Рита Браун - Hounded To Death

“Aurora, you look chipper today.”

Wise brown eyes looked into her own. “You, too, Master.”

Her pockets filled with dried liver tidbits left over from the Kentucky show, Sister sat on an old stool next to the hound’s commodious sleeping box, complete with large canvas-covered cushion.

She handed a treat to Aurora, who took it daintily with her worn teeth. “Do you ever think about the old days?”

Crunching, then swallowing, the sweet hound replied, “I dream a lot. I dream I’m young and I’m flying in front of the pack.”

Sister gave Aurora more tidbits, petting the hound’s head. “It goes by so fast, so fast. Sometimes, Aurora, it scares me. I don’t feel old but I am old.”

“Well, I feel old, but life is still good.” Aurora took another liver bit, relishing the taste as it exploded in her mouth.

Sister heard the door into the hall open. Shaker, in his wellies, walked up to the gate. “Two happy girls.”

“Memories.”

“That was a golden litter, that A litter. Every single hound was spectacular.” He smiled as he watched the old hound eat her liver treats. “Remember the time I wanted to wheel the pack to the right, toward Mudfence Farm, and Aurora sat down and just howled?” He slapped his thigh. “I got a little hot and spoke harshly to her. She stood up but she howled again. Then she turned her whole body in the opposite direction, and by God there was the biggest red in the state of Virginia just popping out of a tangle. Taught me a lesson.”

“Which was?” Sister smiled broadly.

“Trust your hounds.”

“Now that’s a fact. If you can’t trust them, don’t hunt them. That’s why I’m suspicious when I see a boatload of whippers-in at other hunts. It’s one thing if you’re training people; other than that, less is more.”

“Some masters get bulldozed by rich members. Not you.”

Grateful to serve under a strong master, Shaker was referring to the practice whereby wealthy members pay up and a master allows them to be whippers-in, a glamorous position. However, it’s a very tough position and requires good riding, hound sense, and fox sense, as well as a great sense of direction. As rich people often possess just one of those qualities, they are generally affixed to the true whipper-in like an enema bag.

In truth, very few people possess all four virtues in marked degree, but if one is to whip in, best to have at least three in good working order.

“I know Thursday is usually errand day, but I’m heading down to the feed store in town and I’ll swing by Hope Rogers’s, too. Espilac.”

Espilac was used as a milk replacer or enhancement. Violet, a draft to Jefferson Hunt, was due any day now. Best to be prepared, should she be low in milk. Sister also needed to pick up oxytocin. If the gyp had difficulty birthing her puppies, this drug would help her expel them. One always prayed for an easy time of it for the mother, but anything could happen.

“Violet does look ready to pop.” Shaker knew Sister had been thinking about Violet, the only hound close to term.

“Always get excited when the puppies arrive.”

“What saint’s day is it?” Shaker was always amused by Sister’s vast knowledge of saint’s days.

“I guess the most important is Augustine of Canterbury, who evangelized the Anglo-Saxons in the sixth century a.d. He died in 604.”

“Think he succeeded?” Shaker grinned.

“Maybe, in Kent.” She laughed. “He built the first cathedral in Canterbury. You going religious on me?”

“No.” He smiled. “Just wondering if there was a saint to help with whelping.”

“Let’s propose a saint for the deliverance of canine births. I’m sure the pope will be supportive,” she called over her shoulder, as she left the kennels.

She crossed the rich green grass on her way to the stable. All the horses were turned out, on vacation after the end of hunt season. As she walked into the center aisle, a low swish overhead made her duck, then look up.

Bitsy, the screech owl, a juicy earthworm in her beak, thought herself very funny flying right over Sister’s head. No sooner did she land in her nest in the rafters than little sounds filled the barn. Bitsy had hatched four owlets, growing bigger every day. The thought of five screech owls made Sister wonder if she ought to stop by the sporting goods store to buy earplugs.

She went back outside. Having two vehicles provoked her to a rare moment of indecision. Which one to take? Life was easier when her choice was only the red GMC half-ton.

She no sooner cranked up the Forester than Raleigh and Rooster shot out of the house, the dog door now in service.

“All right.” She got out and opened the hatch.

Two very happy dogs jumped in, ready for adventure.

First call was the feed store, a red and white Purina checkerboard painted on the brick side wall. Sister left the windows open for the dogs. A good twenty minutes later, she emerged with a shopping cart filled with items she hadn’t intended to buy: cat and dog toys, including a rubber chicken that made her laugh when she looked at it; more treats; a new brand of dog kibble, which she thought she’d try with the foxes whom she fed regularly. Big square handkerchiefs were on sale, so she bought one in every color, ten hankies at $2.95 apiece. When the heat rose up, she’d roll ice cubes in a work handkerchief and tie it around her neck. Worked a treat.

“I smell dog bones.” Rooster’s ears pricked up.

“Don’t make a mess.” Sister handed each dog a treat in the shape of a bone.

“She understood.” Rooster was incredulous.

“Situational,” the Doberman answered.

Within ten minutes they reached Central Virginia Equine Clinic, a large Morton pre-fab building. In the operating room, Hope had installed a large, circular, flat, rotating operating table, which was on a hydraulic lift. She also had water therapy pools, treadmills, even an enormous MRI. Whatever the latest advance in technology, Hope purchased it.

All these major purchases had been in the last three years. Hope’s international reputation had filled her coffers, and so had an aunt in Iowa, who died leaving everything to her. No one had even met the aunt, but all were grateful. While it is never proper to celebrate a death, all that money was a blessing.

Bottles of animal supplements, as well as Espilac, were in the front office, as so many of her clients would pick up things for pets when dropping by. Hope made a bit of money on these items.

Hope herself, petite, fooled people, particularly men, who didn’t believe such a small person could handle large animals. That she could. The eight stalls for patients today contained only one horse. Troubles could hit a horse at any time, but spring problems started with people, those who were not horsemen, who turned their horses out in verdant pastures. Some horses would overeat and founder, an inflammation within the laminae of the foot. The worst of those days had passed, so the clinic’s patient list had dropped off, although Hope could depend on the odd injury, now and then, or the birth of a late foal.

Sister walked into the reception room. Dan Clement, Hope’s partner, stood behind Lisa, the office manager, peering at the computer screen.

“Sister, how are you?” Dan smiled.

“Fine. Stopped by for some Espilac and oxytocin, which I hope I don’t need.”

“Sure thing.” Before the words were out of his mouth, Lisa sped to the supply room.

Hope sailed in through the front door, carrying two large bags. “Sister Jane. Just picked up lunch. Like some?”

“Oh, thank you, no. How are you?”

Hope seemed a little frazzled. “I’m three weeks from my divorce being final, and when I got home Sunday that bastard, Paul, called and said he wanted two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. He thought it over and felt he was entitled to more of my money. Entitled! He never lifted a finger to build this practice. He never even mowed the lawn.”