Training her Pup Ch. 09: Foxhunt

Sitting in a little bohemian café with Elaine, I sip my coffee while stroking your head which is resting heavily on my knee. For once, Elaine is without Vixen, who is spending a trial day with Sasha. Consequently, this is a much calmer, more relaxing chat as neither of us owners is focussed on keeping our two animals apart. Instead of being constantly vigilant in ensuring that your playful sniffs and licks don't turn into full-blown rutting, we are able to have a civilised conversation. It's really quite refreshing! However, my reason for inviting Elaine out today was to ask for her advice.

'Elaine, as an experienced Lady owner, I wanted to share a concern I have,' I begin.

'With your rascal? He's not ill is he?' She asks worriedly, looking down at you with concern.

'Oh, no. Nothing like that,' I'm quick to reassure her. You are in the peak of health, and anyone can see that your coat is glossy, and your eyes are bright. 'It's more of a concern that he might be missing out on male companionship. I know rascal has his fair share of female company, especially now he has become a studpup,' I roll my eyes indulgently as you puff your chest up with pride, 'but I can't help noticing that every male he encounters he treats as a threat. He's naturally very protective, as I'm sure you have seen when he's around Vixen...'

'Well, rightfully so!' she laughs. 'That slutty little bitch is a handful and she'd be heavy with pup if she didn't have a big strong boy like your rascal to keep the street dogs away from her hot little tail.'

'True enough, but he's also like that around me and any other females that he encounters. It's an admirable trait to be sure, but I feel that he is missing out. He's a pack animal after all. Surely, a primal part of him feels the loss of other like-minded males?'

You look up at me, your head cocked to one side as though considering this for the first time. On the surface you have everything a young pup could desire - adoring attention from your owner and others that you meet, abundant female companionship to indulge in and the chance to entertain and serve your Mistress with your growing range of tricks. And yet, you are not a lone wolf. Who doesn't want the excitement and feeling of belonging, of running with a pack?

'Oh, I know exactly what you mean, my dear. Did I ever tell you about my last puppy, Todd? He was trained at the country on the estate of a very dear friend of mine, Flick, that is to say, Felicity St Claire. She has a thriving pack of hounds who love nothing better than a good fox hunt.'

'Fox hunting? Oh, isn't that very cruel?' The thought of a pack of excited hounds and mounted riders chasing down then ripping to shreds a smaller, innocent creature seems awfully barbaric.

'Oh, Felicity maintains that it is an important part of rural culture and tradition, and useful for reasons of conservation and pest control. It originated back in the sixteenth century, after all. But don't fret. Since the laws changed many years ago, the hunt has taken on a somewhat different goal. Now, when the pups run down the fox, there is a frenzied bout of mounting which everyone enjoys very much. Not least the fox herself!' she smiles, seemingly lost in happy memories.

Oh yes, I can see that being a very fun way to spend the day. The excitement of the chase followed by the climax of the capture. You seem to agree as you are gazing at Elaine, rapt, your puppy penis starting to drool with excitement.

'What happened to Todd? I imagine that you miss the hunts without him.'

'My sweet Todd was getting a little long in the tooth. His joints were not what they were and gallivanting about in muddy fields started to hold less appeal for him, so he retired back to the country. Last I heard, he had a loving mate and three pups of his own.' Elaine smiled wistfully. Their bond was obviously very strong and, even apart, she still clearly thought fondly of him.

'But then you got Vixen.' It finally dawns on me the significance of her name. 'Oh, of course, Vixen! Did you plan for her to take part in the hunt?' I ask excitedly.

Elaine laughs ruefully, 'Oh, that was my plan when I named her, but, well, you've seen her. Can you imagine her running away from a pack of excited males? Oh no. When we tried her as the fox, the very minute that slutty girl caught wind of the pack following her, she dropped to the ground and presented. They were on her in a matter of minutes and the hunt was over in less than an hour.' Elaine flushes with social embarrassment. 'Oh, everyone agreed that it was fun while it lasted, but needless to say, she was not invited back!'

You growl softly. Whether from excitement or jealousy, is not clear.

'I have a capital idea, Kate. Why don't I talk to Flick and find out when the next hunt is taking place? I can secure you both an invite and rascal can experience the joys of a pack hunt. What do you think?' she asks, expectantly.

I look down at you and can read the excitement on your face. Oh yes, you want this badly. Already you are finding it hard to sit still as if your muscles are ready to run, fired up by the sounds of your fellow pack hounds as you chase down some hapless little fox.

'Thank you, Elaine, that sounds wonderful. We'd love a day out to stretch our legs in the countryside, and to take part in such a venerable and proud English tradition? How could we possibly refuse?'

And so, it is settled, and soon after, I make my excuses and take you home. I have a very horny puppy on my hands, and I know exactly how he can best expend all that pent up energy.

---

Three weeks later we get a call from Elaine. The hunt is on for this coming Saturday. I'm told that everything will be provided and that we just need to arrive an hour before the start to get dressed and meet the Mistress of the Hounds and the other Lady owners who will be taking part. How very exciting!

The day arrives and we are both looking our best. I am dressed in a floaty summer dress and sandals, while I have taken you to see Sasha, so your coat is glossy, your puppy penis and balls well-groomed and your nails are neatly clipped. I don't really know what to expect, but I imagine that Felicity St Claire is a true English gentlewoman, so I dress as though I were invited to the Queen's garden party.

When I arrive, I see that this choice of outfit was a mistake. Everyone is dressed for the outdoors. Most in jeans, or jodhpurs, boots and tweed jackets. Mortified, I rush to Elaine's side, but she reassures me that it doesn't matter as we will all be donning the hunt 'colours' before we start. Leading me by the elbow, she escorts us to formally meet Felicity, or as we will know her today, Mistress of the Hounds.

Felicity St Claire is a tall, regal-looking woman. Her face is long and thin with a rather pronounced overbite which could only have been acquired through generations of selective breeding. Horsey, is a word that springs to mind. She is elegant and well-mannered and surprisingly friendly when she greets us. She breezes over my sartorial faux pas and focusses instead on you.

'Oh, Kate, what a fine young pup you have there. Firm, strong legs and proud buttocks -- I bet he's a hit with the ladies. Good runner is he?' she questions as she bends low to run her slim hands all over your back and flanks.

'Uh, yes, Ms. St Claire. He does love a run around in the park, especially when he's chasing squirrels. And as for the ladies, well, he's proving quite popular as a stud,' I respond proudly.

Felicity eyes you approvingly. 'Oh, I just bet he is. Well, I look forward to seeing him in action today. And call me Flick; everyone does.'

Flick is already dressed in her hunt livery -- a finely-tailored long red riding coat and crisp white jodhpurs tucked into shiny black riding boots. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun and fixed with a little lace hairnet. As Mistress of the Hounds, she is in charge. She has a kennel for her own hounds which will run today, and she suggests to me that you are taken there now while I get changed into something more suitable.

I'm a little unsure about leaving you all alone somewhere new but Elaine assures me that it is for the best as you will get a chance to meet the other dogs before we start. Apparently, it's not good having any posturing for dominance during the hunt. A pack only works well, she says with the voice of experience, if the alpha is established right from the off. And so, I follow her round to the double stable block at the back of the property, one of which has been converted into the house kennels.

I see there is a thick layer of clean straw on the floor and each stall has a bed of soft hay, covered by a blanket, and bowls of water and food. The stall doors are open, and the hounds are free to wander in and out, a fact that is evident when you arrive and they all hasten out to meet you. You stand stock still by my side, unsure of your place in the pecking order. One large, older dog steps forward and sizes you up. He is not outright hostile, but he has an air of dominance about him that speaks of leadership and experience. However, after a lot of mutual sniffing and not a little licking has taken place, you seem to be accepted by one and all. The Kennelman promises to keep an eye on you and already you are intent on playing with your new friends, so I take my leave to dress.

Half an hour later, Elaine and I are in full hunt livery of navy fitted coats with a red collar, white high neck blouses, tan jodhpurs and black and tan boots. We both carry riding hats and wear soft, leather gloves. Elaine explains that Felicity has been known to call on her good friend, Tabitha, to provide pony boys from her personal stable, but they are better on the flat as taking a rider cross country can slow the hunt down, so today we will be riding horses. Hopefully we will be invited back for their next pony boy derby, which promises to be a very exciting affair!

When we make our qway round to the stables, it is clear from the sound of chattering and laughter that several other Lady owners have joined the party and their pups swell the ranks of the pack, which you are now part of. When you spot us, you yip excitedly and come over, excitedly licking our palms as you greet us. I think you approve of the outfit, as you immediately snuffle your soft nose into the crotch of my tight, humid jodhpurs.

'Hey, sweet puppy. Have you missed me?' I coo as I bend down to kiss your head and ruffle your fur as to gather up your lead.

'Aaarrrff! ArrRRfff!' You cannot keep your tail still in your clear eagerness to run.

Flick appears and everyone hushes, except the hounds who bark excitedly. She now has on a jaunty little black top hat and is carrying a hunting horn. Stepping up onto a mounting block so she can clearly be seen, she addresses the crowd.

'Welcome, friends old and new,' she smiles at me. 'What a glorious day for a hunt!' There are appreciative noises and 'here here's' from the crowd. 'Today we are lucky to have some of the finest hounds in the county and a rather enticing little fox for you to hunt. Would you like to see her?' There is excited cheering and barking. 'Then hold on to your hounds!'

'Meet Kit!' Flick snaps her fingers, and a petite, slim, red-haired female is led in, upright rather than on all fours for a better viewing. Her skin is a deep freckled tan that speaks of a life outdoors. Her silky red hair is short and spiky, and she has a long, bushy auburn tail. Her body is quivering, whether with excitement or fear is anyone's guess, but her tight little nipples suggest the former as the weather is pleasantly warm. Kit's intelligent, calculating eyes dart nervously to all those around her, especially to you and the rest of the hounds who are straining against their leashes. I am glad that the Kennelman has kept your lead clipped to your smallest collar so that the tug to your tethered puppy parts is enough to easily, with little effort, stop you lunging for the exciting prey.

'Now,' Flick continues, 'As most of you own sight hounds and we only have a few scent hounds with us today, we are only going to give our quarry a short head start. However, she is a fast little thing, so have no fear, I believe she will put us through our paces today. As is tradition, I will now call on all owners and Kennelmen to form a line of hounds along the stable path.'

We move into position, you and the other pups tugging and baying with excitement as you follow every twitch, every movement from the enticing little fox who is currently being restrained by a burly stableboy without the aid of a collar and a leash. And then, slowly, Kit is led down the row of over-excited puppies, swinging her hips saucily to whip you all into a state of excited frenzy. She is not close enough to touch, no matter how hard you pull against your leash, but you can clearly see every hair on her body standing on end, every quivering inch of feminine musculature, the darkness of her expanded pupils, the flare of her nostrils and the tell-tale wetness coating her thighs.

When she finally reaches the end of the line she is straining to run but she is once again halted by the meaty palm on her shoulder.

'I believe that you have her scent now. When I sound my horn, Kit will be set free to run where she may, while we raise a toast to the success of the hunt. When the last glass has been downed the hunt begins.'

And to the sound of the horn and the frenzied barking of the hounds, the young female takes flight, sprinting away through the stable yard and across the lawn towards the trees.

The hunt is on.

---

I hand off your lead to the Kennelman, and with a little help from a stable hand, I mount my impeccably groomed and harnessed thoroughbred as traditional stirrup cup glasses of port are brought round by liveried servants. There is an air of nervous excitement from the riders, who are about to encounter the adrenaline rush of the chase, galloping at breakneck speeds across muddy fields and wooden styles.

Your lead and collars, both throat and penis, have been removed by the Kennelman and you now mill around excitedly with your fellow pack hounds. You are totally free, as nature intended, a male amongst males being led by your instincts -- to run, to chase the animal prey, to mount.

As the final cup is drained and collected, Flick stands in her stirrups and there is a hushed air of expectation. With dramatic slowness, she raises the horn to her scarlet lips and gives three long warbling calls. And we're off!

The hounds rush ahead first -- you are alongside the alpha male at the head of the pack, your tongue lolling with excitement as you race ahead. I just catch a glimpse of your tail as the pack scampers out of sight around the stables and then the horses are charging forward. I cling on to my mount and feel the surge of adrenaline as the courtyard and manicured grounds rush away and we are pounding hell for leather across open countryside.

I hear a baying up ahead and I know that the pack have caught sight of the little fox. Kit might be small, but she is definitely swift as she has opened up a big lead and I spot that you have sighted her on a piece of high ground which leads into the woods. We turn left, intent on heading her off before she reaches the cover of the trees, but Kit is faster and soon I see a flash of white-tipped orange tail as she darts for the relative safety of the overgrown woodland.

The dense trees are not a problem for you and your pack and together you race ahead, hoping that your fleet prey will need to slow down to navigate her way through the rough thicket. However, Kit must be a local because she seems to know these woods like the back of her hand. She hops over fallen logs and scampers around bramble bushes that snag and tug at the hounds, all of which press on through, undeterred by the nicks and scratches they are sustaining in their eagerness to catch this alluring little vixen.

By now, we riders have caught up and are carefully picking out way through the close growing trees. It is slow work and often we lose sight of the pack, who are making faster progress as, closer to the ground, there is less dense brush and branches. It's only the excited barks and yips as one of you picks up her scent or sees her small foot prints in the mud that ensures that we are heading it the right direction. I see light up ahead and know that we will soon be moving into open pastures. That will be the time to catch her. Surely she's getting tired, and we can chase her down easily when the horses are given their head.

We press on and suddenly we catch up with the pack, who are milling around in a state of anxiety. You look at me and I know. You've lost the scent. Somehow, that wily little minx has lost you!

'Looks like Kit has gone to ground!' remarks Elaine next to me. 'She's probably found an old badger's set or a hollow log and is hoping to wait it out. Last time I took part in a hunt the fox was treed,' she went on. Seeing my confusion, she clarified, 'Grey foxes are known to climb trees. It's a pretty effective strategy to evade the hounds but it can only last so long. Eventually she gets hungry and has to come down. We just called for a picnic to be delivered to the base of the tree and waited her out. Eventually, she was tempted down by the delicious offerings that Cook had prepared and she had her fill -- both of the food and the pack!'

Now that the horses and hounds are together you come to stand by me and together we wander off to hunt the little female. On horseback, I have the height advantage and I am able to scan the area, making sure to look up into the boughs of the sturdy trees. You, on the other hand, are low to the ground and are able to investigate any likely holes and fallen logs. Together we make a good team and it's not long before we have explored a little way from the rest of the hunt. The sound of hooves and voices fade away and eventually there is just the rustle of leaves and the sounds of birds and small animals moving through the underbrush.

Just as we are about to re-join the others, your head jerks up and you freeze, your whole body quivering in excitement.

'What is it, boy? What do you see?' I murmur quietly, not wanting to startle anything you have scented.

I listen carefully, my ears straining, and then I too catch the noise. The low sound of fast panting coming from a hollow behind a rotting tree stump. I dismount and lead my horse over as you pad slowly forwards and, in a whirl of red hair, she is off! Scampering as fast as her long, slim legs will carry her towards the treeline, with you barking joyfully behind her. I feel so proud of your singular success over your more experienced puppy pack mates.

I shout to Flick and Elaine to call the hunters, and I saddle up and follow you as you race after the giggling little mix who thought she could hide from you. As Kit breaks through the trees she immediately sees her error as the riders and pack thunder after her across the meadow of soft grass and wildflowers. Her final mistake is when she looks over her shoulder to gauge how close you are and tumbles arse over tit, landing flat on her back, breathless and disorientated.

And then you are on her, straddling her supine body, licking her face and sniffing her most wet and fragrant parts. This is no savage taking, but a playful first encounter, which Kit responds to, licking and sniffing you in return. And then the pack has arrived, and she is surrounded by over-excited males clamouring for a piece of her.

Flick dismounts and takes control.

'Well, Kit, you have been well and truly caught. And by rascal, here no less.' She smiles down at your dominant position, then addresses me. 'Well, done, Kate. You have a fine hunting hound there. He's welcome to join us on future hunts and if you ever need to kennel him, he's always got a place with my hounds.'