Foxhunting Entices Pony Clubbers To Write Stories

The annual Hildegard Neill Ritchie Writing Contest is open to all D- or C-rated Pony Club members. The first-placed winner will receive a $200 check as well as an engraved pewter plate, awarded at the USPC annual meeting on Jan. 18-22 in Kansas City.

The contest award is from a memorial fund established by friends of Mrs. Ritchie, who founded the Colorado Springs Pony Club in 1958 and was its district commissioner for 30 years. She was regional supervisor of the Colorado (now Rocky Mountain) Region for 12 years and hosted regional Pony Club camps on her ranch for 20-plus years. She served several terms as a USPC Governor and received the USPC Founders Award in 1989.

Gone To Ground
by L.C. Steiner
The mist was sprawled across the yard of the farm, masking the day's activities yet to come. Horse trailers were parked in neat rows off in a pasture on one side of the dirt driveway. Tied alongside the trailers were the eager hunt horses, sleek and saddled for a brisk morning meet.

By them were a few fat ponies, equally excited but not so much as to abandon their hay bags. People were dashing everywhere, waving to their friends and talking in loud voices.

I leaned up against the rickety old barn that stood in the corner of the commotion. So far no one had noticed me, as they were way too caught up in their own business of getting ready. I remained there, soaking in the sights and the sounds of the Misty River Hounds.

One trailer caught my interest more than the others, for the baying hounds were locked inside it. I had half a mind to saunter over and drive them mad. But instead of risking being caught, I decided otherwise. Besides, I'd have plenty of time to mess with their minds.

When the group finally got collected, I rose off my haunches and turned away into the mist. Soon, soon, I promised, as the last of me--the prized red brush--was swallowed into the haze. I continued forward, planning where I would make them run and where I would twist their game. Before too long, my plan had the overall ring of success. Behind me, a loud cry ushered the hounds together and the horn sang out. Let the games begin!

I ducked my way swiftly in front of the hounds and drew a large circle to start their hunt off, which would conveniently lead them back to their original starting point. As they usually did, they had begun next to the river--unknowingly opening a great option for me. Upon arriving back at the river, I dived in and began to stroll leisurely upstream. I knew that by the time they had reached there, my scent would be far down the stream, away from me.

Out of all the hounds, I guessed that perhaps one would have an idea of what I'd done, but I never thought he would chase it. With my knowledge of how stupid hounds are, I was almost positive he would turn back.

But on this hunt, I met the hound that proved my theory wrong. I was going along at the most easy stride, not at all concerned, but still keeping my fox sharpness on. The first sound was a loud splash, and then he came, noisily as hounds do. My heart was racing with the anticipation of the bustling hound discovering me. All corners of my mind were yelling instructions, none of which made sense. That was until the sudden crack of a whip made me leap back into reality. The hound gave a soft whine before going back to the hunt with the others, the wrong way!