Whiskers In The Dark

32

April 29, 2018

Sunday

Saturday’s runs pitted husband against wife as Mandy Bobbitt and Billy Bobbitt wound up with two fabulous hunts. Also right up there was Sherry Buttrick with four Farmington Beagles descended from her glorious Peanut. Overcast but no rain, the day delighted everyone. Arlene, being director, wanted to hunt her two hounds but turned the horn over to her first whipper-in, a young man, Lonnie Parrish, stationed at Quantico Marine Base, who fell in love with the sport at the base.

Now Sunday was day two for the beaglers, as there were so many of them, and they were undeterred even though the light rain had returned. Clare drew a ten o’clock slot. Harry and Susan whipped-in to her. Arlene, binoculars at the ready, really needed to watch over everything, so Nattie Riddle drove Madam, Jake Deloria aboard. Although basset people, a hound man is a hound man, and both wanted to observe hound work. Sitting in the canary wagon gave an excellent vantage point.

Clare walked her four Chesapeake Beagles up over the hill, for the day’s territory had to be different from the last two days’. Rabbits shouldn’t be overhunted and since the Institute covered 512 acres, the game could be fairly protected. One would be hunting fresh rabbit.

Well, Clare certainly hit a fresh rabbit, and the bugger shot straight uphill, a fairly steep rise above a small but swift creek. Harry, on the right, had the presence of mind to vault the creek to begin the climb. Susan hung back slightly should the game turn, because if the rabbit did pull a one-eighty—and they had a bag of tricks—she’d be able to turn with it, keep up with the pack. But this rabbit harbored Mount Everest dreams, going ever upward. Harry, cool though it was, sweated. Susan knew she couldn’t catch up to be on the hounds’ left shoulders, so she sensibly climbed but conserved her energy.

The rabbit hit the crest, the four beagles perhaps five or six minutes behind. They poured over, followed by Harry, determined to keep up. No human can keep up with canines at full tilt. She hung in there as she heard Clare reach the crest, whooping encouragement to hounds who needed none of it. A beagle possessed is in his or her own world.

The high ground, wet, slowed Harry down, but not the light animals. She kept them in sight, only realizing as she reached the middle of the high meadow that it was where the cavalrymen had thundered on, to their regret. The rabbit did not stop to say a brief grace but zoomed over that meadow, the cottontail bobbling, eyes determined. Farmwork makes one strong but doesn’t necessarily give one great wind, and Harry’s lungs burned. Still, she kept up, as did Susan, closing slightly. Both women, in shape, decent runners, realized this run was very, very good. The rabbit hit the tree line of a northeastern woods, cut into it, and then swerved west. Hounds roared in, full cry, then silence.

Harry could drop it down to a trot, for she saw the Chesapeake hounds casting about. They tried everything, but to no avail. Clare blew her horn, calling them back. She then walked along the wood’s edge, pushing them into the woods. She might have done better sticking to the edge, for rabbits are edge feeders. Then again, one never knew. After fifteen minutes she turned to recross the meadow and hunt downhill, but the timer watch on Nattie’s wrist went off and Arlene blew the horn.

Madam flicked her ears. She wasn’t a big horn fan.

Clare told her hounds how good they were and began walking back to the kennels at the Institute. Harry and Susan walked on either side of the proud beagles, tails upright.

Arlene had Nattie drive her back to the top of the hill for the next hunt, which was Waldingfield Beagles.

“I should have kept on the edge.” Clare kicked herself.

“They put in a super run. And who knows where scent might be? You did a good job.” Harry praised her.

“Clare, you’ve been hunting these hounds less than a month.” Susan put things in perspective.

She brightened. “I think Jason would be proud.”

“No doubt. I personally would like to have a word with that bunny. Nearly straight up. Hateful climb.”

“Was.” Both Susan and Clare agreed.

Reaching the kennels, Clare checked the hounds’ paws and refreshed their buckets of water, putting them in their tidy kennel. She also mixed up a kibble mash into which she threw what she swore were secret ingredients.

Each small kennel sat separate from others, a good plan, and the fencing gave enough room for stretching legs, too. Everything at Aldie had been thought out for generations, literally, for the good of the hounds.

Meanwhile, Dr. Arie Rijke, Amy Burke Walker, and her brother Alan Webb, survived one of the most incredible runs ever. Einstein and Yeovil, led by Empress and Voicemail, nosed about for ten minutes. Nothing. Dr. Rijke, carrying the horn, pushed them along.

“Find your rabbit,” the huntsman said.

Amy began to wonder because, of course, they’d all heard about Chesapeake Beagles’ run.

Dr. Rijke, not one to fret, kept pushing his beagles. His wife, Suzanne Bishoff, Joe Giglia, and Bob Johnson, all able to attend the weekend, remained with the spectators. Often someone who knows the pack, and these three did, can be helpful as spectators, seeing what the huntsman and whippers-in can’t. Amy and Alan had an intuitive understanding of what the other sibling would do.

Empress snuffled, tail starting to feather. Voicemail came alongside her and within five seconds both opened at once. Yeovil and Einstein came alongside. They ran for one solid hour. Damn near killed the humans, but the work was so exciting. Somehow those Waldingfield people kept the hounds in sight. The spectators, the young ones, kept up. The older ones fell back. The veterans in Gators and the other ATVs also kept up.

The rabbit shot out of the territory, literally passed the monument erected by the First Massachusetts Cavalry and crossed the road. Dr. Rijke had to blow back his beagles. Amy and Alan had to break them off the line. Voicemail gave up before Empress, who was a hound possessed. Einstein, the youngest, and Yeovil hurried to the horn. For Empress the party was unfortunately over.

Arlene, Nattie, and Jake, who had convinced Madam to go off the dirt road, a bit muddy now, and onto the pasture, waited at the top of the slight rise.

“Best run I ever saw,” Jake declared.

“It’s been a terrific weekend,” Arlene said. “But Jake, I’d have to agree, best run I ever saw. We all dream of a run like that.”

Nattie, jaw dropped, simply held the reins lightly in his hands.

Three tired people gathered the four hounds, turning for the long walk back.

“Let’s let them get ahead. If anyone poops out, we’ll pick them up,” Arlene suggested.

Those spectators in Gators and ATVs cheered when the happy beagles passed them. Dr. Rijke lifted his proper soft black hunt cap. Amy was too tired to do anything but smile, and Alan was dying for a cigarette. Of course, he wouldn’t smoke one, but right about then the hit of nicotine would have been heavenly.

By the time the Waldingfield people had reached the kennels, everyone there had heard about the run. Harry and Susan wished they had seen it but their run was plenty good and rule one was to take care of the animals first.

Clare, hands on hips, beamed as Amy, Alan, and, lastly, Dr. Rijke walked by. “Think you beat me.”

“Everyone wins at Hounds for Heroes.” Alan tapped his black baseball cap with his crop.

“We made thirty thousand, ten thousand more than last year.” Amy grinned. “Everyone did win, but I have to admit, best run I’ve ever whipped-in to, the best.”

“Are your legs jelly, because mine about are.” Harry, who knew the Waldingfield people well, laughed.

Jeff Walker, Amy’s husband, who had been helping both Bobbitts, hound Masters, ran up to her, put his arm around her shoulders, and kissed her on the cheek. Her legs felt a little better.

Harry, seeing Madam and the humans, left them all to go to the barn. She wanted to freshen the shavings for Madam and wipe her down, as the girl had been in the light rain all day. Arlene started to help her unhitch the placid mule.

“I’ll do it. You’re the director. Go on over to the kennels.”

Nattie stepped up. “I’ll help.”

Turned out he was a good man with driving gear, more to handle than riding tack.

Jake walked with Arlene as they replayed the day.

“Where’d you learn about driving?” Harry asked Nattie.

“Lexington, Kentucky. My mom has fine harness horses.”

“Ah.” Harry nodded, for that meant his mom knew a great deal.

Madam, wiped down, put her face in her food bucket, which had two scoops of delicious, sweet feed.

After seeing to the mule and the canary cart placed in its parking spot under roof, Harry, too tired to sprint, walked back to the cabin, where she put Tucker on a leash and walked her away from everyone.

“I could go with you,” Mrs. Murphy offered.

“Stay inside. It’s raining,” Tucker prudently advised.

Pewter, one eye now open, muttered, “You spoil that dog.”

“She’s a good egg.” Mrs. Murphy watched embers glow in the fireplace.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry and Tucker returned. Harry wiped the dog’s feet and brushed her corgi’s fur, for the rain fell a bit harder now. She then fed the dog and cats juicy scraps she’d taken from the Institute kitchen.

She really did spoil them all. A human would have enjoyed the scraps.

As they ate, she freshened the water, put four logs in the fire as an open square, and put twigs in the middle with old papers she’d brought from home. As the embers pulsated, she didn’t need to use a match. The twigs caught, so Harry then placed logs over the square she’d built. This would warm things up nicely and she’d put more logs on after the dinner.

No one had time to clean up for the dinner as the hunting ran overtime. Also, awards needed to be given. A few speeches were made but were kept mercifully short.

One couldn’t have asked for a better dinner or awards ceremony.

Arlene handed out awards. Clare received a third place, which pleased her. By the time all was finished, including bottles of bourbon, scotch, wine, and vodka, people were ready for bed or to leave if clear-eyed and if the drive home wasn’t too long.

“I’ve got a headache. Just wore myself out,” Clare said to Arlene, next to her.

“Wait a minute.” Arlene fished in her purse, handing her two pills. “Knock it right out.”

Clare thanked her and checked her watch as she slipped out the back door. Most everyone’s cars were parked in the front, so they left that way. Some with cabins at the end of the cabin line left by the back, hoping the run through the rain would be shorter. It wasn’t.

“Susan, I’m going to throw a light rug over Madam. She has to be dry by now. Will you put more logs on the fire?”

“Of course.”

Harry opened the door, the rain falling hard enough that she was glad she had a good raincoat. People scurried about for their cars, their cabins. What a happy group.

No one would suffer from insomnia this Sunday night.

—

Monday morning, those with hounds in the kennels cleaned them and cleaned the kennels. Some put their hounds in their trucks or cars, as each competitor only brought four. A few pulled a little hound wagon, but most hounds sat in someone’s lap.

Harry and Susan walked over to say goodbye to Arlene, who had to oversee it all.

Clare’s beagles were unattended.

“I’ll see where she is.” Arlene made sure the hounds had food and water.

“I’ll come along.” Harry fell in with Arlene as Susan stayed back to talk to Dr. Rijke, Amy, Alan, and Jeff.

Arlene knocked on Clare’s cabin door. There was no answer, so she slightly opened it.

“Looks like she isn’t packed yet,” Harry noticed.

“That’s not like Clare. I didn’t think she tied one on,” Arlene said.

They called in the Institute hall. They checked back at the kennels. No one had seen her.

“Ah, here’s Madam’s transportation. Arlene, let me help load the mule.”

“I’ll help. Maybe Clare’s in the barn.”

“Who knows? She’s around somewhere,” Harry replied.

Once in the barn, Harry put Madam’s halter on, walking her out for Geoff Ogden, who owned her. Not really a mule man, he had fallen in love with the sweet girl years ago and, like all love stories, or most love stories, they wound up together.

Madam happily walked into the aisle, and as Geoff, leading her, passed the space for the canary cart, he glanced over, then half laughed. “Someone had too much to drink, I fear.”

As Madam’s hoofs reverberated on the aluminum walk-up ramp to the trailer, Harry looked at the cart.

“Arlene.”

Arlene came over. She poked Clare. “She’s dead.”

Harry checked her pulse. Her wrist was cold. “Good God. What’s going on here?”

Clare was emphatically dead.