Buster is my family’s pet beagle. We’ve had him for nearly three years now, so we still think of him as a puppy, but the little guy’s pretty smart for being so young. As I laid out everything I would need to pack into my boxes, if I pointed to something across the room and asked Buster to grab it for me, he would jump to attention, bound across the room, nab the item I’d asked for, and trot right back to me, dropping the item at my feet with what looked surprisingly like a proud little smile on his face. It was ridiculously cute and surprisingly helpful. My mom had been at work all day, so it was nice to have someone working with me to get such a tricky job done.
I clutched at my Winchester rifle tightly, even though I could make out traces of blood in the deep dark soil which characterized Pine Woods directly at the border between Bastille County and Fallow Falls; it was hard to tell where the wounded deer may have headed.
Lexis barked excitedly after sniffing the ground closely and lunged forward leaving me to scramble after him frantically, and he could get so tenacious about hunting; I had grown to trust Lexis’s instincts when it came down to smells, it was after all his thing; beagles have a great sense of smell.