While I forlornly chewed on an ancient bone, my folks sauntered off to the country to catch a bit of the Norfolk Hunt Club's annual Thanksgiving Day hunt. The pageantry! The rural setting! The glorious colors! The sound of the bugle! The baying of the hounds! They went on and on about this wondrous event, rather than counting their blessings that they have moi, a genuine foxhound, right here in their own home.
In fact, one would think they have had quite enough of hound baying, with no need to go somewhere else to hear it.
Showing off my stuff.
Last week Mom was threatening to send me off to the club's kennels, somehow forgetting that they most likely wouldn't have me. Who knows what I did: she was mad. "You'll have to fight for your food with dozens of other dogs! You'll have to sleep on the floor! And if it rains, you'll still have to go outside!" Eventually, she simmered down, when she realized how lucky she is that I'm part of the family.
That could be me, right at the front.
So just to show you all that I could run, right along with those other pups, I'm posting a pic of me in full swing. Also one of the hunt, because even though I didn't get to go, it does sound pretty special.
Every dog has its dreams. I'm Tucker, a Walker Foxhound, who, like my predecessor Sparky, a Dalmatian, was adopted from Buddy Dog Humane Society in Sudbury, MA. We have inspired a doggie bakery, Dreams du Dog, influenced the construction of a 6-foot fence, and underwritten several veterinary practices.