Keep It Moving!

Long ago, I made a decision not to stagnate. Either physically or mentally.

And since, for starters, there’s not a lot to work with, the process to this point has been a rather labor-intensive undertaking. But this is simply the way of life. It boils down to that simplest of axioms: use it or lose it.

HOW we use it is the key. For instance, one can do dumbbell curls with the weight of one’s choice until one’s guns bulge one’s shirtsleeves.

Conversely, using the exact same continuous, sinuous, repetitive motion and delivering cathead biscuits to one’s gaping maw results in quite a different bulge: along about the middle button of one’s shirt.

That’s an iota of insight into the physical; now for the mental…

First, a word of explanation/warning: your mental does not progress like my mental. For which you should daily give thanks.

So while curls are curls, biceps are biceps and bellies are ever-burgeoning, picking your own mental path is key to this endeavor. Simplifying once more, choose your own subject.

Mine vary. We’re even going to get around to an actual hunt here shortly—so don’t stagnate on me.

Before I was a writer, I was a reader. And occasionally I’ll pick a subject that piques my interest and immerse myself. By and large, my tastes run toward history and fact, and away from embellishment and fantasy.

The heck with Star Trek. I wouldn’t know Harry Potter from Mary Poppins. And if I want horror, I’ll hang out for an hour with Jake The Hermit.

Last year, I got into the IRA. In print; don’t panic. My horizons were broadened throughout The Emerald Isle. But in the end, I think there must have been a mental capacity overload that tripped a breaker—that is one eternally complicated and dicey situation, no matter how appealing a package  some attempt to wrap it in.

So I came back around once more to our own shores and my subject d’jour: The Plains Indian.

(Through a cruel twist of fate, I was born one hundred and twenty-five years late. Yep; shoulda been a mountain man.)

Decades ago, my brother, Dean, gave me a 617-page book entitled “The Mystic Warriors Of The Plains.” I almost memorized it. But recently I got into a new, strictly factual study of the life of the greatest Indian warrior who ever lived—and you’ve very likely never even heard of him, so we’ll not delve deeper. It’s just that he and parts of his story came to mind while I was listening to a rabbit/beagle race.

Hollywood’s version of the U.S. Army-Plains Indian wars—not conflicts, make no mistake—is about as far removed from actual events as is a PETA account of a rabbit hunt.

My quirky brain was asserting analogies whilst I was making like the infantry and bulling through a chest-deep briar patch. The cavalry—a half-dozen pack of squalling beagles—was hot on the trail/tail of the Indian/rabbit.

And man was he wild! Not to mention quick. Trust me, brother: stagnant has no place on a rabbit’s agenda while a batch of beagles is roaring at his heels!

Oh, it’s fine for a hunter to stop for a moment and enjoy the operatic (20-car pileup?) performance. In fact, that’s what this hunt is all about: listening to the dogs. Just remember to not fall over from exhaustion or go to sleep on your feet after scrambling over mountainous, mine-filled terrain for 10 miles.

This canine caucus is truly a pack; a well-honed six-pack. (And I’m thinking I’m going to have the same, ab-wise, after another month of this type exercise/death march!) If you’ve spent much time behind rabbit, coon or bear dogs, you’ll be familiar with the term “liar.”

That’s the one in the bunch that barks, yelps, yips or opens on a non-existent trail without a rabbit with 40 acres. However, all the other dogs—and you!—have gotta go see, just in case.

But there’s no liar here, and I’m impressed. (That’s not always easy; I’ve seen a dog or two.) It’s obvious that they love what they do, and they’re lights-out at it. The bunch is working literally at my feet, in a nose-snuffling, tail-wagging frenzy—but quiet. That is an all-important facet of rooting Bugs out of his hiding spot and persuading him to kick in the afterburners.

They ease on past.

Thirty yards. 50. Back my way, still noses and feet whispering the only sounds.

It is a masterpiece.

A particle of cottontail odor brings a minute “Yip”—and that in turn sets the other dogs scuttling over. A couple more “Maybes” one or two “This ways,” a final, frenzied “GOT IT!” and the surrounding trees and rolling hills resound as the race is on.

Setting into motion 10 hunters, each with one thought in mind: get out front of it all and head the leader off at the pass.

You may be interested in the fact that two of those shotgun-toters were within 10 feet of the rabbit and could have picked him off with ease before he even started across the Plains and on toward the Rockies. But kick one up and shoot him without allowing the dogs to get in on the action? What are you, nuts?

Eventually, though, came a shot. And a hailed, “Still running!”

Right toward me.

But just before I could catch up, the dogs did—literally.

Ever tried to take a rabbit away from a beagle pack? Believe me: use it or lose it takes on a special meaning here…

Order your copy of Daryl Gay’s books, “Rabbit Stompin’ And Other Homegrown Safari Tactics,” $19.95 plus $3 S&H and “Life On the Back Page,” $14.95 plus $3 S&H from www.darylgay.com or 16 Press, 219 Brookwood Drive, Dublin, GA, 31021.