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season.
For the first day of trout fishing season, Dad would normally take us somewhere up in Old Hollow, near Sperryville. The season would come in at noon, and we were almost always there on the bank, getting the best spot, with the hook baited by about 10:00 a.m., or so. Those were surely some of the longest hours I ever spent, waiting for noon.
The first day of hunting season was just as special. Dad would take us down to Ashby Butler’s house, near Woodville. I remember thinking Mr. Butler must have been about the luckiest person in the world, to five right there near that grown over field where the rabbits were so plentiful.
We had a couple of beagles, Spot and Bounce, and they were always ready to run a rabbit around for you. I think M.H. got the puppies somewhere, but they belonged to all of us. Spot was named for the big spot on his side, and Bounce was named for his unfortunate habit of wanting to sight race the rabbit rather than trail him by his scent. And when he lost sight of the cottontail, his first resort was to spring, or bounce, into the air like one of those little African deer or antelope to try and see his quarry over the
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