The beagle man ...
"I like all dogs, but I'm a beagle man," he said, pausing to spit out the window of his pickup. In the truck's bed, there was a dog crate that I'm pretty sure had a beagle or two bumbling around in it. They were quiet, but my dogs were freaking out and seemed to sense something was in there.
I've run into the beagle man before at the park, but this was the first time I'd stopped to talk to him. Usually, he and his pack drift by in a howling storm, tormenting every rabbit within a mile or two.
He's lived in East Tennessee all his life and immediately recognized our house as "one of the old Gallaher places" when I told him where we live. Apparently there were two or three of their houses clustered on our stretch of Hardin Valley. Ours, from the best we can tell, was build in the 1890s and extensively renovated about 20 or 30 years ago.
The beagle man was looking for one of his pack, a timid female who apparently split off during a rabbit chase yesterday. I'd seen her when I arrived with Xena, Ozzy and Gilligan about 30 minutes earlier, but she trotted off into the woods when we drove past. She clearly was wearing a collar and tags so I wasn't too worried about her.
It brought to mind an image last winter as I was pulling into the park. It was early, even by my standards, probably about 5:30 a.m., and freezing cold. As I rounded the turn at the park entrance, the beagle man's truck materialized in my headlights and I saw him standing back by the tailgate, lifting a shivering beagle into the crate in back. Apparently, this was another escapee who had spent a frigid night outside before being rescued by her female. I wonder now if it was the same dog he was looking for this morning.
The beagle man went on at length about hunting (not much sport to deer hunting ... "it would be like shooting one of them dogs standing there"), changes in the valley and other things he's seen over the years. But he was adamant about beagles and hunting with beagles. He says once you learn how the pack works, you can tell exactly where a rabbit will emerge from the brush when it's being pursued by a braying pack.
The beagle man is easily in his 60s and has the easy-going, direct manner that I've really come to admire in East Tennesseans. They're great people, and it's fun to run into them in situations like this and get their take on things.
After talking for about a half-hour, he drove off, looking for his lost dog. I finished running my dogs, and on the way home, as we passed the beagle man's farm, we could hear cacophony of beagles in the cage outside his house. I'm assuming it was some sort of celebration for the prodigal pack-mate's return ...
Posted by Bob Benz at August 5, 2006 9:21 AM