Peaceful Noise

A world full of distractions is left behind at 5am the morning of the hunt.

I gathered my saddle and shining white saddle pad and placed them carefully onto Banner’s back. His withers twitched at the sensation of manmade domestication.

Buckle by buckle, strap by strap, I carefully placed each piece of tack on the nervous and vigilant horse. His short breathing and skeptical side-glances made me all too aware of how I simply neglect to consider his feelings towards the subject.

As I stepped out of the barn into the dark and damp morning, I inhaled the scent of cut hay and morning dew. After months of conditioning and work and other distractions, I had my own personal freedom. “The place where I am supposed to be. The place where I belong.”

The truck rumbled to a start and clanked loudly as it attached to the old trailer. By then, the whole gang had been rustled awake. The bugs held their breath in anticipation of the hound dogs, one by one, waking each other up, the horses snorting and pawing in their stalls, and even the old barn cat who was streching on the window.

I clucked gently to Banner as he hopped gracefully but loudly into the trailer. The partition squeaked shut, followed by the clink of the locks on the trailer door. These noises- the animals, the truck and trailer, the wind through the barn- these are the only noises I wish to hear, “in my place of comfort.”

The sun peered over the live oaks and pines as we drove down the winding country road to the hunt. 

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Fly

The smell of earth permeates the steam and heat rising from the sweat of shaking horses' necks.

The cold numbs the faces and exposed skin while the exhaustion of the run and dampness of the air allows sweat to seep through wool coats.

Aside from the breathing and snorting of the horses, no one dares utter a word. 

There is only Silence through the manicured yet wild woods; then, there is an echo of screaming hounds. 

All too suddenly, electricity of the morning surges through the group and hits my heart, making my breathing speed increase at an alarming rate. 

My horse’s feet seem to levitate off of the ground and carry me through the woods with the others through trails of brown, wet earth and low limbs. The hounds scream and the wind screams in my ears and I concentrate on the steadiness of my seat and the pace of hooves below me. We come to an obstacle.

I brace myself for the launch. I breathe. I fly.

I hear a game holler. We shift directions, jolt around corners for eternity. My horses and the others around me breathe heavily as we stop and wait.

After the horn resonates, we know a kill has been made, and we are joyous.