Shaker ran his hand through his auburn curls.“Her elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top.”
“I’d better call on her in a day or two,” Sister said.
“Why?” Doug asked, feeling that Sister had been kind enough.
“Because she’s alone.”
“She brought it on herself, poor thing,” Walter quietly said, and without rancor.
“We all pretty much make the bed we lie in. Or is it lay in?” Sister held up her hand. “Isn’t grammar a bitch? Anyway, she is a neighbor. This is awful for her, too. And who knows, maybe I’ll get us the right to pass through her farm.”
“Spoken like a true master,” Walter said, laughing as he headed back to the coop.
The two coops faced each other from opposite sides of the dirt farm road. During a hunt it was great fun to jump one, canter across the road, and sail over the other. However, some horses would jump out of the hayfield, their hooves would touch the dirt road, and they’d suck back. If the rider didn’t squeeze hard with his or her legs, the horse might refuse the next coop, which meant horses behind would stack up with dolorous results.
Some would fuss because they were ready to jump and the nervous humans messed up their rhythm. Others would think to themselves that this must be quite a scary situation if Old Paint up front had chickened out.
Sister, who also being field master led the field, could never resist slowing a bit to look over her shoulder to see who made it and who didn’t. The results would provoke a stream of laughter back in the tack room or in the kennel as she, Shaker, and Doug finished up the chores of the day. Not that the master herself hadn’t supplied laughter and comment over the years. That’s part of the appeal of foxhunting. Sooner or later, you’ll make a spectacle of yourself.
As the humans returned to their task, Aunt Netty and Comet crept over to the cooler. Netty used her nose to pop the lid right up. Both foxes peered into the ice-filled container.
“No brownies,”Aunt Netty mourned.
“Pack of Nabs.”Comet spied the little pack of orange crackers beloved by Southerners and loathed by everyone else.
“What’s wrong with people?”Aunt Netty moaned.“This should be full of sandwiches, brownies, chocolatechip cookies!”
“Lazy. They’re getting lazy as sin,”the young gray concurred with her negative assessment.
“I don’t know what this world is coming to. Why, there used to be a time, young one, when those two-legged idiots would charge off on the hunt, we’d sendsomeone to keep them busy, while the rest of us wouldraid their trailers. Hamper baskets full of ham biscuits,corn bread, cinnamon buns, fried chicken.”
“Aren’t things still like that when they have tailgates?” Comet inquired.
“Sometimes. But, you see, women work now. In the old days more stayed home, so the food was better.That’s my analysis of the situation. Actually it’s my husband’s, who as you know is inclined to theorize.”She eyed the pack of Nabs.“I’m not eating those things.”
“I will.”Comet reached in and flipped out the cellophane-wrapped crackers.
Walter, nailing the last board in place, a top board over the peak of the coop, looked up. He whispered,“Tallyho.”
Sister stopped and turned to look.“Aha. Aunt Netty. That gray with her is out of last year’s litter on my farm.”
“They see us.”Comet picked up the crackers.
“Let them look all they want. Can’t very well chase us.I’m telling you, a praying mantis can run faster than a human being. My God they are slow. Makes you wonderhow they survived.”She slapped the cracker pack out of Comet’s mouth.“Open that pack and eat it. Give thema show.”
“Okay.”Comet tore open the crackers and gobbled them down.
“Aunt Netty, I know that’s you.” Sister shook her finger at the red fox.
“So?”Aunt Netty laughed.
“I’m going to chase you this fall,” Sister promised.
Shaker and Doug stopped work to watch the two foxes.
“Reds and grays don’t much fraternize, means the game’s good. Plenty for them to eat, so they might as well be friends,” Shaker noted.
“You can chase me until the Second Coming. You willnever catch me, Sister Jane,”Netty taunted.
Comet swallowed the last of the Nabs.“Jeez, thesethings are salty. And I can’t open a can.”
“Me neither. Put an ice cube in your mouth and let itmelt. That will help. Now you see what I mean—a cheapold pack of Nabs when it could have been fried chicken.Just terrible. Standards have fallen.”
Comet did as he was told.
“I’m going closer. Give them a thrill.”
Comet couldn’t talk because he had an ice cube in his mouth, but he watched as Aunt Netty sashayed to within twenty yards of Sister and Walter. She stared at them for a moment, then leapt straight up in the air as though catching a bird. When she landed she rolled over and scooted back into the hay. Comet, too, disappeared into the hay and headed back to his den above Broad Creek, which traversed many farms on its way to spilling into the Rockfish River.
“She’s a pistol,” Walter said, slapping his leg.
“Fastest damned fox. Not the prettiest. That pathetic brush of hers looks more like a bottlebrush,” Sister said, laughing, too.
“When I first started hunting with you, I didn’t really believe you could identify the foxes. But you can. They’re all different from one another.”
“And she’s sassy. She’s not happy unless she has people flying off horses like pinballs spinning out of a pinball machine. She likes to hear them hit the ground.” Sister giggled.
Shaker was picking up the leftover wood bits.“Well, we recognize them as individuals and they recognize us. She came right on up to you to give you a show.” He tossed the wood fragments in a five-gallon kelly green plastic bucket.
“That she did.” Sister picked up the wood bits at her coop. “The gray looked healthy.”
“Lot of people don’t like running a gray,” Doug said.
“I love getting on a gray. Love to start my puppies on a gray,” Sister enthusiastically said, her voice rising a little. “They’ll give you a good run—but in circles or figure eights. More contained. For the young ones, that’s a help.” She thought for a moment. “You know, cubbingis harder than formal hunting in the sense that you’ve got to give the youngsters, hounds, and foxes positive experiences. The leaves are on trees and shrubs. It’s difficult to see. More to handle, I guess is what I’m trying to say. Kind of like the preseason in football.”
“Still can’t believe she came up here like that.”
“Alice?” Doug spoke.
“No, Aunt Netty.” Walter took the extra planks, unplaned oak, heavy, and slipped them on the back of the pickup.
“A lot more pleasant than Alice.” Shaker dropped his hammer into his tool belt. “Alice never was strong on social skills and they’re really rusty now.”
A loud moo and the appearance of a large Holstein heifer, her calf in tow, captured their attention.
“That damned cow.” Shaker took off his ball cap, wiping his brow with his forearm.
“I’ll walk them back.” Sister reached in the bed of the pickup, retrieving a small bucket of grain kept there for just such events.
“I’ll walk with you,” Walter eagerly volunteered.
“Best offer I’ve had in years.” She smiled.
“When you two are done flirting, tell me, boss, how do you propose to get home?”
“You’re going to pick us up at Cindy’s barn in a half hour.”
Shaker nodded in agreement as he and Doug climbed into the old Chevy pickup.
“Come on, Clytemnestra. Come on, Orestes,” Sister called, shaking the bucket enticingly.