Fox hunting and being 'blooded'.
Where I grew up fox hunting was quite a prized part of life. When one first rode with the hunt, the novice hunters would be ‘blooded’ when their first fox was taken. It was exciting. It was primal. It was disgusting. Being 'blooded' was the smearing of fox blood over the faces of those who had not taken a fox before, to the cheers and upturned flasks of other members of the hunt. A young girl sweating with exertion and excitement, being smeared with blood and plied with hard alcohol sounds like something out of a satanic ritual, and yet with hunting season it was not out of the ordinary. All the new hunters went through it, and loved the event. All except the fox, that is. And Mrs. Barlow’s cat, Mittens. Yes. Accidents happen. I remember the day when thirty fox hounds took of yelping and snarling after something in the hedgerow, and all the horses chased excitedly down the narrow farm lane. The clatter of steel shod hunters on the tarmac as we followed the baying hounds into th