Our new hunting truck: the '73 Datsun Mulamobile, aka The Green Bomb.

Now, not being an experienced dog hunter, I put carpet at the floor of my dog box. Janet saw that and laughed. When I asked why, she just said you'll see and I eventually did; but not in the way she imagined. When loading up the dogs in the morning, dog hunters just take them from the kennel and put them in the truck. Of course the dog has not had time to rise and do their business, so ... the floor of the dog box became their toilet. The hunter carries a shovel and would scoop out the excrement and throw some sand over it. I didn't have that problem. My girls got to take a leisurely stroll and did their business on the ground before we left. If put in the dog box—a rarity as my dog box was for guests—the girls need not soil it. My girls ride in the front seat with me, taking turns sitting on my lap as I drive, sticking their heads out the window—not in the box like some dog!

It was that truck and time that let me get acquainted with the real Lula. We went to the woods to chase deer whenever we could, whether hunting season or not. I got to watch every move Lula and Molly made and we became a team. Lula was the best of us, however. She had style. A normal race for us would begin with a deer track across the road. I would let the girls out and say "What's this?" pointing to the track. Coming over to scent the track was a joyous experience but one that may not be rewarding. Lula would find the track and stick her nose right down into it and into the sand. If the track was of interest to her or one of a deer she thought she could find, she would let out a little squeal of joy, lift her head, nostrils full of sand, give a bark spraying sand into the air, and the race was on as she would head off on the trail. I guess it was the strength of the scent that would make her decide if the deer could be found.

Molly would scent a trail similarly but not make a sound. Her tail would speak for her as she too would demonstrate a willingness to pursue some deer while not showing interest in others. On an interesting track both Molly and Lula would bound down the trail in chase, Lula's bark keeping me abreast of the action and direction. It became a real race when I would hear Molly's squeal begin. The deer was up, away and the race on.

Both Lula and Molly and any hunting dog worth its salt would run injured. I have seen both so lame and tired that they could hardly walk but mention finding a deer or put them on a track and they were ready. I say mention ('deer') because Molly was able to recognize that word and what it meant. If I just spoke the word at the house in conversation, she would jump up, bounce across the floor to the door and squeal with excitement. It got so bad that Pam and I had to spell the word when we talked about it, otherwise Molly would be bouncing off the walls. Lula's vocabulary wasn't as good as Molly's but her persistence was better.

Lula would not give up on a deer trail. If she lost the trail at one end she would just turn around and follow it back the other way barking just as excitedly as on the first pass. This is called backtracking and does happen occasionally. This was somewhat irritating at times as she would usually lose the trail at a road. I would head to one part of the woods to get in front of her only to get there and hear that she was going back the other way, turning back to the other direction, getting there and finding that again she had reversed.

One time I had gotten the Mulamobile stuck in deep, very fine 'sugar sand' on Forest Road 597, or the 'gas line' as most called it. I was stuck there for four hours before someone came by to pull me out. Before getting stuck, I had put the girls on a track and could hear them trailing and they eventually jumped the deer and ran it across the road about 1/2 mile from where I was stuck. They were heading toward the bombing range and it was frustrating because I couldn't head them off. Evidently Lula lost the deer after a fashion. As I was digging and jacking and tossing branches under the tires so that I could move two or three feet before I fell off and started the process over again as I tried to extricate myself, I heard Lula's bark coming back toward me. Sure enough she crossed where the deer had run earlier. She ignored my shouts and calls to come and continued on. The twerp did that back-and-forth thing three more times before I got pulled out and could catch her.

It was the experience of being stuck that time that made me want to change hunting trucks. I did get a four-wheel-drive Toyota pickup, fitted it with a dog box and CB and now I don't get stuck. Lula especially liked the new truck. It had ... air conditioning!

When Lula came to us, she was not an old dog but was certainly older by pooch standards. She blew away the adage that you cannot teach an old dog new tricks however. After the spring fox hunting season in 1999, we had time on our hands so I figured that I would see if Lula could learn the tricks and commands that Molly had learned in obedience school. With Molly's help Lula learned the basic commands and would follow them as she lied down, sat, stayed and shook paw. She didn't like that heeling business; but what she learned was not bad for a kennel girl. After this, Lula would join in the demonstrations we would give of their prowess in the obedience arena. These shows were impromptu affairs usually given at lunch time during a hunting session. Again, my hunting companions were impressed with this. Of course, all the book learning and obedience training went out the window at the slightest whiff of a deer.

Lula also became very vocal after living with us for a while. Earlier, I told you how polite a beggar she was; well, this didn't last long after she came to rule the roost. As part of our training, I taught the girls how to "speak". I created a monster in Lula as from then on whenever Pam would be preparing dinner or there would be the possibility of a snack, Lula would sit nearby and speak or tell us she was wanting some. She would sit, stare and bark to get your attention, not loudly but just a persistent chatter with her head cocked to the side as if to say, "Hey, you taught me how to do this so now listen up and pay attention."

Julie in her new coat.

Our family and hunting team grew by one in April of 2000. It was the next to last weekend of fox hunting season and I was driving down Forest Road 573 at 5:30 in the morning when I spotted a small beagle in the road. I stopped and called it over. It came willingly and had no collar, an outcast that someone did not want. I took her with me and she hunted that day and the next weekend with us. I called her Lady but my son changed it to Julie. This girl was special ... special-ed material, I mean. She is retarded, got crossed eyes and bow legs. Not your typical beagle but Lulabelle taught her how to hunt and she is an important member of our team now as she barks while trailing. She is number 4. The code is complete!

(L to R) Julie, Molly and Lula relaxing on the couch.

Lula's last hunt was on March 29, 2003, her birthday. I don't know if it was intuition or a fluke but I had the urge to get her on video and had borrowed my son's video camera to do this the week before and was using it again on the 29th. I was able to document Lula's traits and hunting ability for the first time, little knowing that it would also be her last. That day I found a nice track and cast the girls. After a short while, the race was on. That first race I was able to get in front of the deer and got some nice video of it and the girls chasing it. I stopped them at the bombing range.

I then went and found two more tracks. I put the girls down and again the race was on. I was unable to get in front of the deer as they circled and backtracked and led us a merry run. I lost track of the girls and could not hear them barking so I brought out the radio tracking antenna and located their approximate positions. I could tell that the girls had split up. Evidently Lula had taken up the chase on one deer and Molly and Julie were chasing the second deer. As Molly and Julie were again heading toward the bombing range, I concentrated on finding them first. It took an hour or so but I caught up with them and had them 'in the box', as it is called when your dogs are securely in hand or caught up.

Conclusion—»