THE FOX HUNT by Rebecca Miller
The hound’s keening bay broke from the south and continued southwest toward the river. Chipmunks scattered, rabbits scampered, and all woodland small critters took to their burrows seeking shelter from the fray. The immediate forest radiated quiet, except for the baying dog.
Earlier in the morning, the dog, Matt Dillion, and I entered the wood together. I wore bright clothing so as not to be mistaken by the hunters waiting on the far side of the forest. I followed the excited dog who enjoyed nosing over half-buried rocks and fallen tree limbs, scuttling small animals in search of his favorite scent. Tail wagging constantly, and with a silly tongue-lolling expression, the white, black, and tan foxhound roamed the woods on both sides of me. The dog really enjoyed himself.
Knowing I couldn’t keep up with the fast pace of the running dog on scent, I continued through the woods to meet up with the hunters. A long hike over rough terrain, through small streams and ditches, seldom in a straight line, I kept a fairly steady pace. Pausing, I rested on a fallen log, removed my burr-ladened hiking boot to thump some of the clotted mud from the sole, and rubbed my arch. The woodland, dense in places, opened with occasional areas such as where I currently sat. A beautiful early October day with a crispness to the air, just right for the long walk.
I could hear the dog circling gradually to the north again. That would bring the chase right back to me. I couldn’t get my shoelaces untangled and the boot back on my foot fast enough. The sounds of crashing brush and excited yips meant they were close.
The ground foliage to my right burst open to reveal the prey. A lovely young vixen with a coat of burnished copper flashed into view and leaped over the log where I sat. Stunned, I was too shocked to move. Mere seconds later, the dog, in a flash of big feet and flying ears, skidded to a stop near me. Where had the prey gone? The baying ceased, making the quiet deafening after the noise of the chase.
Breathing hard, the dog shifted gears and began to rapidly sniff the ground all around the fallen log, ignoring me. As quickly as it stopped, the dog yipped once again, as he found the fresh scent, then opened into full-throated excited bay to let all kith and kindred know he was still on the trail.
Letting out the breath I had been holding, I bent to replace the boot. As I stood, the vixen cautiously appeared at the edge of the brush, laying a back trail to confuse the dog. It worked. The baying no longer sounded. The fox eyed me beside the log and decided even though the human smelled like the dog, I was no danger. Cautiously, the fox emerged into the clearing near the base of the log and rolled in the leaves. Hopping over the log, she repeated the process on the other side leaving a solid patch of fresh scent in the mulch. I watched in silence. The vixen proved to be one cool customer and smart as well. The fox stood. A single hop placed her on the log. She ran the length, then gathered herself for one mighty leap off the other end. Turning, she looked at me as a co-conspirator and again took off through the woods.
The dog made his way back to the log, eyed me critically, and proceeded to sniff the entire area. Thoroughly confused, Matt flopped at my feet panting. He gave up to rest.
No fox died during the hunt this day. No guns were fired. No anxious hunters appeased. The sly pursuant had “out-foxed” the pursuit. The dog enjoyed a good run, I a hearty laugh and the joy of watching the cunning of this particular vixen. There would be other hunts and chases, but for today it was enough.
