Hound and Hunting

By Anon

This book contains many articles and stories on beagles and hunting. A fantastic book for the beagle-lover or anyone interested in hunting dogs and country sports. Contains articles titled: Charlie Gets Converted, Sangamon, Black Hawk, 172 at Bay State, Texas Trial, West Penn Winner Stake, Field Trial Facts, Sportsmen's Speciality and many others.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Read Books Ltd.
• Release date: May 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781473380165

Book preview

Ohio.

CHARLIE GETS CONVERTED

Edwin J. Becker

I have a friend who lives hard by the Sinepuxent Bay which marks the extreme eastern edge of Maryland. He’s a native—a lean, hard, weather-scarred chap who delights in hunting. But it’s not often that Charley finds time to shake himself loose from the chores that always dog his freedom. He’s a farmer—and down in that section of the country farmin’s work—and how!

However, I’ve found that if you drive down that way on a crisp November morning you won’t have too much difficulty enticing Charley away from his duties—especially if you have a pair of anxious beagles with you.

Now I’ve shot over a good many beagles over a diversity of terrain, and I’ve written about beagling in the Sinepuxent country in the past. But I also know that every time you hit that country it’s a new experience—something rare to be recalled at some future fireside dream session.

Charley, I said, on the occasion of my latest visit, how come these rabbits run so long and so hard?

Charley’s grey eyes twinkled: Born that way.

They don’t look any different than rabbits over to westward.

I ain’t never been off the Sho, Charley answered. I wouldn’t know what kind of rabbits you have on the other side of the Chesapeake.

Just by way of explanation: Sho’ is the local vernacular for that part of the Del-Mar-Va peninsula which makes up the Eastern Shore of Maryland. The Chesapeake Bay isolates it from what is termed the Maryland mainland—the Western Shore.

Well, I explained to Charley, the bunnies over on that side of the bay are just ordinary—not much gumption to ’em.

Charley fingered his chin reflectively. Plenty get-up-and-go to the ones we have around here.

I agreed with him. As a matter of fact the cottontails found in the vicinity of the Sinepuxent Bay are best termed marsh runners. There is a good deal of salt marsh in that section—tide water marsh, I should say. And the rabbits are lean, hard-running babies which can really stretch out and go. Nine times out of ten they will hit the marshland and carry the best of beagles on a long, tortuous chase.

One sure cure for an overly-cocky beagle owner is to take him to the Sinepuxent country and let him turn his blue-ribbon wonders loose. In short order he’s going to have a problem on his hands; how to recover his beagles. He may have to wait hours for the dogs to come back to where he’s taken up a station—that is, if his beagles are stickers and won’t give up. But you’d be surprised sometimes how many beagles turn their noses up at a tidewater marsh. And I don’t blame them—and certainly it isn’t a mark against them. No decent rabbit would take to the marshes, it’s just those muscle-bound Sho’ rabbits that adjusted themselves to the impossible.

So there I was—talking to Charley about the relative value of cottontails, and cursing yet appreciating the brand native to his region.

I’ve got a couple nice young beagles, Charley.

His eyes brightened: Have, eh?

Yes, two good ones. Both field trial winners.

A slow smile crinkled the corners of Charley’s mouth: That make ’em fool-proof?

I hesitated. This might be a trap. Charley had never been to a beagle field trial in his life. And I sensed that he nourished a scorn against them. That’s the way it is with a lot of upland shooters: they know little about field trials, yet they have negative opinions. It’s an unexplainable part of the average rabbit hunter’s make-up to be that way. He thinks in terms of actual gunning and when you mention field trial to him his rural mind conjures up a picture of flashy-garbed city dwellers out for a day of sport with ribbon-bedecked dogs. This is probably more true for bird dog men than for beaglers, but it does exist to a large degree among those close to the soil. Gradually the prejudice will wear off as more and more country folk get to actually seeing a field trial.

But Charley had never been to a field trial, didn’t know what one was. I had told him about them, offered to take him to one, insisted that mighty good dogs ran at the field trials. But he was still skeptical. So to banish the doubts from his mind I had brought these two young all-age winners with me. And they were good dogs—plenty of bottom, ample heart, and voice to thrill the most meticulous.

These two, Charley, are going to make your marsh-running bunnies pull their ears down in shame?

Charley sauntered over to the car. The two beagles, Ripper and Romper, jounced around on the seat, yipped once or twice, and were examined appraisingly by Charley.

Right good lookin’, he conceded.

I opened the car door. The two beagles sprung out, bounced around as though they had springs in their legs, then sniffed inquiringly at Charley’s shoes.

Come on, Charley, I said, get your shotgun and we’ll pay a visit to that marshy country down bay a piece.

For a moment I thought he was going to refuse. He looked at a pile of uncut wood, he eyed an, old net stretched between two trees which he had evidently planned to mend, and then he cast a wary eye toward the ramshackle house where his wife, Mary, moved about her unending chores. Then: Okay.

CH. BABYLONIAN BANGLE

John O’Neal posing Security Mills group winner who may have made a record with 4 firsts in groups in less than five weeks. Her wins were at Knoxville and Chattanooga, Tenn., Atlanta, Durham. N. C., Greenville. S. C., in addition to Saw Mill River, Long Island Kennel Club and Memphis in 1945. By Ch. Babylonian Bellman, her dam is Ch. Mullen’s Matchless.

Charley kept his shotgun in the barn. I think he was glad of that fact, for he motioned me to come along and I followed him into the barn to find him heading for a rear door that opened on a vista of field-land sweeping away from the farm toward the southern arm of the bay. His exit from the barn was most effectively hid from the house and his wife. I wondered about that rear door in the barn. Plain that it had only one reason for existence: escape!

We had no sooner started our walk across the fields than Charley seemed to take on new life. His steps were long and springy, not the usual shuffling gait he exhibited around the house. I don’t mean to infer that Charley is hen-pecked, but I do insist that he is over-burdened with cares. Afield he forgets his trials and tribulations, he becomes alive in a natural element.

Rip and Romp went scurrying ahead of us. We followed a path through thick, frost-rusty weeds toward a slight rise freckled with clumps of crimson-hued sumac. Beyond the rise a great area of swampland stretched southward.

Before we reached the rise Rip and Romp opened up. Faintly at first, rather spasmodic test-peals of sound, as though they weren’t certain. Then there echoed back to us the bells of surety. They had one—had him tacked hard and were driving away. But straight toward the marsh.

Hot on ’em, eh Charley?

Charley’s eyes were gay. Maybe, he commented.

Why maybe?

Maybe they won’t like that marsh. Hummocks and reeds and briars and salt water.

They’ll take it in stride.

You dead certain they’re good dogs?

Pride welled up within me. Damn right, they’re good ones all right. Winners in trials and cracker-jack gundogs.

We reached the crest of the rise. The sumac attracted me, always has. It has a tangy wine smell in late fall that hangs about each bush. And there were elderberry bushes, too. Leaf-stripped by the advent of the autumn onslaught but still exhaling winey aromas.

Best just wait here, Charley said.

Good enough.

I stood looking out over the expanse of swampland. It was ominous looking: dreary, studded with squat growth, an amplitude of reeds, a heavy smell of brackish salt water. And from deep within it came the steady outpouring of beagle song. Rip and Romp were trying to stick tight to a twisting, leaping, back-tracking cottontail—a marsh-running rabbit.

They sing nice, Charley said.

Always do.

Runnin’ pretty strong, too.

I smiled: They always do.

Charley looked at me: Do they always force a rabbit around?

Always.

He didn’t say anything more, just stood beside me and listened to the fading song of the Ripper & Romper. Those beagles were buried in the maze of swamp, they were going away from us, in a straight line that began to make me doubt whether they’d ever make that crazy-running swamp rabbit circle back toward the rise of land where we were stationed.

It seemed as though we must have stood there a long hour—it may actually have been that long—before the outpouring of the hounds seemed to grow louder, seemed to be coming closer.

I brightened considerably. There had been a regular parade of doubt tramping through my mind. For once I had become doubtful of my own beagles. Charley had been no encouraging factor. I had wanted those two hounds to be the proving point to him: the example of what field trial beagles can do. Now they were vindicating my faith in them. They were driving straight toward us, not too fast—but driving nonetheless. How they managed to traverse that swampland I did not then, nor can I now, comprehend. It was, and is, the most treacherous, the most tangled and labyrinthin sprawl of land you could ever put dogs into. Yet, they were coming, they were coming strong and steady and singing gladly. That meant the lean, long-bounding marsh rabbit was angling toward us.

Without saying a word Charley edged away from me, kept moving away until he was some fifty feet to my right.

That was the sure sign. Charley was being made to swallow his own doubts. How these music masters were singing now! Ringing out bell sound that seemed to hang over the swampland, to diminish gradually in volume and go floating off over the Sinepuxent. As each note purled and drifted away a new and more rhythmic note was an addenda for our ears to hear.

Very close now; very, very close.

My hands tightened on the shotgun. I sweated slightly.

Charley was standing with head thrust forward, staring hard at the edge of the swampland at the foot of the rise.

I could hear the beagles now. They sloshed through salt water, ripped through brittle-stalked reeds.

I glimpsed it—a brown, bouncing flash of fur. It veered away, headed toward Charley, twisted, came back toward me, hesitated, turned as though to dart back into the swamp but Rip & Romp came pounding out of the reeds and the rabbit jumped, cork-screwing in mid-air and came bounding toward the crest of the rise of land—directly between Charley and me.

Mr. H. F. Pieper of Quincy, Illinois, owner of Quinsippi Duke, says of Dog Chow: I don’t know of any better feed for dogs. It keeps dogs in good running condition. I’ve noticed, too, that since feeding Dog Chow my dogs have had no skin trouble of any kind.

The 1946 International Champion, Duke, is additional proof of that all-time winning combination: ability bred-in; strength fed-in!

The two beagles clamored, sensing the conclusion of their long chase. I waited until the rabbit cleared, but Charley was quicker on the trigger. It no more passed the line of my position than his big shotgun booommmmedddd out a throaty burst of sound. Sumac leaves, grass and dirt flew—generously mingled with bits of rabbit fur.

Together we walked over to the kill. The hounds sniffed at the rabbit, seemed to turn disdainful noses up at the mere thought of having to chew on anything as tough as that. But Charley picked it up, calculated its weight and remarked as how it was a meal for him and Mary.

Then he turned his attention to the dogs. They were a sight: briar torn, marsh mud covering their underbodies, their ears and tail and flanks bloody, breathing hard yet with an eager glint in their eyes.

Charley looked at them admiringly. Right pert, ain’t they?

And they did have plenty of go in them yet.

Time for another one? I asked.

He glanced down at the beagles, at the marsh then toward the house; shook his head slowly: Mary’s gonna be hoppin’ mad. Then he patted the rabbit in his game pocket. But she’ll be likin’ this. Always likes rabbit meat.

We headed back toward the old farmhouse. Every now and then Charley looked down at Rip and Romp. Once I heard him mumble: Field trials . . .

They’re good beagles, Charley, I remarked casually.

He nodded vigorously. Damn right; damn tootin’!

And I was quite content. One chase, one rabbit, one new convert to the merits of field trial beagles.

After extensive research, countless tests and years of experience in feeding and breeding BEAGLES, BANNOCK BODY BUILDER was perfected by one of America’s oldest BEAGLERS. Through the years BANNOCK has proved that BEAGLES, although hunted hard, need no other food.

SANGAMON

H. C. Paterson, Sec’y.

Sept. 15-19. 219 Starters

Without a doubt the sickest gang of beaglers that ever attended a trial were at the Sangamon where some epidemic laid the crowd low, held down the entry and prevented the usual smooth handling of this event. The original report has been lost but the winners with their breeding will explain what hounds stood out at our trial. Thanks for coming. Next year we promise plenty of rabbits, good kennels and ask everyone to please come back.

Following the Sangamon on the same grounds near Mattoon, Ill., the Black Hawk followed starting on the 20th, with Bill Blakely and Bill Johnson judging all but the 15 inch derby which was taken over by Jim Moserman and Frank Dearman.

Both Sangamon and Black Hawk made their headquarters at the U. S. Grant Hotel in Mattoon where the beagler-manager, Doc Galbreath makes everyone feel as welcome as the flowers in May.

Results

13 Inch Dogs; 48 Starters

First—Bondill Playboy, Pastime Playful x Bondill Pattie; Chas. Chasey, owner.

Second—Step-A-Head Rusty, Dear-man’s Little Sport x Larry’s Tobey; Ben Harding, owner.

Third—Oliver’s Jack, Chickamauga Button x Jodosa Josie; C. E. Oliver, owner.

Fourth—Art’s Grayline Chief, Gray’s Captain x Gray’s Blue Gill; Art Grubb, owner.

Reserve—Holly’s Jolly Joe, Gray’s Little John x Lady Lenor; Dr. E. W. Hollingsworth, owner.

Results

13 Inch Bitches; 69 Starters

First—Markway’s Little Johanna, Gray’s Little John x Penman’s Sandy Lily; Dr. J. A. Ossman, owner.

Second—Pastime Puddin, Shady Shores Sentry x Pastime Pigtails; H. C. Paterson, owner.

Third—Jae Bee Janet, Pastime Playful x Gerstner’s Girlyette; Herbert Berresheim, owner.

Fourth—Red Mountain Flicker, High Hill Happy x Keller’s Princess; Speed & Young, owners.

Reserve—Prairie-Land Primrose, Sammy R x Prairie-Land Five Spot; Paul Hilger, owner.

Results

13 Inch Derby; 20 Starters

First—Dendy’s Patsy, Speed’s Mac x Cypress Creek Jezebel; T. A. Dendy, owner.

Second—Vance’s True Jean, Old Hickory Dopey x Vance’s Midget; Chas. S. Vance, owner.

WEBB’S CRUISER

Benny Harding poses Tinsley Webb’s, Sangamon 15 inch derby winner.

Third—Krueger’s Lady, Smoky Mountain Scrappy x May’s Nora; E. P. Krueger, owner.

Fourth—Hoback’s Peggy, High Camp Jake x Hoback’s Fair Lady; Melvin Hoback, owner.

Reserve—Tupelo Bird, Papies Little Man x Tupelo Sure Girl; Dr. J. T. Alston, owner.

Results

15 Inch Derby; 19 Starters

First—Webb’s Cruiser, Bunny Run Ivan x True Line Leigh Dee; Tinsley Webb, owner.

Second—Derrett’s Wheeler, Gray’s Linesman x Pleasant Run Betty; A. L. Clark, owner.

Third—Indian Creek Bum, Lowell’s Driver x Spider’s Jubilee; M. V. Woodruff, owner.

Security’s wholesome ingredients provide all the essential food factors growing puppies and grown dogs are known to require. It’s a balanced, nutritious diet of meat and liver meal, milk nutrients, toasted wholegrain cereals with an ample supply of minerals and extra vitamins.

PREFERRED BY DOG HANDLERS

Many leading kennel owners and dog handlers—men who have had years of dog feeding experience—feed Security exclusively. They know by tests that Security will produce superior feeding results for all dogs.

DOGS LIKE SECURITY

Dogs prefer the natural flavor and goodness of Security—they eat it readily and regularly. Feed Security Dog Food and watch the results.

SANGAMON 15 INCH DOG WINNERS

From left as placed—Chas. Chasey with Doctor’s Blue Captain; Benny Harding with Brushy Fork Prince

Fourth—Fruit Acres Ginger, Gaysong Doughboy x Lady of Butte Mortes; Leslie Charboutet, owner.

Reserve—King’s Happy Doughboy, Happyland Scott x King’s Melodious Lou; Carey E. King, owner.

Results

15 Inch Bitches; 12 Starters

First—Mose-Wauh’s