Update, Wednesday, March 14: The hound, whose name is Mayday, was picked up by the breeder's family along with a pack-mate who'd found a friend of mine. Stay tuned for a post about this.
Yesterday, we found a hound. Actually, the hound found us.
Today, we impounded the hound in our kennel.
The nice-looking hound is an un-neutered male. He might be a Walker or a foxhound—some hound breed with long legs. He's sweet and personable, respectful of cats, good around a horse, doesn't seem interested in cows, and he has numbers on his sides. One side looks like it might be a 518 or a 513.
The other side looks like it might be a 612, but I'm not sure. He might have been numbered because he was in some sort of competition.
Last evening, he really wanted in our kennel, but Maggie—who micro-manages the kennel—wasn't keen on that idea. He'd tried to get into a neighbor's kennel that morning. This morning he was outside the garage door. He followed me around and I gave him a modest breakfast. Oddly, he doesn't eat dry food, only canned food.
Today, my husband got him into the kennel without incident. He went to sleep in the grass. Below, Maggie tries to show him the finer points of digging a rat-hole, but he isn't interested.
Harley the Catahoula shows him around . . .
. . . and watches while he naps.
He dozes off while Hubert the elderly beagle watches.
Hubert decides a nap sounds like a good idea.
If this is your hound, or you know who he belongs to, let me know by clicking here
I think this hound really wants to go home. When he walked with me to the paperbox this morning, he looked intently at every truck that went by.
Labels: dogs, rural living