For weeks, DelMarVa has been suffering from extreme heat and drought conditions. Our first cub hunt of the season was delayed until we finally experienced a night time low temp under 70*F. We usually start August 1st, but it was August 12th before we found our first morning low temps in the high 60's.
I set my alarm for 4am, but Lakie terrierist Mitzi seemed to sense I needed help arising and had me up by 3:30. My darling puppy has discovered that early morning trips outside to relieve herself result in startling the cats sleeping around the pool. A short but frenzied chase ensues as cat(s) escape through the fence, leaving Mitzi imprisoned by the fence posts and barking frantically. This, of course, arouses the hounds in kennel. A cacophony of hound barking -which sounds NOTHING like hound music- ensues. Thank goodness I don't have any close neighbors - yet. ( the nearest house has been vacant, but recently sold and is awaiting settlement. Hope the new neighbors like dogs.....). But I digress....
By 4:30am, horses have been fed, Mels stall picked ( he was born in it,and even though he has 24/7 access to a large, grassy paddock, he has never figured out that the stall really isn't meant to be a toilet), and foxhounds loaded into the hound truck. It's a 35 minute drive to the meet, 45 if I obey the law. I usually make it in a half hour.
You see, the meet time was set for 5:30am. But when a certain fox hunter friend (Freddie)is hunting with us, one must automatically back it up at least 30 minutes. If you don't, then hounds are running by the time you arrive at the designated time, and you miss out on the find.
They waited for me, and we dropped the tailgates at 5:15. 10 1/2 couple of purebred, Eastern Shore PennMarydels (btw, WHY isn't the "d" also capitalized???) flew out of three hound trucks. I decided to leave Marney home, so only Sara, Marilyn and Lark came lunging out of mine. Marney can be hard-headed and very hard to break off a line. Since I was planning on attending my 40th high school reunion in New Jersey later that day, I opted with eliminating the risk of having to hunt down an errant hound. Although they didn't say it, I know my hunting partners appreciated the gesture, too.
Conditions, quite honestly, sucked for scent. Any other breed of foxhound would have probably quit and gone home. 68 degrees, 60 percent humidity, no rain to speak of in months. Dry. Dry. Dry. Calm winds ( big whoop). The soil holding up the cornstalks was as grainy as the sand at the beach. It took awhile before two bitches finally opened on a red fox lurking in the corn adjacent to Mr. Fred's barn. This may be partly due to the fact that hounds took several minutes getting re-acquainted with each other.( I saw more hound noses up rear-ends than close to the ground for the first few minutes of the draw. No bitches in heat, so no worries there....). It was 5:58 when the rest of the pack harked.
Charlie ran our little pack 'round that cornfield for a short half hour. We listened as the hounds' voices peaked and waned, wondering all the while how long it would take before our pilot would tire of the game. Around 6:25, the cry started to fade off towards the direction of Knife Box Rd. We did NOT want hounds getting across that road. Bobby and I got to the road just as the hounds spilled out of the corn and into the middle of the macadam.
Hot hounds, they were. Panting with tongues hanging and sides heaving heavily. A shout out to Freddie to GET HERE, as we broke them. All on. All done! It was just after sunrise as I headed back home. Hunt number 1, " in the books ". Sort of.
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