The Thrill of the Hunt
The other day I was sitting in my office, my thinking space, the place I have dubbed The Idea Factory. I’m amazed at the things that come to mind as I sit in that space. Oh, I have a constant flood of ideas most of the time, but there’s something about getting in that space, that getaway, out of the flow of the constant day-to-day.
As I sat there, I was studying the cover of a framed magazine I have on display, a gift to me from my wife’s uncle. In recent months, Uncle Jimmy had read my first book, Almost Home, Setting Our Sights Toward Heaven, and one of the stories I portray really stood out to him, being the outdoorsman that he is. The following is an excerpt from chapter ten of my book:
When I was a young boy growing up in the great state of Arkansas, we were exposed to all manner of country life, for which I am forever grateful. One of the things that has been grafted onto our family tree was a love for hound dogs, especially beagles. I’m not exactly sure how it came about, but for whatever reason, my dad introduced several beagles into the family over the years. He loved having them around. And one of the primary things that beagles love to do— what God put them on this earth to do—is to hunt.
In those early beagle years, I was thrilled to have a wonderful, friendly dog at our place to lie on the front porch and just have around. When we ventured out on our property, away from their comfortable spot on the porch, I learned how much they loved to chase rabbits. So, we began to take the dogs with us, along with our guns, to chase rabbits out of some thicket in hopes of shooting some and bringing them home to throw into a pot of stew. While it was a wonderful thing to bring home some wild game for food, my dad, the beagles, and I loved the hunt most of all.
On our hunting expeditions, the beagles would be drawn to an area thought to be the hiding place of a rabbit. They would put their noses to the ground and get busy doing what they did best. After a quick evaluation of the area, the beagles would start yelping, excited to have found the scent of a varmint, hopefully a rabbit. The chase would be on as the hounds continued to sniff, search, and yelp. We attempted to keep up with them down the first rabbit trail, but before long, they would turn and head into another direction, then another, and another. At times, the hunt would be fruitful, but at other times, it would wind up taking us in circles, no rabbit in sight.
Stick with me, here. I am about to take you down a rabbit trail or two, but if you persist, we will get to the pot of stew at the end.
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Many times, I can’t help but think that I am on an eternal rabbit trail. Like a beagle, I catch the scent of a “rabbit” and I’m gone! Down the trail I go, running in circles at times, likely being tricked by the rabbit a lot. But I love to run the trail, to sniff the scent, to yelp and bark in anticipation of the hunt. The thrill of the hunt is what I’m after.
I suppose I do actually catch a rabbit or two along the way, but that is only a small prize. The reward to me is in the process, the running, the rush of adrenaline and emotionally driven pursuit of the creative itch, the longing for something new.
I remember a trip to the zoo years ago when the kids were younger. Of course, we wandered around and looked at the elephants, monkeys, giraffes and a whole variety of other wildlife from faraway places. But then we walked into one of the saddest artificial habitats, one of the enclosed areas for birds. There, inside a nice, large enclosed atrium was a bald eagle, perched there in all its magnificence. On the ground beneath the perch was the eagle’s food, a dead mouse. Somehow, in all its glory, I couldn’t help but think that that eagle, designed by its Creator to fly high in the sky and hunt for its food, was just as sad as it could be. It just sat there, uninterested in the lifeless food it had been given.
When thinking about the beagles we used to have, and the fences we kept them caged inside of, I can remember how they would get all excited when we would come out to bring them their food. I suppose they had the natural satisfaction of fulfilling their need for sustenance, but it wasn’t what they were destined for. If I were a tame, caged beagle and I had someone throw me a rabbit from time to time just to appease my urge, I would grow weary of it.
I believe this is the case for most of us. We have been put in cages by our society, fed a bowl of ground-up corn meal made into something called food and told to like it.
Oh, may we find our calling and break out of the cages of life. Many of those cages we have surrounded ourselves with, like security, comfort, conformance and the like.
I am thankful to be free, to have been given the opportunity to explore the world around me, as well as the world inside my head. Had I remained a “beagle in a cage”, I would have never written my first book, never had the time freedom to be writing this.
I smell another “rabbit” I must pursue. Gotta run!