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A Good Run - In More Ways That One...


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Last Saturday morning...

 

It was after a wet day - 30mm for those who speak French - and the country was oozing water. Cool, buckets of dew and a fog lifting off the hills. Nice time to go for a jog. Oh, no,,,, I'm not one of those run-for-the-fun of it types, but there's a little matter of hypertension, Doc's orders, and a vehicle needing retrieval from the back of the place. So it's on with the joggers, unclip the girls and trot off down the hill..

 

About a mile from the house I'm starting to warm up internally. The sweat on the torso is cool and slick and the breathing deepens as I puff up a slight rise before heading down the laneway to the creek-crossing in the middle of the place.

 

Well, well, well.... a familiar bushy-tailed shape has eased out of the long-grass and onto the causeway some 150 yards in front. His head is down and he hasn't spotted us, but the two sighthounds have him locked in and when I hiss encouragement, they do what they do best. Fox-seeking missiles. Don't you love it?? boogie.gif

 

He has a chance. Ye gods!, but he has a chance if he keeps his head and ducks through the fence - either fence - into the long grass. But the panic sets in and he runs the laneway between the walls of green. Not game to take the moments to slip through the netting. Black Biddy the Kelpie and young Tarney follow as they can, while Casey-beagle bays on the scent, paying scant attention to what's making it. Beagles go by their own rules. Must be a Union thing. confused1.gif

 

Through the creek, up the far bank and there's some serious dodging going on through the trees before he tries the creek again, but they're on him.

 

By the time I splash through the brown water, calf-deep on the crossing before it soaks on through the overgrassed fence, it's pretty much over. Big, yellow Tessa has her standard killing grip on the ribs, Mystey the whippet has one haunch, grizzled old Shortie has "her" grip on the throat, and Tarney is deafening it - and not just the fox, I might add. icon_rolleyes.gif

 

They let go, reluctantly, at my orders as I take it by the back legs and then crack its head against a log, to be sure. Mystey and Tess slip back into the typical long-dog attitude of, "If it's not moving, we're not interested", but the Jackos and, now, Casey attend to the last rights.

 

Collective breath caught, we trot on, leaving Charlie lying in the dew-wet grass. Up the next ridge and down a rocky spur. Logs to check, trees, fallen timber and more long, wet grass as the sun breaks through . No more takers, but the girls have an extra spring in their step.

 

As have I.

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