A Bloodhound to Die For by Virginia Lanier

Author:Virginia Lanier [Lanier, Virginia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Mystery Fiction, Women Sleuths, Detective and Mystery Stories, Georgia, Bloodhound, Women Dog Owners, Sidden; Jo Beth (Fictitious Character)
ISBN: 9780061098406
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2003-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

17

“Cheating the Grim Reaper”

August 27, Tuesday, 9:00 P.M.

Jasmine ran to take Ramona’s lead, as I had my hands full with both of the dogs straining and struggling to move forward. Our only light was a focused narrow beam that was far from adequate for one, much less two handlers. On a search, bloodhounds run mute. They only start baying when they are sure their target is near. Sliding into the creek had dampened their enthusiastic bays and temporarily confused them, but now they were back on track and wanted their reward.

We got them under control and Jasmine took the lead because she had the flashlight. I couldn’t see a way to ask for it without looking like I didn’t think she could handle the duty, so I swallowed my misgivings and kept quiet. She swung the light backward at our feet every thirty seconds or so to light our way, and I was trying to adjust to partial darkness and a brief glimpse of the trail.

My problem was that Gulliver kept right behind Jasmine’s heels since he didn’t particularly need to see to strain forward. All bloodhounds follow a scent with their head lowered to the ground and their eyes half hidden in the soft folds of loose skin that fall over their eyes. They concentrate so deeply on following the scent smell that an uncontrolled bloodhound would step in front of a roaring semi on a busy highway if the scent led him across the road.

I had tightened up the length of Gulliver’s lead and had him so close that we were almost side by side. I bumped into him frequently and he nudged my legs just as often. I was concentrating on not losing my balance and sprawling into the brush, and on trying to ignore my wet socks rubbing blisters on the soles of my feet with each step.

Every time Jasmine and Donnie Ray and I tried to have an intelligent discussion about what we carried in our packs on searches, it was two against one. They tried to eliminate items and I tried to add. The average weight of a full backpack was thirty-two pounds. I knew that they were right, that we couldn’t take everything we might possibly need, but I also knew that one rule I’d just made up would be gospel for me in the future. I would never leave on another search without an extra pair of shoes and two pairs of socks packed in a sealed baggie, even if I had to jettison survival food. A rumbling gut was better than inflamed feet.

A bloodhound’s glorious baying has an eerie sound that startles most people when they hear it. The sound can also cause goose bumps in me even though I have heard it often, for several years. A person man trailing is thrilled to hear the good news for five minutes or so, but after that, two of them sounding off can give a seasoned handler a splitting headache. With the

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