A Marvelous Time Was Had By All
Coming off the bridge that spans the creek to the north of the house, my car lights captured four active fox cubs playing some game that only young foxes understand. It was about midnight and so it was no surprise to see them at that hour as they are nocturnal by nature. The surprise was the breathtaking beauty of their fur and that we still had a den of the wily creatures down here on the creek.
My interest in the fox began in a one-room country school when I was exposed to Thornton W. Burgess’ “The Adventures of Reddy Fox.” That book conceivably allowed me to see the little guy as a hero more than a villain. It took me through his trials and tribulations of his daily rounds for food and his adventures with hounds, hunters and automobiles.
The value of the fox has always been debatable but if you want to create a balance sheet you will need to know that the value of a wild animal is hard to put into an account book.
On the debit side of the account book, Mr. Reynard’s opponents point out that he kills poultry, lambs and young pigs. That he stalks and kills cottontails and game birds such as quail. Since all of these accusations are true, we as individuals need to assess his net value. I suppose that would in the end come down to the circumstances and one’s point of view.
On the credit side we could point out that the little chap helps to keep in check hordes of wild mice that feed on farmer’s crops. His fur makes a handsome pelt and he is totally unsurpassed in sport. No matter whether one hunts on foot or rides to the hounds in the aristocratic manner, the fox’s skill in avoiding capture is unequaled.
Foxhunting in the Ozarks was described by Charles Morrow Wilson, an Ozarks writer, as an event or sport “of Gentlemen, foresworn never to ride down, run down or otherwise catch, kill or grievously persecute any fox.” Another old foxhunter stated: “The term foxhunting is misleading and confusing. I’ve hunted foxes all my life and I never killed a fox. It’s really just a fox chase. It’s just listening to your dogs on the chase. No true fox hunter ever killed a fox. You go to hear those dogs run. You build a fire, socialize with your fellow fox hunters, and listen to the dogs run.”
Sometimes back in the depression of the 1930’s, some man might hunt for money. A red fox pelt could bring eighteen to twenty-five dollars, a lot of money in those hard times. Maybe the old boy needed to pay his taxes or buy some staples such as flour, sugar and coffee. The red foxes became scarce then, just like the deer but they weren’t killed for sport.
In an Ozark fox hunt the hounds and the fox are the active participants; for the people it is merely a spectator sport. While the hounds scent and chase, the dog owners and guests merely lounge around burning campgrounds on hillsides and exchange small talk, tall tales and imbibe in a little liquid refreshment. All the while their ear is tuned to the trailing and chasing dog packs.
The fires were replenished throughout the night and race after race followed over the hills and valleys. Finally the baying would travel out of earshot and the crowd would assume they had passed so and so ridge or bluff and wouldn’t return until the next day. The men would douse their fire, gather up their belongings and head for home.
The term foxhunt in other parts of the world conjures up a picture of men and women mounted on horseback, following hounds in pursuit of the fox. When a fox is found and starts to run, the whole hunt follows in full cry across the countryside. Any damage that is done to property is paid for by the hunt. Those who are present when the hounds catch the fox cry out “Tally Ho”, which means to be in on the death. The first riders are presented the tail, the head or possibly the feet. The remainder of the animal is immediately cut up and fed to the hounds.
In Great Britain the sport has become entangled in a network of social convention and has come under fire by many animal rights groups, protesting the cruelty to the fox. In Britain they go for the kill while in America a kill is a rare occurrence. Because once a fox has taken refuge in an earthen hole in an American hunt, rarely do they attempt to dig him out.
Fox hunting locally was generally a county-wide sport and was this way because it required the entire county to produce enough good trails and trailing hounds. Every fall huge dog shows were held at the county seat and some of our most prominent citizens participated in the annual event. In my collection of fox hunting memorabilia is one of the old show bills. People came from other states, they paid one dollar membership fee and one dollar entry fee. It was a four day event culminating in the Fox Hunters Ball on the final evening.
Bud Holloway descended from one of those men and talked of the sport in his book “Runnin Dogs”. He names three of the favorite spots that were used and tells of the demise of the sport in Benton County. He first cites the increase of the white tail deer as creating problems for hounds trailing a fox; the problem is their scent caused confusion. Secondly he names the resort development and the third was the younger generation became accustomed to a faster pace of entertainment. Other problems became the big cattle operations with tight fencing and finally Truman Dam that ended it once and for all. Nostalgically he recalled the bonfires, strong coffee boiled in tin coffee cans and the strings of big plump wieners. They were ready to be eaten when they split open while roasting. Yellow mustard topped them off.
The few veteran hunters left understand a fox will live most of his life in one big holler and knows the area like his own paws. Some sportsmen swear that ten thousand dogs can’t catch him and that the wily little devil enjoys the game as much as the canine. If you ever see one being chased, watch him as he jumps in the air to look behind him, while he ingeniously reverses trails to further baffle the hounds and sometimes has been known to cut directly through a human occupied camp. The old hunters not only recall their camaraderie around the campfire but they know the dogs and foxes were having a marvelous time too.
