cindy always put on a breakfast.

“After you called, I thought about the protest. There will always be people opposed to foxhunting, any kind of hunting, whether we kill or not. But given that Jordan Standish is running for office he was easy to reach. I spoke to him at length,” Kasmir spoke. “I also asked him if Gigi had helped fund his campaign.”

“What did you think?” Gray asked.

“I think he was smart enough to make a bargain. And no, Gigi isn’t sending money.”

Sister smiled. “What’s the bargain?”

“No protests at hunt fixtures and he must drop the anti-foxhunting plank from his platform. I expect he will then get around that by speaking against it but not having it written. No anti-foxhunting posters or campaign flyers.”

“Even if he shuts up he can always declare his campaign people spoke out without his approval. They all do that and you know perfectly well the candidate is back there stirring the pot.” Alida snagged another chestnut wrapped in bacon, a toothpick sticking out from the chestnut.

“I dropped the charges,” Kasmir told them. “Confrontation usually doesn’t work. It just drives people further apart. Although there are times when confrontation is the only route, having exhausted every other. So we shall see.”

“Kasmir, thank you. I do think we are better off.” She turned to see Carter handing out face masks. “What the devil?”

“Mandating social distance. Won’t be far in the future. Trust me.” Alida filled her in.

“What’s the distance?”

“Six feet. If we are six feet apart, supposedly the virus droplets won’t affix to us,” Alida answered. “But other governors are taking more stringent measures.”

“Like sending police out to enforce social distancing? How can you enforce this stuff?” Sister was aghast.

“You can’t. So the next step will be a lockdown. Businesses will close. Except for crucial ones like a gas station.” Gray had watched more news than Sister. “New York is almost draconian, but then again New York has more cases, with people packed together like sardines.”

“Do you really think it will come to that? People will be laid off work and the most vulnerable will be laid off first?” Sister, thanks to being a master for decades, worked with everybody, her heart always with the poor.

Kasmir considered this. “It may. We will have to balance profit against life. Now, granted, this seems to be attacking people who have, say, diabetes, and the elderly, but it has swept through China like wildfire, Italy is suffering, too. And if our political leaders don’t wake up, ditto here.”

“Good Lord.” Sister then faced Carter, now standing in front of her.

“Here.” He handed each of them a face mask. “If you have to be around people, put this on.”

“Carter, we are out here in the boonies.” Sister did take the mask.