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(As Told To
Daphne Hutchinson)
‘‘We’re really rather special dogs, you know,” bragged Slate Mills Sugar, Irvin Kenyon’s 12-year-old English Setter, as she lay basking in the sun last week in front of her cozy colonial dog house. Sugar and her kid brother Rappahannock, the Kenyon’s ten-year-old setter, were recounting adventures from their recent hunting expedition to Nebraska.
“Every dog has his day and we certainly had ours. Though I dare say there are ways I’d rather spend summer’s last warm weather than bouncing across country to some prickly sand hills.” She sighed with satisfaction and you could almost see the old dog lift her paw to give herself a little pit on the back.” The Master doesn't enjoy hunting if we're not with him. If he’s said it once, he's said it a thousand times—hunting’s just not hunting unless it’s with dogs. But I’ve spent 12 years with the man and just between you and me, I think he uses hunting as an excuse to get out in the woods for a walk. It’s kind of a busman’s holiday for him. He works for the game commission. Used to be warden right here in Rappahannock—now he’s over in Fauquier supervising the old Apple Manor Wildlife Preserve.” She shook her head. “You’d think he'd get his fill of tromping through the forests during work hours and be content to loll around the house here at Slate Mills and relax for his vacation. But not Irvin Kenyon,” said Sugar, scratching behind one of her silky black and white ears.
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