Fox Hunting. Oops, so many rules


The sport of Fox Hunting seemed an elitist event to me. Until the day I joined the hunt. I, then, became an elitist member, or so I felt, of an exclusive club. Yeah, I remember it well.

We arrived on the farm where we would soon depart to chase the ever wily fox. Horses tucked in the trailer, we, dressed in our finest riding apparel.
Men, who had achieved a certain ranking wore red jackets. Women always wore a more subdued color of your basic black, navy blue or dark tweed. I had scrounged in our attic to locate my old showing jacket. Miracle of miracles it still fit.

I watched, my eyes glazed with the heady scent of horse sweat, hay, manure, and nerves.
Nerves? Nah…probably just mine.

My horse, Buddy; a former event horse, jigged about while I tacked him up. He was excited.
David’s horse, Diddy, stood…

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