Homeward Hound by Rita Mae Brown

Author:Rita Mae Brown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2018-11-19T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

Hoofbeats reverberated through the covered bridge as the field crossed over to the other side of Broad Creek. After All, manicured, every building in perfect condition including the covered bridge, loose board repaired, was a beloved fixture. Today, Saturday, sixty-five people, happy to be out, showed up, parked on the western side of the bridge.

The house, painted brick, Georgian, perched atop a low rise on the eastern side. Broad Creek, which flowed throughout the entire county, swept along below the house, hence the covered bridge. Fields, fenced, three-board painted white, extra maintenance that white, had been prepared for spring. Granted spring lay in the future but at the end of fall, the Bancrofts cut down most of the fields, turning over topsoil, be it hay, oats, or even a field of soybeans. When the weather warmed up all they had to do was plow and plant. However, the fields, a good two miles away that abutted Sister’s place, were always left in standing corn. The upper ears had been plucked but the lower remained for forage for wildlife but especially the foxes.

Jefferson Hunt Club foxes lived well. Apart from corn consideration they were wormed once a month with wormer sprinkled on the kibble in special boxes. This stopped in March as the wormer would kill the unborn foxes. Those luxurious coats, bracing runs proved the effectiveness of Sister’s health and feeding program. If possible, a young fox would be trapped, given a rabies shot, a seven-in-one shot. You never trapped them twice, they were too smart, but there hadn’t been a case of vulpine rabies in Sister’s territory for twelve years, a wonderful feat. The odd meds put out from time to time, fought off ticks and fleas as well as skin problems.

Sister operated on the assumption that a healthy fox will give you a healthy run. She also operated on the assumption that you were only as old as the horse you were riding, well, she cheated a little but she did convert horse years into human years. Her rule of thumb was five years per human one, absolutely accurate, she didn’t know but it worked for her. She was riding Keepsake, a twelve-year-old bay appendix, so he was sixty in human years. Horses, hounds, and people if they stayed fit could just go and go. The Bancrofts, now in their middle eighties, always started out right behind Sister. If the hunt proved long and hard, they fell back to the middle of the pack.

Foxhunters all believe when you stop you die. Keep riding whether it’s First Flight or behind but throw your leg over a horse. Face the wind, snow, sleet, rain, or sun. They were all certain one of the reasons they so rarely came down with the flu or colds was they hunted in all weather.

Aunt Netty, a fox edging toward senior citizenship, actually she was there, did not share this philosophy. When the rain slashed sideways or the snow covered everything, she lounged at Pattypan Forge.

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