Midshipman and Weevil flew as the tiny snowflakes grew fatter. As the cold bit his face he realized this storm was not predicted on The Weather Channel but it was here and growing stronger.
Such thoughts filtered through Sister’s mind as well. The open pasture lent itself to a hard gallop, which came to a severe slowdown once into the woods. She could make out Betty’s black coat as Betty was on a deer path winding due north. Tootie, on her left, raced in the open, heading for a jump at the far end of the wildflower meadow. If hounds and fox turned left she would be there. If they turned right she could make up the ground.
Comet, comfortably ahead, wasn’t taking chances. He picked up speed, forgoing evasive measures. Just get home.
Giorgio, the fastest hound along with Dragon, who was in the kennel, ran perhaps two hundred yards behind the sleek, healthy gray, full winter coat attesting to his well-being.
A few yards behind Giorgio ran Bachelor, a first-year entry. He had the engine, so no reason to hunt behind an older and wiser hound. At least that’s what he thought.
The hogs’ back loomed ahead. No problem for hounds, even though the footing was beginning to get slippery, not evil but slippery. The snow fell heavily but one could still see.
All the hounds leapt over the hogs’ back. Given the pace, no hound wanted to wriggle under the three-board fence. Jump and go. Weevil did just that as Betty, ahead of him on the right, negotiated a fallen tree, slowing her down, but she then made it over a simple thin three-rail fence. Outlaw, her hunter of many years, did not favor an airy fence, but she squeezed, clucked, and moved her hands up his neck. He figured this wasn’t the time to have a moment, anyway; hounds were in full cry and he was a true hunt horse.
Comet streaked across the wildflower field, easily viewed by hounds, staff, and the field, his tail straight out behind him. Reaching the other side of the big field, he easily scrunched under the lowest board on the fence, blasted to the back of the clapboard cottage, a small covered porch leading to the back door, and shot under the latticework under the porch floor first, ducking into the big den under there.
“What are you doing?” Target, the red who lived there as well as Comet, asked, then he heard the hounds really close. “You have no sense.”
“How was I to know they’d hunt on a snow day? The pickings were great at After All. And those garbage cans are a cinch to open.”
Target cocked his head. “Humans can’t tell the weather. They only know what’s happening when it’s on them. And as for the treats over there, you’ll lose your hunting skills. You can’t live off human largess without getting lazy.”
This conversation was interrupted by Giorgio, nose under the base of the porch, white-painted lattice hiding the open space under the outside porch.
“Almost! I almost had you.”
All the hounds, now there, hollered at once.
Target growled. “Shut up. I can’t hear myself think.”
The field, standing only ten yards away, heard the furious barking from the fox.
“Drama.” Sister laughed.
“Okay, let’s kennel up.” Weevil walked to the kennels, where Betty and Tootie quickly dismounted to open the big draw pen doors. They’d have to go back to pick up the hound trailer, but no use going all the way back when hounds had run to the kennels.
“Folks, that’s our day,” Sister announced. “If you want to put your horses in a pasture here or tie them to the hitching post, we’ll have breakfast in the house. You all know Edward has the flu, so there’s no breakfast at After All.” Looking up at the sky she added, “If you want to ride back then drive your trailer here, that’s fine, too. Won’t take you all that long and this stuff doesn’t look like it will let up. Maybe it’s best to go while you can still see. You can also leave your horse, borrow my truck, drive back, and drive your trailer here. You can pile in Betty’s Bronco, too. We’ll fit everyone in.”
Betty helped put hounds up then came outside to take her horse and Tootie’s into the barn. Tootie, still inside the kennels, looked out the window.
“What do you think?” Weevil asked.
“Better I put Midshipman in his stall now. I can drive you back to After All. I’ll call the Bancrofts to see if they mind if we leave the hound trailer there. Driving the hound trailer back then getting back yourself might not be so great, especially if the wind picks up.”
He agreed, so Tootie walked out, taking Midshipman to the barn.
Within forty minutes most of the club members had arrived for the breakfast, their trailers now parked around the barn. A few people not wishing to brave an increasing storm loaded up to drive straight home.
The house, full of people in tweed coats, as was proper for a hunt breakfast, talked, drank, ate, and did not observe Golly snagging a morsel from their plate if their backs were turned.
Raleigh pretended to be appalled. “One of these days you’ll get caught.”
“Never,” the calico bragged.
Gray acted as bartender, with Sam making sure all the ladies had seats. He drove Yvonne today, as he wasn’t riding a horse for Crawford. The two of them chattered the whole time. Sam, marvelous on a horse, answered all her questions and told her if she felt ready they would ride closing hunt together.
Yvonne enthused, happy with the day. “Don’t the grays have sweeter faces?”
Sam nodded in agreement, tonic water with lime in hand, and sat next to her as they recounted the hunt. Other men, including Walter, felt Sam was falling for Yvonne. Walter wondered if Yvonne felt an attraction to Sam. Then again, Yvonne was only a year out of a hideous divorce.
Buddy Cadwalder, tall, lean, moved among the group. He’d come down from Philadelphia to meet with Carter Nicewonder about potential clients for his exquisite furniture, but also to hunt with Jefferson and see Kathleen. He didn’t want to be too obvious. Carter teased him.
As the gathering grew warmer, more laughter, many on their second drink or second hot coffee, a knock on the front door took Sister away from the group.
“I’ll get that, honey,” Gray offered.
“I’m halfway there.”
Opening the door, the cold, stepping over the threshold, she beheld John Wickline, Animal Control, whom she knew from his kennel inspections once a year.
“John, come in here. Have a drink, a sandwich. Helps you to fight the cold.”
Embarrassed, he shook his head. “Sister,” he handed her a paper, “you’ve been cited for cruelty to animals. I must inspect not just the kennels but every single animal on this farm. County regulations.”
“Good Lord. Come in, anyway.”
He stepped in as she called for Gray. “Gray, get him something warm to eat and drink then meet me in the library. If anyone asks, tell them I won’t be long.” She smiled at John. “Everybody in the room knows you anyway, especially those who put in hours at the animal shelter. Come on, John. Whatever this is, we can work it out.”
Gray joined them, plate in one hand, a hot toddy in the other. “This isn’t really an alcoholic drink. The alcohol is burned off. It just keeps you warm.” Then he sat in a chair while John took a sip.
“I shouldn’t really be here but I wanted to give you time, so I could return tomorrow. I’ll bring my new assistant. We really must inspect every single animal on the farm. County ordinance.” He repeated this fact. “It will take most of the day.”
“Yes, it will,” Sister agreed. “At least you will have inspected our kennels, which you do once a year.”
“Because you call me and ask me to do it.” He looked from Sister to Gray. “I know your practices are the best, but if I’m given a summons I must follow up. I am sorry.”
“Am I allowed to know who filed the grievance?”
“No. County rules. Anyone can accuse anybody and not have to come forward, the idea being you would retaliate
.”
“They are right about that, John. I’d slap them right across the face.” Then she laughed.
Finishing his drink and his sandwich in two bites, John asked, “What time is convenient?”
“Whenever you get to work. Call me, though, in case the roads are bad. We have no idea how long this snow will last.”
“If it’s bad, we’ll reschedule.” He stood, as did Sister and Gray.
Both walked John to the door, Gray took his coat off the hook. “You’ll need this.” Then he held it so the bulky fellow could slide his arms in.
Waiting a moment, John couldn’t help himself. “You know, there’s no common sense anymore. New people. New people in love with rules. Just no common sense.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Don’t worry about it, we’ll have a good time. As you know, my animals have vivid personalities.”
As he left, Sister and Gray looked at each other. Then she touched his hand as they turned to go back to the gathering.
“It’s possible. Usually there’s an element of revenge in something like this. All anyone has to do is come down the drive to see how healthy and happy all the critters are.”
“You know, honey, I wonder if we can take foxhunting for granted anymore. Can we take anything for granted? Even dog shows?”
“If Miss America has been demoted, I suppose anything can be,” Gray responded.
She laughed. “Was the old bathing suit parade demeaning? I don’t know. Men like to look at women. Never did a thing for me, but then again, if there were a male equivalent, I’d be riveted.” A pause. “I would compare every man to you. He couldn’t possibly come up to the mark.”
They walked back to the dining room, arm in arm. Sister would call Betty, Tootie, and Weevil, asking them to come, be ready tomorrow for whatever. No point taking a chance of someone overhearing about the summons. That old game of telephone demonstrates human nature better than decades of university studies.
Carter was telling Freddie the best small art museums in England. She responded with good small ones in the United States, like the Brinton Museum in Big Horn, Wyoming. She then looked out the window, excusing herself. Best to get home.
As the breakfast unwound, people leaving three or four at a time, each time the door opened, the snow was deeper.
CHAPTER 14
February 19, 2020 Wednesday
“I remember him.” John Wickline smiled, bent down to rub Asa’s ears.
“Retired now. My ‘A’ line is a great one. So now his job is to teach the youngsters their ABC’s. He goes on, walks with them.” Sister looked down at the hound senior citizen. “He crawls into your heart.”
Tootie and Weevil stood at a distance while Sister walked John through the kennels, showed him the outer runs, all of which he knew, but she figured better safe than sorry. Both of them walked outside the high chain-link fence. The Animal Control officer could clearly see the condos, now outfitted for winter. The condos, large boxes, twelve feet by twelve feet by twelve feet, sat up on heavy raised posts. Each condo was insulated as well as being filled with deep fresh straw. The straw was changed weekly. The roofs were peaked. They, too, were insulated inside. In winter a heavy door reduced the opening size to retain heat. A sloping walk-up, thirty degrees, had inch-wide raised strips across the grade to make getting in and out easier, especially if icy. All had a wraparound porch. The outdoor runs fed into the indoor housing but many of the hounds preferred their condos; there were two in each big run. Part of the appeal was a hound could easily walk outside under the stars and inhale deeply. All those night hunter scents filled the air.
The snow, three inches, fluffy, contrasted with the white condos, a bit of green trim around the doors for effect. Tootie and Weevil picked those yards clean as the sun came up.
Although picked daily in the afternoon, they wanted the yards to be as clean as possible, which they were.
Now inside, Sister reminded John of the medical room as she opened the door. “When we do suffer an injury or need an operation, say having a tumor removed, it can be done here. Our vet comes out. If it’s complicated, we take the hound to Dr. Ligon. Rarely do we need to do that.”
“I remember when you remodeled the inside of these kennels. I’d just taken the job. You could operate on a person in here.”
Sister laughed. “Cost a lot less. I remember you wondering why we would put in a steel operating table, purchase instruments, an oxygen mask, the big refrigerator. Over time, seeing what can happen to anyone’s dog, I realized not having to transport an animal in distress really helps. Then again, Dr. Ligon really helps, too.
“She’s the best. Don’t know if you recall my now-deceased hound, Lilybee. She had gotten caught between two tree limbs, tree on the ground after a storm, and dislocated her hip. The poor girl was in so much pain and we had to take her to the clinic. This would not be a simple fix. Well, Jessica,” she named Dr. Ligon by her first name, “wired her back together, reattached ligaments, then we had to keep her from running around, so Lilybee came here to the recovery room, and recover she did. What a sweet girl. Anyway, a hound can run sixty miles on a fast day. No more hunting for her once the bandages and supports came off. I used her for a schoolmarm. And…” Sister opened the medical room back out to the indoor girls’ dormitory. “Look here. Come on and show yourself, Tootsie.”
John looked down at Tootsie, who looked up with her soft brown eyes. “Hello, Tootsie.” Then he chuckled. “Do you ever call Tootie Tootsie?”
Tootie and Weevil, steps behind them in case a hound needed to be brought out, giggled.
Sister turned around. “If I did that to you, would you hunt on all fours?”
“I do whatever my master tells me. That’s foxhunting, right?” The beautiful young woman grinned. “Mr. Wickline, here.” She handed him a small treat, as both she and Weevil usually carried a pocketful.
He took the treat and held it as Sister opened the door. Tootsie daintily took the treat then scampered back through the door to the larger living quarters, the indoor ones with raised benches.
“Granddaughter on the male side. The boys look a great deal like Lilybee, too. While you’re here, would you like to see the medical records?”
“Show me where they are. I don’t need to read anything. And I apologize again for the time this is taking.”
“You’re the one who has to write this up. It will take you more time than it takes us. Which reminds me, I thought you were bringing an assistant.”
“Didn’t show up for work. No work ethic anymore.”
Sister beckoned Weevil and Tootie to her. “And here I have two young people who live to work.”
“Madam,” Weevil always correctly addressed the master in public as “Master” or “Madam.” “This isn’t work.”
“Thank you.” She did love those two.
“I think we’ve covered the kennels. Did I miss anything?”
“Come on, let me show you the records, then we can go to the stables.” She walked him to the office, warmer than the actual kennels.
Kennels should have some warmth in cold weather but if a master allows the kennels to be at a temperature comfortable for a human, they risk hounds not being able to effectively work in cold. The other consideration is that hounds and horses’ ideal outside temperature is lower than what a human likes. Most humans feel best in 68–72 degrees. That’s way too hot for hounds and horses, although they can work outside in the heat, but not for hours on end. It’s cruel to them, even if it feels okay to the human. This is why cubbing calls for judgment based on the animals, and not the people. Also, when the temperature rises, a huntsman must allow hounds to drink whenever they wish.
By now John Wickline had learned things. He’d read, studied, asked questions over the years.
“Wow,” he exclaimed when he walked into the inviting office.
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The Louis XV desk sat in the middle of the floor, where the old clunky school desk once sat.
“You weren’t born when Uncle Arnold’s Louis XV desk was in here,” she teased him, as he was in his late thirties. “About twenty-two years ago it was stolen. Never found it, couldn’t imagine anyone doing such a thing. Harry Dunbar, the antiques dealer, willed me this. An overwhelming gift.” She dropped into the chair. “Do I look royal?”
“Always.” John smiled.
She opened the middle drawer, handed him a sheaf of papers. “These are the bloodlines I am currently studying.” She rose, walked over to the bank of wooden cabinets along an interior wall. “This cabinet contains all the medical records for the last thirty years. The stuff starting in 1887 is in the next room. I have everything. My late husband’s uncle was obsessive. I hasten to add that I really am not, but Weevil keeps me on track, as does Shaker.”
She mentioned her huntsman of many years, currently on a medical leave.
“Well, I have no worries. I’ve taken photos of the hounds. Hard to argue with a photograph. Stables?”
Sister pulled on her gloves, was helped into her coat by Weevil. Tootie and Weevil stayed in the kennels as Sister and John walked across the snowy path to the stables, where Betty Franklin waited. Betty didn’t work in the stables but she kept her two horses there. The stables, like the kennels, sparkled, smelled fresh.
The two women brought each horse into the center aisle, removing the animals’ stable rug, lighter than the outdoor blanket, so John could take photographs.
Betty lifted each hoof so the officer could inspect the hooves. This operation used up almost two hours, because they then showed him the feed, the quality of the hay, and the shelf with supplements for those horses needing them.
One more station remained, the house. The two women and John walked to the house, where Gray had not only spruced things up, he’d actually groomed the dogs. Golly, of course, was impossible.
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