That Dog Don't Hunt
In our neck of the woods, beagles are the hunting dog of choice. Because we live in the middle of the woods, surrounded by uninhabited, uncultivated land, a lot of lost hunting dogs show up at our door. They are usually equipped with collars with the hunter's name and phone number engraved on them. They also often have radio equipped collars so their owners can track them. All I've ever had to do is call the number on the collar and a grateful hunter will show up quickly to retrieve them. While I am not a hunter, I do appreciate the promptness and the care they show their hunting companions.
I was raised in a hunting family. My dad and brothers kept hunting dogs. They trained them well before they took them out the first time. They never came home without them. Their dogs were their happy companions and received plenty of food, love, attention and care. They were valued partners. I have always thought these dogs mostly had good lives.
Toward the end of September, two beagles showed up on our road. They kept hanging around roadside fences and looked bewildered. After a couple of days, I got close enough to them to read their collars. Sure enough, there was a name and a number. They seemed distressed and were shaking and distrustful. I called the number on the collar. A woman answered and told me they were not her dogs, but she knew who they belonged to. She said she would text him and he would come and get them. She did not offer to give me the hunter's name or contact information. I wish now I had pressed her harder. But I put it out of my mind and assumed the hunter would go collect his dogs.
A week later, one of the beagles crawled out of the woods in back of our house. He traversed the entire yard on his belly, crying piteously. I looked at his collar. Sure enough, he was one of the beagles I had called about the week before. He was terrified, suffering from hunger and exposure, and had a large puncture wound in his shoulder that had bled profusely. I examined him closely. He was just a puppy. I expect he is between six and eight months old. I was disturbed by how afraid of people he seemed to be. When I sat down and crossed my legs, he flinched and bolted, as if he expected to be kicked. There was no sign of the other dog. I got him food and water and bedding and made him as comfortable as I could.
Then I called the name on the collar...again. Again the woman answered and said she would text the owner again, that he had been unable to find them before. That happens when you don't look, I think. They had hung out in pretty much the same place for days. She still would not give me the name of the hunter to whom they belonged. This time, however, I gave her my number and asked her to have the man in question call me.
Today marks exactly one week since I have made that call. There has been no attempt to contact me. The other beagle never showed up. I shudder to think what may have happened to him. I will never assume all owners of hunting dogs are responsible again. That assumption may have cost a dog his life.
At least now I know to whom the beagle that showed up at our house belongs. He belongs to us. We call him "Boo." After all, it is October; he is incredibly timid; and I just love to say, "Hey, Boo." I am still trying to teach him how to come when called. That is how well trained he is.
Go on and call me now, Mr. Hunter. I have some things to say to you.
