I get the “chase” started

The other morning, as I took David for his morning walk up at the top of our hill, I could hear the chase dogs barking. This meant that they were over at their little meeting house. Given the time of year, it’s a clue that it’s the hunting season. I’m sure you all know, but “chase” is the French word for “hunting” — hope you’re impressed that I’m a bilingual dog.

The chase is a big deal around here. The hunters hunt for birds, rabbits and hares, deer and, most of all, wild boar. The humans keep packs of dogs to help them and, in general, a good time is had by all. I don’t think I’d want to be a chase dog, though. Yes, they get to go on serious hunts as a pack and the humans have guns, which is all pretty exciting. But, the rest of the time the dogs have to live in boring kennels. They have plenty of company of the canine kind, but no freedom. No, I think I prefer taking care of Linda and David and having hunts by myself. I get to chase everything they do, except the wild boar (wouldn’t want to try that on my own, they’re vicious creatures). I might even catch something one day. I haven’t given up hope of tracking down an elusive truffle, but they see me coming and hide.

Having heard the chase dogs, David and I stopped by the side of the lane and waited. Sure enough a minute later along came the decrepit vans the hunters use. The chase dogs were in the back. I sat by the side of the lane, wagged my tail and nodded my head to let them know I approved.

As it happened they all stopped near where we were parked. This gave me a chance to say hello. The chase dogs were friendly enough, but were preoccupied with getting started on their first hunt of the year.

We drove home. As I had breakfast, then a nap, I decided those activities were much better than chasing around all day.