My grandfather had foxhounds, my great uncles had coon-hounds, my father almost despised hounds for they took away from getting work done, so I was never afforded the luxury of purebreds, only crossed up muts that came to be pets that I could get some sport out of. I was always chastised for dragging to the house dead things that me, rusty and ole snowball could catch to far from the hole.
My first beagle was acquired by accident, I started staying with my grandmother on some weekends to help her with mowing, house chores & unloading the lump coal and shoveling it into the coal bin(a boy likes nothing better than getting dirty.

). Mowing her yard turned into quite a profitable business as the neighbors on the block, mainly older folks, would flag me over and ask to have theirs done also if I'd like a dollar for doing it. While mowing the many small yards on the block, I noticed one neighbor had a little hound in his fenced yard, I would pet and play with this little fellow while taking a tea breaks (older folks always thought you needed a cold drink when they saw you working hard, so I had lots of tea breaks while pushing the old reel type mower, it was dull, I was little, so it must have impressed them to see me make a run at the grass and then have to back up and have another go at it for a gain of 5 or 6 feet...

). Well after mowing and playing with that little hound, I knew I just had to have him so I asked the man that owned him if I could buy him? He said, well, I got him to keep me company and a fine hound like that was worth upwards of $25...

...well, not one to be put off by hard work( and a little hard headed) I said, I'll give you the $25, when I get there mowing these yards, so we struck a deal and by the end of summer I had my hound. Now, the problem was, getting father to let me keep him...

... but grandma had a way of shaming dad for me and I learned early to hold tight to her apron...

...father always said, your not done till the list is complete, but grandma would say, it's hot and that boys been working hard, we need to cut that watermelon I put in the fridge last night...

Well, grandma worked her magic again and the little hound was home with me, but stipulation were in place that always kept the threat of me loosing him if any chores fell behind. Well, I went to work that Fall trying to educate Ben (my new hound) just how this rabbit hunting game was played, but to him, it seemed nothing more than a fun walk through hill and dale...

... I stomped brushpiles for him, tried jump shooting rabbits for him, but nothing seemed to excite him into joining in on the game. We went through that whole season with me being the dawg and him being a fateful observer showing little interest in helping me out...

...I kept him chained up through the summer except for our walks after chores were done, he was a happy little hound very fateful and always stayed with me (to much I was coming to believe). At long last, his second season was coming to be and I had high hopes of him remembering how I played the game and joining in this year. I took him out, tried to sic him into brush but he just gave me his happy look as if to say, well, go get in the bushpile and dance...

... I have to tell you, I pulled the gun down on that little hound more than once, but the web we had weaved between us was attached to my heart and besides, I had $25 in that saddle backed hide and he wasn't getting off the tab that easy...

... Well, one day I was out with him doing my Indian dance on a brushpile and I noticed he wasn't around being a good student as always, so I went calling looking for him. He was down by the creek nosing in some broom sage, i thought, well I'll be, when all the sudden, out popped a rabbit

Well, it set him back on his heels at first, then he put his nose in the spot where the rabbit had come and then came forth this beautiful bell tone bawl and I thought, "HOTDOG" I got me a rabbit dawg !!! Well, he trailed off that rabbit for a good ways before he lost it but I was there to encourage him on and I think he was as excited as I was...

... From that day forward we hunted our farm rabbits together. He died of heart worms at the age of 8, I slept with him in the barn that night after getting him back from the vet. That was all getting close to 40 years ago and there's been hounds to feed and crap to shovel here ever since. Reminds me of a saying I heard from a Pack Master in England, "And I for my sins, am Master of the ----- ------ Beagles"...

... if it's in your blood, it's truly a labor of love...
