• Honor – (v) A hound honors when he speaks on a line that another hound has been hunting.
• Hounds – (n) Foxhounds are hounds, not dogs, and they are counted in couples. Male hounds are “dogs” and females are “bitches”. All other canines are referred to as “curs” regardless of their breeding.
• Hunt Breakfast – (n) Meal served any time of the day after the hunt for the members, staff, and guests. Typically around noon but can be later. Sometimes catered by the host, but more often potluck. If potluck, then attendees are expected to bring a dish and beverages to share.
• Hunt Button – (n) Black or brass button with the hunt’s special logo engraved upon it. Members with colors are allowed to wear the hunt buttons.
• Hunt Country – (n) The most critical component of the sport, this is the land over which foxhunters ride. Most hunts need a minimum of 3000 acres to show good sport and more if regularly hunting coyotes.
• Hunting Crop – (n) See hunting whip.
• Hunting Harpie – (n) Usually a female without manners who is over mounted and overexcited enough to shout and snap at those around her who cause her distress during the hunt. Occasionally seen in males, too.
• Hunting Whip – (n) Part of the attire of a foxhunter, these have either a wooden knob or stag handle, a leather thong, and silk popper. The whip is used to open gates, control hounds (only when asked by staff), or to lend to a staff member who has lost or broken theirs.
• Huntsman – (n) Person who hunts the hounds.
• Joint Meet – (n) Planned joint hunts with two or more hunts participating.
• Lark – (v) Jump fences unnecessarily. Typically frowned upon, but occasionally allowed by field masters on slow hunting days.
• Lash – (n) The part of the hunting whip that cracks. Usually made of silk.
• Lead – (n) The leg that is in front during the canter. Horses cantering in a circle to the left would typically do so on the left lead.
• Leg up – (n) The act of helping another person on to their horse by the person on the ground cupping their hands for the rider’s knee. The rider is then lifted to a height where he or she can easily put the other leg over the saddle.
• Line – (n) The trail of the quarry.
• Master – (n) The Master of Foxhounds. The person in command of the hunt in the field and kennels.
• Meet – (n or v) Where the hunt takes place. “The meet tomorrow is at...or “Hounds meet tomorrow at...”
• Open – (v) A hound “opens” when he first speaks upon scenting the quarry.
• Opening Meet – (n) The first formal hunt of the season.
• Panel – (n) The portion of any jumpable fence between two posts. Also, a jumpable portion built into a wire fence. Sometimes used interchangeably with coop.
• Pelham bit – (n) Leverage bit usually ridden with two sets of reins. Can provide extra stopping leverage when riding horses in groups at speed over uncertain terrain.
• Pilot – (n) Rider who takes fences or dangerous spots first to ensure their suitability or safety for the rider(s) behind.
• Point – (n) The distance covered in a run. “That was a six mile point, but twelve miles as hounds ran.” Also, the location to which a whipper-in is sent to watch for game to go away.
• Quarry – (n) Coyote, fox, bobcat.
• Radio – (n) Special communication equipment on the same frequency carried by members and staff of hunts who often encounter coyotes. Only staff speaks on the radio. Should be turned down low or off so as not to disturb the game or sounds of the hounds. (v) To call to staff on the hunt’s radio frequency.
• Ratcatcher – Informal hunting attire. Correct for cubhunting and weekday hunts if indicated.
• Release forms – (n) Paperwork to release the hunt from liability should a rider be injured or killed while foxhunting.
• Riot – (n and v) When hounds chase things they are not supposed to chase. Also, the term for inappropriate game.
• Road – (v) Move the hounds as a pack.
• Run – (n) The time that hounds open on a line and lose or account for their quarry. This usually implies a gallop. “That was an excellent run.”
• Snaffle bit – (n) Single rein bit that is often ignored by the best-trained horses when it experiences foxhunting for the first time. Often used by riders in the front of the field, huntsmen, or whippers-in who ride alone, but rarely a safe choice by those trying to survive riding en masse in the field.
• Speak – (v) To give tongue when on the quarry.
• Staff – (n) The huntsman, whippers-in, and kennelmen. Paid are professionals; unpaid are honorary.
• Stern – (n) Hound’s tail.
• Tack – (n) Riding gear.
• Tack up – (v) Putting on the horse’s riding gear.
• Tally ho – A phrase shouted gleefully when one views the hunted game. Can cause much embarrassment for same if inappropriate quarry is identified.
• Thong – (n) The braided leather part of the hunting whip.
• Tongue – See Speak.
• View – (v or n) Seeing the quarry.
• Vixen – (n) Female fox.
• Whip-in – (v) To serve as a whipper-in for a hunt
• Whipper-in – (n) A staff member who assists the huntsman with the hounds.
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Impasse
There was nothing I could do to change him. Did I even want to? Of course I’mnot going to willingly choose a life of extreme emotional volatility – I never have hadto deal with that; well, not counting growing up with two older sisters. I love him, butMother and Grand say love isn’t enough.
What do I know about love? Attraction is obvious, at least, with both of them. But who should I choose to love?
Excerpt from Impasse
Back in the Saddle
"Foxhunting provides those fleeting moments of total abandonment – of wind in your hair, bugs in your teeth kind of living. At its best, it is totally out of control. Hounds are screaming, hooves are thundering, the horn is blasting as you race and jump across country to die for, often in weather not fit for man or beast. It is the original extreme sport..."
– Carla M. Hawkinson, MFH
Black hooves pummeling the frozen field, Viva whirled across the sage. I asked for more speed, twisting a bit of her mane in my right fingers to steady myself should she leave me behind with her response. She didn’t, and I leaned forward ever so slightly to compensate – doing my best not to upset her balance at this blistering pace.
At the edge of the field, menacing thorn bushes impaired our progress, and we slowed just enough to negotiate. Bouncing, dodging, jumping, leaping through razor sharp branches, she at last stretched down and long when we reached the field beyond – her strides now pulling maximum speed. I sat as if riding a missile, glorying in her fluid motion. No time to check for holes, can’t even see the ground, can’t see through my wind born tears…have to get across this field before the hounds, their music was getting louder, the orchestra in full crescendo…
“Split pack! Stop the ones going south!” William’s voice cracked over my radio. Although he was shouting, I barely heard him over the wind’s roar. We were already going that direction at top speed since the pack of foxhounds had suddenly turned and headed our way. Behind me, I heard more thunderous rumbling.
Stretched along Viva’s neck, I glanced over my right shoulder to see Griffen and Jet approaching like wingmen closing the gap. Griffen signaled for me to continue south while they turned toward where hounds were likely to appear. The unspoken gesture meant that he wanted me to keep going south to get ahead of the pack should he be unable to stop them.
I was not familiar with this part of our hunt country, for I had never ventured this far south. Although we had only been galloping a few minutes, Thoroughbreds and foxhounds at top speed could cover several miles. A barbe
d wire fence loomed, and my heart sank. I had no idea whether or not there were jumps or gates in this fence. Precious time would be lost looking, so we kept going – straight for the fence. Hounds were behind us, but we had to get to the other side…just in case. Beyond this pasture was a dangerous interstate, and the hounds had to be protected.
Griffen’s whip cracked behind me, and he yelled at the hounds trying to generate enough noise to make them lift their heads and stop hunting. Maybe he would be able to stop them in time. Where is a good place to cross this fence? It’s barbed wire – No safe place to jump…why had I not taken the time to teach Viva to jump wire?!
At last, I found a spot with no bushes or trees on either side, dropped Viva’s reins, laid my hunting whip across my saddle, snatched off my red coat, and tossed it toward the fence – Viva impatiently dancing and prancing all the while – and rapidly losing precious seconds as the hounds continued to gain on us. I planned to jump my coat since wire is hard for a horse to see. Viva and I had done this before, the tattered lining of my coat all the worse for our improvisions. Viva’s prancing was irritating me now…it was hard to manage this with her incessant impatience.
“Whoa! You and I have to cross this together, Viva!” I said, exasperated as she continued to prance.
The coat flew through the air and crumpled to the ground. Missed. Swinging off Viva and thinking unladylike thoughts, I picked it up and flung it over the wire. Jet’s hooves rattled the earth behind me again, and I glanced around Viva in time to see Jet and Griffen shoot over the fence like a comet just three feet away – I guess they showed us. My heavens what a pair! Incredible at a distance, dangerous up close. If only I could ride like that some day…what a site. My heart skipped three beats –
“Concentrate, Elliott! Yes, he’s a quite a sight! But you have a job to do!” my long dead but very much alive in my mind grandmother, Grand, cackled.
Hounds were screaming across the field, but I had not seen what they were chasing. It looked like there were only six in this group, but they were racing hard on the line. I tried to steady Viva to get back on, but she continued to prance.
“Whoa!” I barked and tightened her reins reprovingly.
Still at last, Viva blew a deep, impatient breath while she waited for me to climb on. I swear she rolled her eyes. Once mounted, I circled her back a few paces to prepare to jump the wire. Griffen fired his pistol, and at the shot the hounds lifted their heads and stopped hunting.
He gathered all six and directed them away from the interstate. When they heard William’s horn, they ran to him. I heaved a sigh of relief and frustration, for now I had to get back down, collect my coat, and prepare for the onslaught of abuse about “girls being slow in the field.” He would give me unmitigated grief about being left behind, but I welcomed his good-natured abuse. I was proud to be able to keep up with him most of the time, since I had only been riding for a few years. He and Jet had been doing this a lot longer than I had.
Viva started, and I turned so I could see what had caused her reaction. She was still keyed up from the long gallop, but I had not expected anyone else to be in this area.
“Elliott!” Addy called urgently as she and Harley trotted over to us. “Our radio’s not working. Ben asked me to swipe yours since you and Griffen are riding together.” She glanced around for Griffen, but he was not in sight.
“Take it,” I said, plucking my radio from its harness and handing it to her. “Griffen’s just on the other side of this fence, and I have my cell phone. Go on!” I added when her denim eyes narrowed.
“All we need is for something else to happen to you,” she teased. “I don’t want Griffen breathing down my neck, at least not for that reason!”
I glared at her. “And what am I supposed to think about that remark from none other than you, my best friend? I’m supposed to just let you get away with that?”
“Ah, well, no harm in looking,” she grinned and cantered back to Ben before I could pop her with my hunting whip.
Everyone was surprised that I had at last admitted that there was something between Griffen and me, especially Addy. I was lucky to have her as a friend. And Ben, too. He’d finally gotten over hating Griffen and had invited him to stay with him this weekend in Oxford. Male bonding, I guess. After they beat up two men together last week that had threatened the hunt, or more specifically, me. Boys can be so primitive.
Griffen and I met foxhunting when I was a senior in high school, but he never paid me much attention until one day he appeared at a hunt in all his glory and said he was crazy about me. In almost the same breath, he told me that his father had killed his mother…on purpose…in a drunken rage. Combined with his mood swings, he was someone with whom I chose to proceed cautiously…my head did, that is. My heart was hopelessly lost the first time I saw him.
My friends had no idea about his background, but they noticed his mood swings. My parents knew but were leaving the decision to me…more confident in my strict, Southern moral upbringing than I was. Now that I was in college, they acted more like coaches than parents. Part of me wished to be told what to do, but they refused. And my parents liked him…a lot. Mother was glad I had finally shown interest in something other than my horse. She had previously lost hope and conceded she would have to rely on my sisters for grandchildren.
Addy and Harley disappeared down the trail where the hounds had gone to get back to William. Viva pranced wanting to go with her or do something, but I held her in place…waiting for Griffen and Jet.
It had been a week since the foxhunt near Clarksdale, Mississippi, for the New Year’s weekend. I was now in our home country outside of Memphis, and Griffen had driven from Nashville again to foxhunt with us, or rather, me. He had grown up with this hunt but had recently volunteered as staff, or a whipper-in, for one of the Nashville hunts, the Cantata Hounds. While at Vanderbilt, he had hunted with several hunts in that area, but for the last two years had been serving as a whipper-in for the Cantata Hounds.
We had a hard time concentrating on anything except each other when we were together, but still wanted to foxhunt. So Griffen had told his hunt in Nashville that he would be spending the rest of the season in Memphis, and William welcomed him back as staff with open arms. The thought made me smile.
The main purpose of the whippers-in is to protect the hounds and ensure their safety, and that is what we had just done – protected them from getting out onto a busy interstate. We are also to report to the huntsman anything we see of relevance to him, or her in some cases. Usually, that meant telling the huntsman what the game was doing and which hounds were leading the pack. We communicate with radios as little as possible, but they are critical when hunting the ever present and very fast coyotes that frequented this spot, or fixture.
This morning, there were about thirty riders out, with eight serving as staff. After the holidays, most everyone was ready to get back to the Saturday foxhunting routine. We were no exception.
Griffen had radioed in to William, the huntsman, and one of our hunt’s Masters, that the hounds were heading back to him. Even though I had never been this far south in this part of our hunt country, this general area was my favorite side to cover when I whipped-in, and my favorite place to jump my lovely horse. She floated over the coops as if lifting me on angel’s wings. I felt safe riding her no matter how high the jumps or how fast the chase.
Griffen and Jet popped back over the four-foot wire fence like it was a two-foot log. Boy, are they splendid. I always get goose bumps just looking at them…especially when they are looking at us.
“How do you do that?” I asked, admiration unmistakable in my voice.
“Forget about the wire and jump the posts,” he said. “Nothing to it.”
“Right,” I said riding towards them. Those posts were well over four feet high. There was most certainly something to it, but I let it go. I stopped at a “safe” distance from them…close enough to speak in low tones, but too far for any physical conta
ct.
“Addy said Ben needs my radio. His died,” I said. “So here we are.”
“Marvelous,” Griffen said and flashed his glorious smile. “Any excuse to keep you closer to me is just fine. That is, if you can keep up.”
I shivered but pretended to ignore the compliment and jab at my riding prowess and looked across the field, feigning interest in whatever game I might see. After all, we did have a job. With any encouragement, Griffen would move closer and that wouldn’t do – not now. Being near him on a horse shot my heart into overdrive, and I needed to stay focused…for now.
“We had you on the speed part,” I said.
“Hardly. You had a head start.”
“I don’t think so! You just can’t admit that I have the faster horse.”
“You wimped at the fence. Useless girl whipper-in. No wonder William needs someone to ride with you.”
“Did you see anything come out on this side?” I asked, changing the subject, for he was partly right, and I hated to admit it...although no one else in this hunt would have dared jump wire like that dead on I was sure. “Surely you were focusing on the pack.”
“Not anything in front of those puppies, but you may have clouded my vision – since you were in the way.”
“Not in the way, just in front of you. Faster horse, remember?”
“So what did you see while you were being left?”
“Nothing. I just heard them coming our way and started moving when they turned south.”
He smiled at me, and I shuddered again. “Before we took off, I did see four deer going in another direction, two raccoons, and a rabbit. Oh, and two red-tailed hawks. At least one of us was paying attention.”
“Busy day,” I said with a smile, then abruptly looked back to the woods when a hound spoke. “I think that’s Rufus.”
The other hounds opened, and William’s excited voice cracked on Griffen’s radio.
Antithesis Page 28