Hare hunting - It was the evening of November 29, 1998, that evening the Eternal City was experiencing one of the most spectacular derbies in the history of football. I had just turned 9, and as a good Roma fan I listened to the game on the radio, together with the Lazio fan Uncle. I could safely say that my thoughts lingered on that fierce derby, but my excitement was due to the fact that the next day I would have skipped school, to follow my grandfather on one of his adventures as a hunting. The alarm went off early, given the journey we had to face, even if I remember well not having slept an eye for the emotion. The rusks with honey on top, accompanied by cappuccino with 4 teaspoons of sugar, were a trademark of my grandfather's famous breakfasts. How famous was her gesture of bringing the same breakfast to my grandmother, still rightly lying between the sheets. We left around 5.00, my grandfather then owned a hound Petit blue de Gascogne named Zara. If I am passionate about this hunting style, as well as for family tradition, I owe it to this splendid hound, which being complete in all phases made my heart stir at every emission of voice. It came directly from France, and perhaps also because of having grown up with it, it left an indelible memory in my soul.
Arrived on the spot we disbanded Zara around 7,30. Having detected the groundbait of a large male and solved the first faults with extreme accuracy and precision, we entered into a juxtaposition that seemed to be infinite. I was always on my grandfather's ribs, in extreme silence I tried to steal his work with my eyes I saw him incite his auxiliary, whenever there was a need. With today's experience, I can deduce that that big male was one hare from another area, boundless in search of some female to cover. We arrived in a valley, always intent on the approaching operation, when a pair of partridges flew off, perhaps frightened by the powerful voice of Zara. My grandfather, surely taken by the heat, shot one down. (Had he done it today with my hounds I'd still be ready to sing them all colors). Zara, however, seemed not to give weight to that inopportune shot and continued undaunted in her arduous work. I was delighted by the seriousness of that dog, when the scream of scovo, took all my attention to see the beloved lady leave the den with a jump, it was such a great emotion that it made me gasp for a few seconds. I remember like it was yesterday, my grandfather's attempt to stop it with two blows and I remember well the feeling of discomfort that assailed me when I saw that whitish tail bent over the hill right in front of us. Zara, like a demon, launched in pursuit, her classic screamer's voice echoed throughout the valley, the mountain, amplified by the echo, seemed to tremble at its passage and even today if I close my eyes I almost seem to hear that mighty voice.
My grandfather, on the contrary, did not arouse too many worries for missed shots, he knew well, the potential of the hound, all the way he turned, with a tone of command towards me, telling me to remain motionless on the side of the road just where we had both seen the hare being chased over the top . I took literally the order assigned to me and saw its shape disappear, cut off from the continuation that continued incessantly. A slight north wind rose, which made that morning at the end of November even more sparkling than it should have been. At the expense of it was my hearing, which could no longer hear the thunderous voice of Zara. Another hour passed, by now the sun was almost in the middle of the sky, when I heard a blow in the distance and immediately afterwards I clearly distinguished in the gullies below the voice of Zara who was still wriggling afterwards approaching precisely the direction where a few minutes before I had heard the shot. Everything was silent, Zara no longer felt, a bit of anxiety seized me, in the end I still could not fully understand the dynamics. I heard a distant voice calling me, it was my grandfather's voice, I ran out of breath to reach the curve below the road where I was positioned and it was then that I saw him come out with the hare tightly in his hand, by the hind legs, followed by a tired but happy Zara who came to meet me first to celebrate what had happened.
After about 20 years, despite all this time having passed, I will never forget that wonderful November day, of my grandfather's smile with hare in hand, of the great work of Zara, and finally of my state of mind at the time, full of satisfaction for having taken part in an unforgettable expulsion. I dedicate this story to my grandfather, as well as my teacher and mentor, who has been watching over me for some years now, but also to his (my) proud hound Zara whose memory is always printed in my heart.
Luke Hare Hunting
COMPETITION LITERARY CATEGORY - "Passion Hunt Goal"
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