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Mr. Clyde Dale came to live with us on Mother’s Day 2021 after our other girl Bloodhound, Baka, passed away from aggressive lymphoma. Roxette had Roux and Baka since they were puppies and she wanted Roux to have another friend. We adopted Clyde from Atlanta Lab Rescue, which was assisting Southeast Bloodhound Rescue at the time. He was apparently running free with his Bloodhound gal pal, Bonnie, when they were picked up. Roxette had originally asked to adopt Bonnie, but the foster family fell in love with her. Clyde’s first adopters were out of the house some 12 or more hours a day with work, which Atlanta Lab didn’t think was a good fit, so they asked us if we’d take Clyde.
We were so happy that we did! We nursed him back to health from his emaciated 74 lb to his now appropriate 97 lb, putting him on a special diet to get his kidney disease under control, which was the result of being malnourished for God knows how long. When we first got him, his hair would fall out in droves if we just petted him; he now has a thick, curly mane, with a beautiful sheen. And his personality came out – BIGLY! He is such a love bug, character, and ham. He loves to sit and be petted for hours on end if we’d indulge him.
Bloodhounds, which are also known as St. Hubert Hounds, were bred in Belgium around 700 years ago. They have the keenest sense of smell of any dog with and estimated 300 million olfactory receptors, 40 times more than humans, they can track a scent more than 300 hours old, and often much older, and their tracking is admissible evidence in a court of law. The ears, skin folds, and copious amounts of snot and slobber actually assist with their tracking ability by holding in the scent. They can be obstinate, stubborn, and slaves to their noses.
Roux and Baka were the first Bloodhounds I met, and until then my only impression of them was that of vicious tracking dogs. Harriet Beecher Stowe in Uncle Tom’s Cabin first crafted that reputation, and resulted in the breed nearly being killed off due to fear, so powerful was her depiction. I probably read Uncle Tom’s Cabin in high school, but my recollection of the story and of bloodhounds is from Rodgers and Hammerstein's The King and I in the scene, “The Small House of Uncle Thomas.”
But Stowe was wrong. Bloodhounds are truly gentle giants. The are great working dogs if trained properly but they are also friendly, curious, and loving.
Since he is a rescue dog, we’ve been cognizant of keeping a close watch on Clyde, even making sure that he is leashed between the Houndbus and the house when we get back from hiking or walking. But he’s been good about going straight to the door and we’ve let our guard down of late, letting him go unleashed to the front door.
Just behind the “Shotgun Shack” is a small mountain of 200 ft with a nearly vertical incline. Our property goes up to the top of the ridge and then over the other side about ten yards. On the other side of the ridge is a small valley of 100 acres or so and then more hills and valleys. Deer and bear come down the hill and use the lane between our fence and the neighbor’s to head across the road and drink from the creek on the other side. One of the neighbor’s told us he heard a mountain lion in the hills not long ago and we’re sure there are coyotes as well as all sorts of smaller varmints in the forest.
Yesterday, at about 2:15 PM, when we returned home from the daily walk, I backed up to the front porch since we’d be heading to the store after letting dogs in. As I closed the hatch on the Highlander, we both turned our back on the dogs for all of 5 seconds. I turned to unlock the door and realized there was only one hound underfoot. “Where’s the other hound?” I asked. “Oh shit!” was all the Roxette could mutter as we both set down our drinks and ran around the left side of the house, which has no fence. Roux came running with us…
Clyde’s been amped up the last week or so about the critters up on the “hill” and there he was on the hillside, about 20 feet behind the back fence. We both called out to him but his nose and obstinate Bloodhound nature got the better of him and up the hill he went. Roux has been with Roxette since she was a puppy, and is no flight risk, but she is getting on in years and I didn’t want her injured on the climb up the hill thru the thick wood, so I hollered at Roxette to take her back to the house. She put the leash on Roux and they headed back down.
Up, up I went. Every time I called to him, he just looked back at me with this look like, “Game On!” and headed further up. Naughty hound dog! I was dealing with a minor head cold I came down with the day before and the air was already cold at 35 F. Suffice to say between the illness, the chill of the air, and the constant calling out to the dog, my lungs stung. Clyde, obsessed with the scent of whatever critter had caught his attention, was easily outrunning me.
About halfway up, I tried to call Roxette, but she didn’t answer. Hanging up, or so I thought, I put the phone back in my pocket and continued the chase. A few moments later, I heard a woman’s voice from the gadget. “I hate Facetiming!” I heard the voice say as I pulled the phone back out, only to realize I had somehow butt dialed my sister. “Sorry sis, I’m trying to find our dog! Talk later.” Roxette called me just after that, telling me that Roux was safe in the house and that she parked on a neighbor’s driveway about one quarter way up the hill.
The last time I saw Clyde, I was about 15 yards from the ridgeline and he was just at the top. I had to look down to ensure my footing and the next time I looked up, he was gone. I had no way of knowing which way he went – left or right down the now overgrown logging road on the crest or down the even steeper other side of the ridge and into the valley. Roxette reached the top shortly after I did and we spent the next five minutes calling out to him.
Winded, despondent, and with daylight burning, we headed back down the hill. When we got home, she immediately called the Home Again Pet Recovery, which has his chip number registered.
I decided to head out to look for him some more. As I passed a closed hotel, I saw a local police cruiser parked, and stopped to ask the officer to keep a look out for Mr. Clyde. I then headed east to a road that hooks into the valley behind our house from the north. That turned out to be futile, for about half a mile off the main road, Fox Hollow Road has a “Private” sign posted. Heading back south on Tuckahoe Road, I passed our house on the way to Grifts Mountain Trail, which hooks into the valley as well from the southwest side. Larry’s Deer Processing lies up this road and I stopped and chatted with Larry, who happened to be in, for about ten min. With no sign of Clyde, I headed back home.
Roxette had called the Greenbrier Humane Society, and once home I sent them a message on Facebook Messenger with Clyde’s vitals.
We then made posters and headed out again, with Roux in tow. The first we hung was on the utility pole at the end of our driveway. Next was at the church just down the street, where folks had started to gather to set up for the Christmas play. Our neighbor, who Roxette had only met once, whose driveway she parked on earlier, and whose house is farthest up the hill closest to where Clyde made his great escape, had just pulled in when we did. While she hung another poster, I introduced myself to Wayne and gave him one of the posters. A kind gent who stands easily six inches taller than I, he promised to keep an eye out for him. In all we put up about 18 posters on utility poles and at a few businesses.
By now, it was nearly 6:00 PM, and we were running out of steam. We went home, hearts heavy. When we got in, I looked at the dogs’ food station, and finally gave into the grief that Roxette had long ago surrendered to.
At the suggestion of the lady from Atlanta Lab, we set his station on the front porch with fresh food, water, and a blanket nearby. She suggested that they will usually stay in the local area for the first 24 to 48 hours then return home. “Yeah right!” Roxette thought; she has had hounds get away before but never had one return home on their own.
We had some soup, several glasses of alcohol, and watched two episodes of season four of the 2004 Battlestar Galactica reboot, which is our current guilty veg-out. Periodically, one of us would go out into the cold night and holler up the hill, “Clyde! Clyde! Come get your biscuits!” But Clyde remained on the run, God only knows where.
At 8:10, Wayne called to ask if we had found Clyde yet. I told him we hadn’t, and then he said his wife was going to put it out on her Facebook. Bless her. Not long after that, I got texts from several mutual friends offering info or to help in the morning. The one said that when her dogs had gotten out, they often ended up at Larry Deer Processing – good intel. The entire valley had rallied for us, praying for Clyde’s safe return.
Needless to say, we had a restless night. We were both worried about our wayward boy dog. It was supposed to go down to 26 F, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and he still had his choker collar on, which we feared might snag on something rendering him immobile. Would he tie it up with a bear, a coyote, a mountain lion? We knew he was scared and cold, or at least that is what we thought, and we kept beating ourselves up for letting him get away. But with the terrain Clyde was roaming in, Roxette was convinced he was gone for good. I kept drifting off, then waking up, only to pray and ask again for his safe return.
We both kept going out to holler up the hill for him and checking the food bowl thru the night. The last I checked time was about 3:00 AM and the food was still in the bowl. At 6:15, we decided to have some coffee in bed and then get up with the intention to go looking for him down by Larry’s and Wayne’s shortly after daybreak. I went to get us coffee but checked the food bowl out front first. I starred thru the glass of the French doors for a good 20 seconds in disbelief. The food was gone! I hustled back to the bedroom to put some sweats on, telling Roxette, “Someone ate the food!” She jumped up, got dressed, and followed me to the front of the house.
When I went out, I went around to the right side, where the yard is fenced and yelled for him. I immediately heard his tags and collar jingling at the back of the yard. I went over to the left side and yelled for him, elated to hear him running toward me!
When she saw the fresh drool in the bowl, she immediately knew that it was Clyde who ate the food. Roxette had already pulled in his food station, setting it inside by the door, and left the door open. In he went only to lap up the entire bowl of water. We gave him another cup of food, which he damn near inhaled. Roux finally came out and it was clear from their interaction - tails wagging and noses rubbing - that they were happy to see each other again. After lots of hugs and many queries of, “Where have you been, you crazy dog?” We gave them both their regular breakfast. Each dog has special dry food, Roux gets canned duck food mixed in, Clyde gets a homemade turkey blend mixed in, and water tops both to make a gravy. With a belly full of biscuits, Clyde settled into their living room “Big Barker” bed to pass out and Roux rested beside him, all right in her little world once again, now that her buddy was home.
We were both beyond grateful and more than jumbled up after the emotional roller coaster of the last 16 hours. Finally able to sit and have our coffee, we let it all sink in. It really felt more than a bit of a Christmas Miracle. I was amazed that he found his way back in the dark. When he came in, his fur wasn’t cold to the touch, as it usually is when the dogs go out in the yard for even ten minutes this time of year. We surmise he found his way back sometime after 3:00, ate the food, and rested at the back of the house near or next to the HVAC heat exchanger, where it’s a bit warmer than even five feet away. No matter how, he was home and safe.
Other than worn out, Clyde is no worse for the wear of his midnight romp thru the forest and mountains, there’s not a scratch on him. However, he does seem to be thinking, now that he’s awake again, “What the hell was I doing out there?” We wonder how much ground he covered and what adventures did he have? Did he find the bear he sought and chase it away, catch a bunny for dinner, or just have a refresher course on being a feral dog and learned his lesson that his warm trundle bed is a much-preferred bed-down location than the cold, damp, forest floor?
Here’s wishing all their own Christmas, Hanukah, or just special holiday miracle.
Namaste folks, thanks for reading, and keep fighting tyranny!
Mark
December 18, 2022
Postscript
For the record, yesterday, a few hours after Clyde came home and before I sat down to pen the story, I took down all the posters we had put up around town.
Mark
December 19, 2020
Bloodhound References:
Mark! So glad that Mr. Clyde came home! What an amazing story, and you told it so well. I lived the anxiety of Mr. Clyde‘s going AWOL and the elation of his returning. What a lucky boy he is that you and Roxette adopted him. Christmas blessings to all of you!