It’s been another of those Saturdays of not seeing other humans (apart from the early morning radiologist and nurse of course) so I’ve decided to go to the pub for dinner.
I’m in the Fox and Hounds, which is so far much more hound than fox. It’s one of those dog-friendly places, out in the countryside near the canal and the network of lakes that used to be quarry pits. This is definitely the place to come if you have a dog and you’ve moored up your narrowboat on the Kennet and Avon Canal. There are possibly more dogs than people here.
It’s probably for the best. Let a fox loose in a place like this and everyone freaks out. I don’t even want to think about applying the same eponymising logic to The King’s Head (gruesome), the Gardeners’ Arms (terrifying), or the Horse and Coaches. Chaos.
Anyway, here I am, comfortably eating on my own, and watching little dogs get tangled in each other’s leads. More thinking time.
Back in the old days, and even in the not so old days, mounted hunting parties would use dogs to chase and destroy foxes. It became a posh tradition, with pomp and colour and fanfare, an essential part of village life in England. Not great for the fox though. It came to symbolise a type of Englishness, one that would put on a red tunic, almost as a diversion to the inevitable bloodshed. Either the fox would run riot through the farms and land, or the hounds would rip the fox to pieces. Either way, there would be blood.
As far as I know, fox hunting with dogs is currently illegal, but I know certain parties would like that law reversed. Perhaps those people should be dressed up as foxes and chased across the countryside with shotguns on a freezing December morning before they get to decide that.
Well in this pub anyway, the hounds have won. It’s getting late. The staff are collecting glasses and discussing how and why Sundays are a ‘smart day’. I would not want to be the guy who turns up in a polo shirt on a Sunday. Seems strange that it’s simultaneously the pub that welcomes muddy dogs on a Sunday afternoon. Smart staff, dogs itching to get racing round the lake and not a fox in sight. Still it’s safer than eating at The Red Lion, right?
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