It ain't over till it's over. I'm glad I didn't unhook the trailer on Saturday. After Sunday's long rambling reminiscence about the end of the season, a message came down from on high Monday that the pack was going out Tuesday, and another message promised that at least part of the Bitch Pack would be there. Fortunately, I got the notice before I got invited to a Tuesday meeting, so I was able to politely decline the meeting invitation. (My poor confused but coöperative boss then wandered into my office to ask whether I'd be available Wednesday, or whether I'd be out chasing foxes).

With temperatures in the 60's, it was a little warm for hunting, but apparently this wasn't really a hunt. It was just a show of force; a sabre-rattling sweep through a large swath of our territory, leaving the coyotes on notice that we're still here and we're still bad. If that sounds just a little bizarre, don't worry about it. I'm not sure everybody in our group took it seriously either. But on sunny spring day with mild winds, it was sure a great day to be in a saddle instead of an office, regardless of the stated purpose.

In spite of the late notice and off-schedule day, the Bitch Pack was fairly well represented. Now that they have a mole reading this to keep me honest, I unfortunately can't report that the warm weather enticed them to show their support for British hunting by riding à la Camilla. In fact, since a response to that suggestion was received via email rather than verbally, I can't even pretend I heard it as "Fine" instead of "Swine". (But she can't deny having my stick in her teeth).

The afternoon's activity really turned into nothing more than a pleasant trail ride, moving at a fairly good pace much of the time. We were told in advance that, although we weren't "really hunting", that we would run anything we found. (Maybe I shouldn't use the word "anything", although it might be painfully accurate at times). But our tactics of intimidation were apparently very successful; no coyotes dared show themselves in our presence. They were left cowering in their dens as we triumphantly tramped through the territory. The afternoon did include one episode of sweet justice that needs no narration here, but those capable of appreciating it know what I'm talking about.

And now maybe it really is over. For the next few months, my horseplay may degenerate into my usual summer routine of hacking around the farm a couple of times a week, and an occasional haul to a trailride or maybe even an occasional schooling session somewhere. And I'm sure I won't be able to completely avoid being volunteered to work at an occasional horse trial.