cooch
Member
Those who haven't had the pleasure (and annoyance), might like to meet Shorty.
This afternoon, she and I went walkabout on a neighbouring hill. I with my .300 Sako (there's no such thing as overkill), and her ladyship with the usual JRT compressed-charge of high-combustion-rate attitude. You get the picture.
This gives you a look at the country that we were hunting. I like it, and i don't really care whether you do, because I'm the one who gets to hunt it..... but it is bloody nice, isn't it! Now take notice of the tree in the middle. That tree is important.
Take a slightly closer look, and you'll see a large, hollow branch extending to the left, some 12 feet off the ground. See it? Now forget it, it's not really important.
What you really need to look for is where the high branch ends, about 30 feet off the ground, owing to the slope. The highest branch that is large enough to contain a fox - but we're gettiong ahead of ourselves.
This tree is one that Miss and I check regularly. One of a number with obvious fox-holes in the base, although we've never found Mr Fox at home here before.
This time he was.
One sniff, and Shorty slides into the entrance as though she's been oiled. What follows is her usual opening of the debate, a volley of canine abuse that sounds part aggression, and part bluff... as though she hasn't yet worked out whether the fox is going to fight or run. Then silence, apart from the scrabbling of claws on dry wood.
Mr Fox has gone upstairs.
Bear in mind that Shorty is not averse to climbing hollow trees. I've seen her perched in the end of a hollow spout, 20 feet off the ground. Her best - or worst - effort was 27 hrs up another hollow tree before I chainsawed her out. You can imagine what I threatened to do to her, as I balanced on a ladder and tried to manage the saw with my arm still in a sling following a shoulder reconstruction. Well wouldn't you??
Well now I'm looking at the lower hollow branch and thinking "This is manageable." So I'm giving her the office to get stuck in. She's not needing much encouragement, and I'm standing with the rifle, wondering how I'm going to deal with this if Brer Fox comes flying out at a rate of knots, and tries to use my head as a landing pad. Slips-catching anyone? I can see the dust rising, but no fox, and no sounds of battle.
Oh Struth!..... The scrabbling within now moves up above the low branch. How the hell do I get her out if she goes much higher? Then Mr Fox pokes his head out, right up the bloody top!
Perhaps he likes the view?
From his reaction, I'm certain that Shorty has not (yet) got him by the short hairs. That has to mean that she was still at least a fox-length behind,,, which gives me time to blow a 150 grain ballistic tracheotomy at the hairs just behind his chinny-chin-chin. Not that he'd requested the operation, but I was feeling too generous to ask him for his medicare card. Success was indicated by the need to rapidly side-step. Blood on the spectacles would not enhance my already myopic vision, and I could now afford to take a slightly more distant view of events than that afforded from directly beneath him.
At this point, Shorty arrives. As it is the fundamental tenet of her faith that nothing dies until she has killed it, I can hear her parking a brick on her "terminator" button, as she tears strips off his bum. :grrrr:
I give her a few minutes to get it out of her system.
It this point, I'm not entirely happy.
She has a record of being better at climbing up, than down,, she's way out of reach and even if I can make the climb, that branch looks far less robust than required to safely support my 100-odd kilos. ??? ??? ??? I don't even have a ladder that bloody long.
Oh well. Better start calling her........
By now it should be obvious to you that the last thing she's going to do is simply turn around and climb down the way she came. Nope, Miss Canine Einstein decides that the only thing to do is to wriggle out PAST the now-deceased fox, and somehow scramble onto the top of the branch. Don't ask me how, all I could think of was that there was no way that I could get there quickly enough to catch her if she fell. :Wow_eyes_bug:
Maybe she's been practicing, chasing possums.
Whatever, with a bit of kidding, she climbed and slithered down the outside of the trunk; me catching her when the last dozen feet proved a little too steep for her limited traction. I'm still shaking my head. For her, it's just another day at the office. A nine-minute egg, this one.
Jack Russells. Who'd have 'em.
Peter
This afternoon, she and I went walkabout on a neighbouring hill. I with my .300 Sako (there's no such thing as overkill), and her ladyship with the usual JRT compressed-charge of high-combustion-rate attitude. You get the picture.
This gives you a look at the country that we were hunting. I like it, and i don't really care whether you do, because I'm the one who gets to hunt it..... but it is bloody nice, isn't it! Now take notice of the tree in the middle. That tree is important.
Take a slightly closer look, and you'll see a large, hollow branch extending to the left, some 12 feet off the ground. See it? Now forget it, it's not really important.
What you really need to look for is where the high branch ends, about 30 feet off the ground, owing to the slope. The highest branch that is large enough to contain a fox - but we're gettiong ahead of ourselves.
This tree is one that Miss and I check regularly. One of a number with obvious fox-holes in the base, although we've never found Mr Fox at home here before.
This time he was.
One sniff, and Shorty slides into the entrance as though she's been oiled. What follows is her usual opening of the debate, a volley of canine abuse that sounds part aggression, and part bluff... as though she hasn't yet worked out whether the fox is going to fight or run. Then silence, apart from the scrabbling of claws on dry wood.
Mr Fox has gone upstairs.
Bear in mind that Shorty is not averse to climbing hollow trees. I've seen her perched in the end of a hollow spout, 20 feet off the ground. Her best - or worst - effort was 27 hrs up another hollow tree before I chainsawed her out. You can imagine what I threatened to do to her, as I balanced on a ladder and tried to manage the saw with my arm still in a sling following a shoulder reconstruction. Well wouldn't you??
Well now I'm looking at the lower hollow branch and thinking "This is manageable." So I'm giving her the office to get stuck in. She's not needing much encouragement, and I'm standing with the rifle, wondering how I'm going to deal with this if Brer Fox comes flying out at a rate of knots, and tries to use my head as a landing pad. Slips-catching anyone? I can see the dust rising, but no fox, and no sounds of battle.
Oh Struth!..... The scrabbling within now moves up above the low branch. How the hell do I get her out if she goes much higher? Then Mr Fox pokes his head out, right up the bloody top!
Perhaps he likes the view?
From his reaction, I'm certain that Shorty has not (yet) got him by the short hairs. That has to mean that she was still at least a fox-length behind,,, which gives me time to blow a 150 grain ballistic tracheotomy at the hairs just behind his chinny-chin-chin. Not that he'd requested the operation, but I was feeling too generous to ask him for his medicare card. Success was indicated by the need to rapidly side-step. Blood on the spectacles would not enhance my already myopic vision, and I could now afford to take a slightly more distant view of events than that afforded from directly beneath him.
At this point, Shorty arrives. As it is the fundamental tenet of her faith that nothing dies until she has killed it, I can hear her parking a brick on her "terminator" button, as she tears strips off his bum. :grrrr:
I give her a few minutes to get it out of her system.
It this point, I'm not entirely happy.
She has a record of being better at climbing up, than down,, she's way out of reach and even if I can make the climb, that branch looks far less robust than required to safely support my 100-odd kilos. ??? ??? ??? I don't even have a ladder that bloody long.
Oh well. Better start calling her........
By now it should be obvious to you that the last thing she's going to do is simply turn around and climb down the way she came. Nope, Miss Canine Einstein decides that the only thing to do is to wriggle out PAST the now-deceased fox, and somehow scramble onto the top of the branch. Don't ask me how, all I could think of was that there was no way that I could get there quickly enough to catch her if she fell. :Wow_eyes_bug:
Maybe she's been practicing, chasing possums.
Whatever, with a bit of kidding, she climbed and slithered down the outside of the trunk; me catching her when the last dozen feet proved a little too steep for her limited traction. I'm still shaking my head. For her, it's just another day at the office. A nine-minute egg, this one.
Jack Russells. Who'd have 'em.
Peter
. JRT's are great little dogs - full of courage and self importance and are great family/small guard dogs as well!! Looks like Shorty has a few years on her...........how old is she? There is some opacity in both eyes , prob. just old age associated changes (nuclear sclerosis) but next time at your vets ask them to check her eyes for cataracts partic. the right eye. Hope I haven't overstepped the mark by mentioning the above - if I have I apologise in advance. Kind regards Peter.
