Like the eminent judges agreed at the Puppy Show and commented “the Exmoor Huntsman is unique” – I will run with that.  And the quality of the hounds and the handling is pretty unique too – a bit special.   I thought you might like an early start! (Combines are rolling in East Anglia – won’t be long)  here is a little poem to send you on your way.  “When the opal lights in the West had died and night was wrapping the red ferns round, As I came home by the woodland side I heard the cry of a single hound.  The huntsman had gathered his pack and gone; the last late hoof had echoed away; the horn was twanging a long way on for the only hound that was still astray.  While, heedless of all but the work in hand, up through the brake where the brambles twine, crying his joy to a drowsy land Javelin drove on a burning line.  The air was sharp with a touch of frost, the moon came up like a wheel of gold; the wail at the end of the woods he crossed and flung away on the open wold.  And long as I listened beside the stile the larches echoed that eerie sound; steady and tireless, mile on mile, the hunting cry of a single hound. ”  Will H. Ogilvie

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