Jay Hileman Coward,I Am Embarrassed For My Profession...

So the news tells us that coward Jay Hileman has been frightened away from prosecuting a case.

SHAMEFUL.

Every day we ask victims and ordinary citizens to come to court and testify. The criminals know who the witnesses against them are and where they live. They don't have special protection. Many live in violent slums, gang ridden housing projects or out in the country far from help.

We expect out Police Officers to go out day after day on predictable patrol routes, wearing uniforms.

For a prosecutor to give in to the fear from which victims, witnesses, and Police Officers CANNOT "withdraw"  is shameful.

" Security concerns"? Every old lady in every bad neighbourhood in the country has "security concerns" you cannot imagine, Mr. $100, 000 man in a suit.

This is almost worse than Nifong.

Ah, that day....

Who knew that all you needed was a hawk to put the little b*stard out of commission?

Thirty...

So off for a day in the Great Plains. Started the day with a brief training draw with a visiting farmer pack. Good looking hounds, and they worked a little line but we had to go. (Emo note, dined last night with, among others, the visitors' whipper-in and his wife. They were so cute, he was like a sixteen year old with his first date. Just charming.) Unboxed on the windy steppe. A small field and fourteen and a half couple.

The huntsman had very generously shown me his pack and pointed out two in particular. "Pickle" here is ten years old and, he told me, is still keen as mustard and does not miss a day. You can see that she is as fit as a flea.

This hound is nearly blind, can still get around but no foggy days!

They aren't running Greenwich Hospital, the rest of the hounds looked fast and healthy. They just love their hounds!

So away we went. This was my first visit to the Great American Desert, and desolate is the word.

It's like Exmoor, but much flatter and without all the green. The poor graziers here have been in drought for two years, and it shows. Even I can see the low water table, trickling streams, and dried ponds. I hope this year is better for them, who'd be a farmer?

The country is still good to hunt over. There were two brothers whipping-in in trucks, they put me with the elder and drew. We saw a coyote sneaking away across a field, but about that time hounds struck to our south and it was on! The pack split, driving one east into a river bottom and another south. The huntsman saw houns run into the eastbound one, so he decided to chase the other and let the other hounds come on. We barreled around south, to come upon...

Younger brother mounted our truck, and away we bounced. The pace was too good to enquire...

No pictures, because we were travelling at speed. Saw a total of three coyotes ourselves, two hunted ones, and the field saw two more. Add the one a whipper-in saw, and six afoot in a three hour period. Not bad. They called it a day and headed back north. A bit of vehicle salvage...

But we were still four couple short. As the returning hounds neared the river bank, we found them...

About fifteen feet below us in the watercourse! They had followed that coyote up under a washed out tree root,

And were marking like crazy! They were snarled up in those roots so tight that they had to be dragged out, hounds were falling from the sky! And who was the last one hauled out, the one closest to the coyote? You guessed it, Pickle. So they gave him best, a sporting ending to an interesting, fun, educational, and surprising day. Plus, truck tipover!

This was my thirtieth pack of hounds to watch this season. Hunt ho, indeed. Thank you for the opportunity, HotGirl!

New at the Workhouse...

Lumps O' Rye! Flavoured with cod liver oil* and enriched with spinning jenny lint for extra fiber. Guaranteed to barely sustain life in children under 14. Parish approved! From Dark Satanic Mills. *Castor oil flavour for girls over 12.

Blue Skies with the OFH...

(A click on any picture will show you a larger version.) Out for a day with the OFH. Blue skies, we know what that means.

We went round to the old cemetery.  Draw, draw, draw and nothing.

A coyote stepped out, ran the road a bit, and popped back in.

Whipper-in right on the spot-

Hounds put on...

Field waiting patiently,

And off!
Across the road,

First flight right in it.

Hounds checked, and an around your hat cast.

This way?

No, that way. Again a check, and hounds cast themselves and back onto it. These hounds know their work.

Sticking to it now.

Heading toward the river.

Field still with us.

 

Running hot!

Now almost to the river!

He hit the river and turned east. We waited by a slough that would turn him back into the open country.

But no! Again he popped out into the road, didn't like what he saw, and back into the forest.

He was just in this field!

And about to cross this track.

Told you!

What are you looking at?

I'm out of here!

Skates on!

Across the river fields...

Love me some goofy hound pictures.

Then he doubled back and crossed the road, toward a swamp.

His last mistake.

 

Sorry, Coyote. And thanks.

Something One Does Not See Daily...

It's the airship shed from the Paris Universal Exposition of 1900. After the fair, George-Louis Mabille, an Amboise manufacturer bought it. An Eiffel building, they unbolted it, put the pieces on a train, and shipped it here for reassembly and use as a factory. Still going strong.

Who says recycling is a hipster thing?

An Amboise Surproise...

 (Remember to to put the click on a picture to make it larger.)

So after a couple of days at Saumur, more Chasse.  I took a shot in the dark and emailed the Master of a Staghound pack, who suggested that I go to Amboise with the Boarhounds. I was a bit confused, because I wanted to go with his Stag pack, but I am always good for an adventure.

So 150 kilometers later, I heave up at kennels.

Definitely Staghounds.

Definitely French.

'Ver French.

What was it Sartre said,  "L'enfer, c'est le chenille?"

What is a sheep doing in the puppy pen?

Oh.

"We call him Stumpy. No particular reason."

The bird dogs have their own gated community.

But these are Staghounds, and I have been told it is a day for Sanglier...

Oh.

My.

Turns out that this forest is hosting a visiting pack, and what visitors they are!  Well known in France, these hounds keep over 150 COUPLE in  kennels, and are famed for a first class turn out.

And so my fellow grooms can get envious too...

So off into the forest. The Rendezvous was by a lake...

Thirty five couple out.

The Rapport.

I hope that she can watch Rapports with her grandchildren in this same forest .

Hounds were to be hunted by Jeff Cooper's French brother...
 

A cheval!

We had seven and a half to find with, the remainder to be turned out when porky got on foot.

First draw.

Mon pilote, Claude, got us to where we could hear hounds, but not for long.

Some foot people came up and reported seeing a pig in the section of the forest behind us. 

Up came Docteur Mort,

and on to draw.

Saturday or not, hunting or not, the work of the forest goes on.

I counted the rings, these massive trees are only 60 years old or so.

Whippers-in's horses work HARD, this thing is iron fit and was lathered in thirty minutes.

By the way, the standard of turnout  in this pack was rather good. I know handsome is as handsome does, but once a hunter groom...

Waiting, waiting...



Hounds struck, and the Sanglier crossed an allee. We didn't see him, but the smell was there...

And off! Is he here?

Here?

Hounds rolling...

Second horse...

And then....

Amazing how athletic and bold these prehistoric looking ham sandwiches are.

 Hounds right there.

Now racing him down the road, checking the allees for a black streak.

There we go!

One more!

Hounds were roaring now, all on, crashing through the forest right toward us.

We were told to not let him cross. as this road was a border.

Piggy was too clever, he turned sharp right and hooked back.

That put hounds off for a bit, then on again!

By the way, the demographics of this hunt were surprising even in France- all the riders and 11/12ths of the foot people were men.

Hounds roaring again, left to right. 

That right hand road is a no go,  it borders a no hunting forest.

Can we turn him?

Nope. Made it to our red zone.

And now, hound stopping and gathering.

Not so easy!

Hound is actual size.

 Snarlup!

And  eventually, back to the lake for a drink.

Foot people stayed right through, too.

Load up, end o day.

Tight quarters!

And plenty of work back at stables, too.

Merci and Au Revoir, Vautrait de Banassat!