10/13/2026
The old fox hunters in these mountains never fired a shot, never rode a horse, and never once wanted to catch the fox. 🦊
Along about dark they would load the hounds in the truck and drive to the top of a ridge. They turned the dogs loose, built a fire, and sat down. That was the hunt. The whole thing happened in the dark a mile off, and they followed every bit of it with their ears. A good race could go till daylight.
A man knew his hounds' voices the way a mama knows her children's. "That's old Belle out front," one would say. "Listen at her. Lead is coming around the point now." Some dogs had a chop mouth, short and quick. Some had a long bawl that rolled down the holler like a church bell. The men called it music, and they meant it. And when the fox got tired of the game and went to his den, they blew the dogs in with a horn and everybody went home, the fox included. 🔥
My papaw said he did some of the best thinking of his life on that ridge, with a cup of coffee and nothing to do but listen. Did your daddy or your papaw run hounds at night, and do you remember any of the dogs' names?
AI-generated image for visualization, not original photographs or footage.
