Her audition happened by chance. Tending to weed infested vegetable gardens, scraped from the mixed forest of a pond-side hill, Droop darted excitedly amongst the seemingly endless rows of potatoes, as if searching for the perfect specimen to display.

Still very much a pup, she is slow in widening her area of exploration, fearful of losing sight of her protectors. Suddenly, an unknown force draws her away from the crowd as she slips unnoticed into the understory.

Enduring the screaming pain of overextended backs, the stillness is broken, a sudden shriek cuts the silence, joined by the moans of quickly straightened vertebrae. The noise, a cross between a bark and a scream. Low and intermittent at first, it suddenly segues into a full blown howl.

The commotion is intoxicating, every particle of my being is animated, my body tingling from the explosion of sound, a longed for rhapsody, that signifies potential, if nothing else.

Straining to follow the clatter, a sudden eruption of reverberating tones echoed from inside the tree line, foretelling the sudden appearance of a snowshoe hare. As if seeing an open field for the first time, it stops for a quick survey of the area, abruptly realizing that it is not alone.

The animal’s attempt at retreat is checked quickly by piercing barks. Turning rapidly back towards the square of dirt, the rabbit hits peak speed within two bounds. Careening across the garden, its nose and tail constantly swap position, as its hind legs propel it forward. Shortened forelegs force its head downward, suggesting a potential somersault at every step.

The hare’s decision to stop was the wrong one. Sighting the rabbit for the first time, Droop’s howls turn to a prolonged yodel as she nips at the rabbit’s haunches.

The hare is not without tricks. Nearing the very edge of the tree line at the most appropriate spot, it performs an instant ninety degree turn, forcing the inexperienced dog to careen through a thicket of trees bulldozed into barriers. None the worse for her mishap, she rejoins the chase.

Standing transfixed in the middle of the square, I am surrounded by a chorus of excited laughter, a welcome relief from the monotony and discomfort of the day’s labour.

Far from finished, the dog’s nostrils flare as her olfactory senses search the brush for the wayward rabbit. Culminating in a knowing howl, the chase continues. Her barking forestalls a more focused pursuit, her recent humiliation at the hands of the rabbit is now personal, her movements, a determined effort to regain the prey.

Coursing, she is both larger and faster than a beagle, a more traditional adversary. Ranging closer to the rabbit, her bark changes from a howl to an excited shriek each time she spots the prey. The chase denotes her speed of movement and the rapidity with which she learns.

Each trick the rabbit pulls is met with silence as the dog circles to regain the scent. Eventually the barking is unbroken as Droop learns its foe’s tactics and races on.

Ducking, weaving, jumping, squeezing, she pursues in earnest, slipping expertly through tangled masses of scrag and thicket. A chorus of deafening shrieks indicate the dog is closing her prey, until, on their final burst through the garden, both combatants are as one, a blur of black and brown.

In their final showdown, the rabbit, driven by her tormenter, pulls out all the stops in its quest to escape. Sticking to the divides of entwined roots and toppled trees, the rabbit seeks out the holes and crevices, only to be driven onward towards the desperately hoped-for safety of the next entanglement of roots, branches and soil.

Droop is relentless, savagely digging, ripping, pulling at the rubble until the pursued and harried animal is forced to bust forth from her temporary hobble for a final lifesaving rush to freedom. Exploding from the brush, the hare takes a winding route across the square, weaving in and out amongst the four or five in attendance, in what appears to be a last ditch effort at confusing the dog.

From behind the mass of fallen trees, Droop realizes her tormentors escape. The hare has outsmarted her. A final attempt at locating her nemesis is to no avail. The chase is over.

Standing in stark realization of the ordeal and shaking from the excitement, I smile, we have the makings of our very own hunting dog. Her first foray did not disappoint.

Dwight Verge
Harry’s Harbour, NL