Matthew Mackay-Smith, DVMJust because we’re between seasons doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy a hunting tale now and again. Matthew Mackay-Smith, DVM is an internationally-known veterinarian, co-founder and former medical editor of Equus magazine, and a member of Foxhunting Life’s Panel of Experts. The following account transpired twenty-five years ago. Your editor was there and can vouch for its veracity! -Ed
On Thanksgiving Saturday, the day of the 1986 Blue Ridge Hunt Ball, hounds started the festivities with some most unusual and unforgettable sport. An eager field of fifty followers, including lots of visitors and a dozen children, met hounds and hacked east into the Annefield meadow along Chapel Run. With adjustments to tack scarcely complete, hounds were sent to whipper-in Bobby Pillion’s immediate view halloa upstream.
Settling quickly on the line of a brace of foxes which ran as if on couples, this hard working pack gave the field a heady start, swinging westerly across the creek to the Annefield boundary, then south into the hayfield west of the house. Imagine the disappointment when both foxes went below in a warren of holes after only about two miles! They didn’t seem to be closely pressed, nor were they turned, but down they went anyway. Hounds showed their frustration as they were collected to move on.
The Tally-Ho woods, drawn next, lived up to its name. Another fox was viewed away northeasterly toward Pond Quarter. Hounds owned this line with alacrity, and gave lovely cry as they curved gradually right-handed onto a line very like the first pair. Will you believe that this one went into the same earth as the others? This was too much! Cries of “Terrier! Terrier!” went up, and after brief consultation, Master Judy Greenhalgh and huntsman Chris Howells said, “What can we lose? Whose terrier can we use?”
Liz Dunning said her three were in the truck, only five hundred yards away. They included the eight-year-old, ten-and-one-half-inch Toffee. This hair-covered hand grenade is not only a three-time winner of the Washington, DC International Terrier Race, but also a multiple terrier trial victor.
Though never sicced on fox before, Toffee was summoned as hounds withdrew over the rise. Few in the field had ever seen a fox bolted by terrier, and kids of all ages rode up to the fence to watch from about fifty yards away.
Whipper-in Cliff Hunt took the terrier over to the dens, and Toffee busied herself in and out of half a dozen holes, but seemed reluctant to commit herself. Liz climbed over to cheer her on, and presently gooseflesh crept up every neck as faint piping could be heard below ground.
Eons passed—perhaps five minutes!—with no result, but just when hope began to fade, out popped Charles James, cantering away to the west, just out of hounds’ view. Toffee reappeared, and the field began to move off as hounds were brought onto the line. Just then, a second fox emerged and went east, hotly pursued by one errant hound and then the whole pack. The field was away at a gallop in similar hot pursuit. As a bemused Liz Dunning settled onto her horse with her heroine Toffee in her lap, the third fox strolled out and sauntered away on the same line as the first one. Delayed action!
The hunted fox retraced its steps to the Tally-ho woods and went to ground in a rockpile. The air was now quite warm, and hopes for further sport began to fade. Returning to the other foxes’ line, hounds could make but little of it. Another hour of fruitless drawing gave the field a chance to savor their experience. That night, Liz, Judy, and Chris were feted at the Hunt Ball, and Toffee was awarded a premium sirloin steak. So ended one of the truly unique days in the annals of the Blue Ridge Hunt.
