Jackets excused, we started out on this warm early autumn day by hacking left out of the drive and down Lees Mill Road. Passing behind one of the houses a man was bent over a small back door garden while an elderly man watched from the adjacent deck. Although he looked our way the elderly man did not respond to our waves, standing with his arms slack at his sides. The younger man pointed at us and, barely audible, I heard him say we were “looking for the fox.” Closing in on the one year anniversary of the death of my father-in-law, it was a bittersweet scene. Much more sweet than bitter to witness this quiet exchange between what I imagined to be an adult son and his father.
Approaching the creek crossing we heard a whipper-in’s view halloa ahead of us. Shortly after that we heard third field’s view; they had crossed the creek the usual way by the machine shed. The run lasted roughly an hour-and-a-half. At one point there were simultaneous views on opposite sides of the strip of corn running alongside Doss Garland Drive. There were views being called all over the place. Hearing them ahead of me I rushed up only to miss them. Second Field was viewing behind me, and I missed those, too.
At one point, the first field was checked on top of the hill above the stream crossing, viewing to our right, while Karen at the back of second field viewed to her left at the stream. Missed both of those, too. If I did not see a fox soon my head was going to explode. I was looking so intently my eyes were going to pop out of my head on stalks, like a blue crab. I could almost taste the donuts and smell the church basement at the MVA (Missed View Anonymous) support group.
Hounds worked the Doss Garland cornfield relentlessly. The cornfield is split into three parts with one cleared path bisecting the strip closest to the road. Which, inexplicably had a humongous, round gray hornets nest lying on the ground in the middle of it. Hounds entered and exited the corn, bursting in and out from all directions. That is when they were not running circles within the corn. A big, bushy, dark red fox circled within the corn popping out one side, then another. Hounds were absolutely screaming. At one point they did exit the corn hot on the tail of a deer but I think they were still right. I think they flushed the deer out and hooked on to it by sight for a second in their eagerness. They also flushed a very large rabbit. The ears of corn would have run out of the field if they could.
Hounds checked next to the houses on Doss Garland Drive. Wagner and four other hounds approached us. At first glance he appeared to be limping but he was actually tottering…overheated. A quick application of water and he reanimated like a sea monkey. From what I saw he was in front leading the pack the entire day. The temperature was mild but surprisingly still humid.
At one point, huntsman Dulany Noble galloped by looking at us and shaking her fist like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, addressing anyone within earshot. “I knew they were right! Even when I am wrong, I’m right!” No doubt defending her hounds’ honor against any rumor they may have been on deer. Personally I think hounds were right and only followed the deer by sight when they exited the corn together. Their blood was up and they were hot on the fox. Finally I had two views of a bright orange fox, both times crossing between the corn fields. The integrity of my head saved for another day.
Elizabeth said that Janene had mentioned one of the views was a “Burgundy Vixen.” Since there were so many views I am not sure which fox she was referring to. Or what it looked like. So, later, I Googled it. There is a lot of information on red fox coat color and the genetics behind them. Unfortunately, most of it from the fur trade and concerning farm-raised foxes. Red foxes come in a variety of different color morphs ranging from albino to black to various spotted patterns—eighty in all—but there are only eight genes responsible for all of them. At least two different brown mutant types are known. The darker one, burgundy, is more common. The burgundy color is a very vivid, very saturated red color and is present in the wild. The color in the one photo I saw matched most closely to the color of a very dark brick. There is a lighter version of burgundy called cinnamon. From what I could gather it seems the burgundy color is actually the result of two recessive “silvers” crossing. The silver color is also found in the wild.
Our fox eventually wearied of us (or just plan wearied) and went to ground. The puppies are hunting as one with the pack, amazingly, with no apparent duds in the litter of eleven. Even Jurassic Petey is in on the action. When the action pauses for even a second he appears to succumb to narcolepsy, instantly falling into a deep sleep, lying in a heap wherever he happened to be the instant he stopped moving. Any second I expect to see his legs twitching in a dream. He is such a big squishy blob I bet he snores. And is probably very gassy!
Rejoining Em and Deetle in third field on the hack in, Em told me they had stood on the hill and watched us “run in circles.” When they got bored of standing in one place they “walked around a little.” The fox they viewed at the very start of the day simply hunkered down in the beans.
Driving out, it was obvious that, while none of us foxhunters appear to actually work, landowner George Brooks’s business is in full swing. And so was everyone else involved in the production of grain. At the height of their harvest season, waiting at the end of George’s driveway for horse trailers to clear the way, we realize how lucky we are to play while farmers toil. Actually, I think we are lucky they can actually summon the good will to even wave at us.
When I worked the night shift, I drove past cozily lit windows with flickering television sets behind them. On the way to the hospital at a time everyone else was going no further than their bed, I fantasized about throwing something at those very windows and at the people in sweats jumping up from dozing in front of the “X-Files.” No matter how long I worked nights, I still always wanted to go to bed at night like everyone else. At this time of year we are especially lucky to have our landowner’s good will. The time has come to start baking and delivering pies.
Posted September 19, 2016
At the time of the story, the author served as Field Master for the Carrollton Hounds in Maryland.