Monday, July 14, 2008


Seems lately I spend more time writing memorials to my terriers and hounds than I do writing hunting stories. This girl is one of the best dogs I have ever had. She died on Saturday the 12th of July, '08. Apparently suffered a heart attack as a friend was setting up a lure coursing event and she was watching. Much to the horror of 10 people that we had over for a BBQ that watched myself and several other people administer CPR on her for about 20 minutes all to no avail. Scorch passed away suddenly on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Scorch was my buddy and constant companion and was always with me. She had saved me from a pack of problem stray dogs that were bent on chewing me up one time and poured a serious can of whoop ass on several of them just as they were about to reach me. She hit them like a bullet train from Hell out of nowhere and sent them flying. She was an absolute marvel to watch coursing game, whether it was a Coyote or a Jack Rabbit. She brought them all down and loved what she did so well. One time on an organized NOFCA hunt, she managed to slip her collar and raced out and right over the top of the hunt hounds and caught the hare. The Hunt Master was really pissed at me and marched right up to us and informed me she was going to fine me. I paid her the $5 and took her back to the truck. She coursed 2 additional hares on the way back. It was really a great day out hunting. There are so many memories with her that I could write pages of stories but will leave it simply as she was a wonderful hound to have and was really what kindled my interest in running hounds and was the very best hound that I could have hoped for. I miss her more that words can express.

Sunday, July 13, 2008


May 1, 2002 - July 12, 2008

For if the hound be well remembered, if sometimes she leaps through your dreams, actual as in life, eyes kindling, laughing, begging, it matters not where that hound sleeps. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream she knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a patureland where most exhilarating horses graze. It is one to a hound, and all one to you, and nothing is gained and nothing lost - if memory lives.
But there is one best place to lay a hound to rest...
If you bury her in this place, she will come to you when you call, come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path and to your side again. And though you may call a dozen living dogs to heal, they shall not growl at her nor resent her coming, for she belongs there.
People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by her footfall, who hear no whimper, people who have never really had a hound. Smile at them for you shall know something that is hidden from them.
The one best place to bury a good hound,
is in the heart of her master...