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When The Lurcher and The Fox Meet One Sunday Morning
A Lurcher is a dog. It’s an ancient Irish hunting hound bred by crossing three breeds. A greyhound, a Labrador, and thirdly, a choice of Irish Wolfhound, or Border Collie.
A good hunting dog is intelligent, it helps if it’s fast and nimble. The mix of three breeds reveal the character of a brave, robust, and keen dog that’ll chase, and stop at nothing to ground its quarry.
My Lurchers, Bran and Paddy, would cross a field at such speed you could only see two elongated dashes of blue-grey, and reddish brown animal piling through the green grass. They would often become small dots, then disappeared through a distant border hedge.
Bran and I walked together, side by side, no leash, just trust and a set of keen eyes between us. Bran and I entered Pamber Forest. An early walk in the woods where the mist hung among the trees, and the smell of peat soil overwhelmed our senses.
Pamber Forest has a gamekeeper. A man with a gun, dark combat clothes and the mind of a detective. He doesn’t like Lurchers.
He wants to be sure that none of his deer have been killed by night poachers. He lurks, somewhere, among the bracken and trees.
