Hunting with dogs, life after the ban!
Well the 19th has come and gone, and speaking personally, I don’t know anyone who’s gotten rid of their dogs or thrown away their shovels. Due to the timing of the legislation, there has been a marked drop off in work, but that’s to be expected as it came through on the arse end of a season, at a time when most lads are thinking of packing it in for another Summer if they haven’t already. Many thoughts were on ratting at this time and contrary to some opinions, this wasn’t because of the details of the hunting with dogs ban, effectively allowing us to hunt rat and rabbit, and precious little else. No, this again was timing. In years gone by, this has always been a time for ratting so it’s no different to what we are used to; it’s just highlighted more because of the injustice of the ban. Whether more lads will turn to ratting in the future is something we’ll have to wait and see about, because as the way things stand right now, we need some sort of perspective and distance on what’s happened. Sure the ban has gone through and everyone is saying it hasn’t affected us much, but that’s because the season was effectively over anyway. Let’s see if the same people saying this are reaching for the kennel keys come September. I’d hope to think that not one of us will bow down to this disgraceful government, but I feel that in my heart of hearts, a few will drift away, leaving only the dedicated to carry on with the dogs we’ve been bequeathed from so many who worked them before us. I owe it to my dogs, and the lads who bred them and I can’t see myself packing in. There’s nothing that would come close to filling the void.
It was with one eye on the legislation that I took a jaunt down to the police station to ask for my shotgun application form. I’ve never owned a shotgun before, and although I’ve used mates’ guns and shot a few clays in my time, I’ve never been particularly interested in them. I much prefer air rifles and I would have happily gone my whole life without owning a shotgun. The government has put the end to that though, and in order for me to carrying on doing what I love, I have effectively armed myself with a lethal weapon upon their instructions. Assuming that a shotgun license was a difficult thing to obtain, I’d never really thought about it before. So imagine my surprise when all it took was a small fee, a visit from a thoroughly nice copper and a few questions to ascertain that I was not the killing spree type! To my mind, there’s no comparison between hunting with dogs and using a shotgun. I would take the dogs every time, as I’m sure the vast majority of lads would who read this magazine. But if the government say I need a shotgun, then that’s what I’ll have.
Within a week or two, the certificate had dropped through my letterbox and pretty soon I was armed with a second hand Beretta and 1000 cartridges, courtesy of my local gun shop. What was apparent on my first sojourn onto one of farms was that despite being what I could consider a good shot with a rifle, I was a pretty lousy shot with a shotgun. The two disciplines are very different and I’m still getting to grips with it. The thing that sprang to mind for me is just how wrong this ban is. I am fairly competent with my dogs, and they are mustard foxing dogs. They either catch and kill the fox, or it gets away and earns another run later in its life. The sickening thing about this ban is that I can now go and shoot the foxes with a shotgun despite being an awful shot. Now you tell me, which is likely to lead to more suffering? The dogs don’t injure or maim, they kill and they are certain of that. There’s every chance I could wound a fox, which could then crawl away and die a terrible death through sickness and disease. Obviously, as a hunting man who prides himself in the respect I have for my quarry, I am going to work on my shooting, but it shouldn’t have to come to this. As I demonstrated earlier, obtaining a shotgun wasn’t too hard, so if I could get one, then other less careful shooters could get one too. This, to me, only spells more trouble for old Charlie, rather than less.
As the season has ground to a halt for most, I’ve kept plodding on with various forms of pest control as necessity dictates. The seasons for the Canada goose have recently been changed (February) which means that they are fair game all year round now. As we have a lot of problems with them causing damage on site, a lot of my time is spent on them. But foxing is my lifeblood.
A few weeks before the ban, I was out on the farm, just mooching around. As ever, I was cursing the beers from the night before, but the combination of sunshine and birdsong soon had the cobwebs blown away. It was one of those mornings when you are just happy to be alive. The birds had half a mind on mating and spring was just around the corner, making headway into some atrocious weather we’d had of late. As was my want, I’d left the air rifle in the car and unloaded the shotgun instead. Now the little black bitch really does not like the shotgun and for the first few times, she had to be coaxed along, as she was content to just sit by the car and wait for us. As she’s an integral part of the team, I persuaded her that she should accompany the rest of us and off we went. Half a mile into the morning, we’d come to a stand of Poplars which bordered a railway line. There had been earths in this field which had been uncovered when the corn was cut the previous year. These in turn had been ploughed into oblivion not long after, so I was keen to see if there was any activity now that denning was on the cards. There have been a few occasions recently when the stench of fox has stopped me in my tracks in this spot, but I haven’t found any sign of any of them being to ground. We have had foxes here, but they’ve always been on the wrong side of the fence that keeps the rail track safe. Bouncing around like Masai, the dogs have heard or smelled something on previous outings, but they couldn’t push through and they didn’t know the gaps in the fence like the foxes did. Which is just as well really, as the last thing I want is for my dogs to be running on a railway line.
The smell hit me again this morning and pretty soon the little pack were running noses to the ground and circling in one particular area. Letting them work the cover, I positioned myself, shotgun ready, should anything bolt, but alas, there was nothing and whatever had been there, had gone on his way sometime before. We worked the Poplars and the ever present brambles for a good half a mile, before the dogs were bouncing again. Being positive there was something there, the black bitch hit the cover like an express train, which is always a good sign. If she thinks there’s something there, there usually is. Her nose isn’t good, so for her to mark then it’s nailed on. To our left were open fields and to our right was thick cover bordering the tracks and then more cover on the other side. For some reason best know to itself, the fox which was being pursued through the brambles by the black bitch, decided that the open field was its best opportunity for freedom. Last year, it might have got lucky, but I have increased my arsenal since then, and there are two lurchers in the pack now, as well as the shotgun. Cover is no problem to the black bitch and what a fox loses time on going around, she simply goes through like it’s not there. As it happens, this fox didn’t make it far out of cover before Nell caught it and despatched it with minimum fuss. Letting her have a couple of minutes with it as reward, I sat looking at the dead fox, wondering if I’d been able to hit it with the gun in my hand. It was something that I’d find out soon enough.
As I alluded to earlier, my pack had filled out somewhat, with the addition of another lurcher. I’d been due to take on a very well bred pup earlier in the year, but circumstances dictated that it wasn’t to be. I’d decided on a bull cross, with this particular one being a 3/4 bred dog. This suited me very well as I intended to breed the black bitch to a hard blood whippet and this dog pup (providing it made the grade) would give me with something to breed with in the future. Things weren’t to be though. One night when I was instructing my wife on the procedures for what to do if/when I got pulled when the ban came in; she gave me a certain look. I’d never seen this look before, but I knew what was coming. It was the classic “the dogs or me” routine which I’d always thought of as a cliché, but this time it was true and it was coming from my own wife’s lips. What I thought would always be a difficult decision was very straight forward. Needless to say, I am going through the divorce process at the moment. You only have one life, and I don’t intend to compromise my beliefs. There aren’t any bairns involved so it was easier than it might have been. The effect this had though, was that I couldn’t take the pup on, which I was furious about. Trying to come to some arrangement, I came up with all sorts of solutions, with the best being that I took the pup and it stayed in the kennels. This is not ideal as time needs to be put into the pup and that’s something that’s at a premium with me. At the end of the day, my head ruled over my heart and reluctantly I called the breeder and cancelled the pup. I was gutted as I had a largely ageing pack and little prospect to add to it given the marital situation. What made it worse was that I’d taken a terrier on during the summer, and she’d lasted all of 24 hours. All this changed though as I was offered the chance of a dream breeding and the best thing was, the bitch pup was 10 months so she could go straight in the kennels without needing my full attention. I grabbed this with both hands and as I write this, the bitch is doing well for a young dog (touch wood.)
Not yielding any further foxes, we left that particular farm with the sound of my many misses on the pigeons still ringing in my ears. Obviously, there’s more to this shotgun lark than meets the eye. After loading the dogs into the car, we drove over to another place where I have permission. It’s a bit urban in places, but beggars can’t be choosers. We’d taken a fair few on this place in the past and I wanted to see if we couldn’t get one in the open so that I could evaluate how the lurchers are getting on. It wasn’t to be though. We must have walked miles and I’m sure my blazing away at pigeons and crows must have scared away most living things for some distance, as we’d come up empty handed again. No matter though, as this happens so often that if I was to get upset about, I’d be sad most of the time. I enjoyed the walk and the company of the dogs as always and it gave me an opportunity to polish up on my non-existent shotgun shooting skills. As it happens, the pigeons round my way must be feeling pretty safe from me right now!
Dragging along behind us was the old dog, plodding away like the stalwart he is. The new lurcher has been brought in as a replacement to some extent, and if she turns out half as good as he’s been then I’ll be a lucky man. I think he had one eye on his chair back at home but he can still put in a good days work when he wants to. I recently had the opportunity to take him ratting at my good pal Phil’s shoot, and he proceeded to show me up big time! Not only was he stealing the rats off the other terriers, he was eating them too! He did manage to catch one himself, which he promptly dropped when it bit him. The cries of “shoot that dog!” almost drowned out my own laughs!
It was with weary looking legs, that the old dog jumped into the back of the car and I was tempted to call it a day right there, but there was one more spot I wanted to check. I’d had a mate down with his terrier a few weeks previous to this and there was a big earth which showed every sign of holding. This particular time we were unlucky as I had three dogs loose and it wasn’t until they were out of range that I noticed a fox jump out of a holly bush and make good its escape. He must have sat and watched us for a couple of minutes, talking away as we were and he picked his time and got clean away. Fair play to him. He’d keep.
The earth is in what was once a small pine wood, but the elders are making inroads into the wood and now I’d suppose you’d call it an elder wood with a few pines in there. Bordering this wood is gorse which was once planted with ornament in mind, but now there was just as much bramble, making the going slow and painful at the same time. Hand signals are something which my dogs all understand; I’m not talking about obedience to the levels you see by these professional dog handlers, just simple point and open hands etc. A point to the gorse sent the two terriers running in that direction and almost immediately I heard the unmistakeable sound of contact. I’d seen cats around this spot before so I was hoping they hadn’t got hold of one of these. Placing my shotgun against a sapling, I pushed my way through the cover to find Nell locked onto a vixen, which she despatched straight off. The two lurchers had pushed their way in amongst the gorse to have a look, and once they did, they drifted off on the scent of the recently departed fox, no doubt making sure there wasn’t another lurking in the bushes. Weighing in at 14lbs, it was a decent sized vixen but there were signs of mange on her tail and back end, which have been present on all three of the foxes we’d had in this spot. Being in good health, the one we’d taken earlier in the morning had been smaller but both were a good size and I was very pleased with the dogs. A thought did spring to mind which worried me somewhat for after the ban. How was I going to shoot foxes like this? Well obviously I couldn’t shoot them in cover, so I’d have to bush them using the dogs. Well, as I explained earlier, the dogs just simply don’t register cover and this is how we catch most of our foxes. It seems to me that I’m going to be “accidentally” killing a lot of foxes whilst bushing them out of cover.
I think situations like this highlights the stupid regulations we have to live with now, but as long as you are accidentally killing them, you are on the side of the law. Needless to say, I am brushing up on my shotgun skills, but at the end of the day, a dog is always going to be more efficient than I am.
Good hunting!