Hunting with dogs is like a drug to some people. I love it, but I have met dozens of lads who are on another level and leave me for dust.
A chap I met a couple of years ago, Mick Creavy, didn't get his first job until he was 26. He had a terrier given to him as a 10-year-old lad, and that was his fate. However, he ended up keeping running dogs. He was into match coursing, they would leave at first light and spend all day coursing wherever they could get away with it, until either the old bill turned up or the farmers ran them off. An interesting character to chat to.
I was out most nights in the winter lamping with my dogs. I'd get an hour's kip after tea, and then be off until the lead-acid batteries ran out of juice.
I remember it blowing up a hoolie one evening and made sure the batteries were ready to go. It was absolutely carnage out that night. The rabbits were flooded out of their burrows and sitting on the meadows looking for a dry patch. I lamped until the batteries died, one of them went up in a puff of fumes, the water had short-circuited it. I ended up dropping the rabbits off in clumps to pick up the next day with the van.
Anyhow, I woke up the next day, put the TV on and the news was all about the great storm the night before.. 1987. I'll always remember that one!
