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SPORTING SHOOTER: JUNE

It was long ago and far away.

There was an old lady who lived in a Forest. She kept a little pack of Hounds with which she hunted the Fallow Buck. The Forest and the Deer belonged to her Brother, with whom (you know what families are) she had a major falling out to the extent that he forbade the hunting of the Buck. Nothing daunted, the old lady converted her hounds to hunting the Clean Boot, until the day when she had another major falling out - out of the saddle and on to her head. This brought a sad end to her hunting days. It also brought 7 Boot Hounds to land with a soft thump on the doorstep of my kennels. They were a motley crew, being variations on a central bloodhound theme.

"Oh we'll have a bit of fun with them in the summer" I said airily to a friend

“There’ll be tears before bedtime.” He said

We hadn't had the Boot Hounds for a week when I got a telephone call from a large landowner, He was having a 21st birthday party for his son and he wanted something to entertain his guests on the morning after the dance. Could I bring the Boot Hounds for a lawn meet? It all seemed a very jolly wheeze

Came the day we arrived at the meet and there were some 30 people on horses and a lot of people on foot and in Land Rovers.

With Clean Booting, you set the runner away and give him plenty of law. You then give the Boot Hounds something of his to smell, as it might be a pair of socks. As soon as the Boot Hounds saw the socks they went wild with excitement and very soon they were booming away on the line. With the Clean Boot, the runner chooses the line. Our runner had set off across the wide open spaces of the Common. This is a very popular place for picnic parties. Imagine a happy family party, ingesting fish paste sandwiches and chocolate biscuits, when suddenly a sweating man goes pounding past them. Then comes a deep howling, towling, noise and suddenly the party is joined by what the tabloid newspapers subsequently described as the "Hounds of Hell"-- huge black slobbering dogs, who gobbled up all the sandwiches and knocked poor old Auntie Flo flat on her back, whilst licking everybody's faces. That was bad enough, but the common was also a very popular place for courting couples. I do not think that I need to elaborate on some of the painful scenes that ensued.

It got worse.

The chase was intercepted by a party on mountain bikes. This fresh and very strong scent was too much for the Boot Hounds. They took off after the bikers, who also took off, peddling like fury. Right into the village they went and there the bikers "took soil", to use a Stag Hunting phrase, and rode into the village pond where the Boot Hounds bayed them enthusiastically. And that was the end of the hunt.

The tears followed – well before bedtime.

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