Madison, 11, and Fender Bender (aka Ben)

Somehow, I find it so very addicting. Addicting like I can’t stop. I don’t want to not think about it, or give up on it. It’s not like playing with a toy or a puppy; it’s running till my heart is warm, till I can’t feel my feet, till when I can hear a hound’s cry. This isn’t just a sport, it’s my favorite sport, Bear Creek Hounds foxhunting. I had the greatest day of my life.

It was a January day at 8:30 A.M when I had an experience of a lifetime—one that  took my breath away. It was cool, crisp, and clean; everyone’s tack was nice and oiled and ready to go. Hounds were sniffing around to get a feel. My legs shook with cold nervousness.  And then I heard the huntsman’s horn. Hearing that shining horn blow was like music to my ears.

I love it when I hear the crack of a whip. People’s horses jump in shocking motions! The Masters call out the “flights” as the horses and hounds dash forward. We were squeezed right in with first flight. We closed in tight together as we headed to our first coop! All that was running through my head was “What’s on the other side?!”  But then, I just gave rein and a little heel and I landed softly as if I landed on a cloud. I remember the mud squishing under my pony’s hooves.