FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Fox Hunt 1 - 2012-0824.2127 Adult anthro characters, all text and situation (c)2012 Kevin Foxboy

I woke up before dawn Saturday to join my packmates for a foxhunt. As employees of the Main Line Anthro Hunt Club, we were to be the hunt dogs. we gathered at the stables to get our instructions from Master Alfonse, our HuntMaster.

The Hunt Club Charter says that we consider hunting to be a relaxing way to spend a morning. As there are few animal foxes in North Eastern America, we Anthros do roleplay. We met the woman who was to be our 'fox' today, and perhaps we should call it a 'vixen hunt'.

Alice was definitely a fox. I mean a human woman with a fantastic body. She's a young woman, maybe 19, and she's been being hunted for at least two years. Yeah, before she was adult. Anyway, Alice stays at the Hunt Club and she's well cared-for.

She's exercised every day, fed and watered, walked, jogged and run, then walked more for cool-down. If I sound like she's treated as the horses are, it's because the level of care is written into her contract.

Maybe I should explain. It's just a fact that some adults like to relax by obeying orders, and others like to play by giving them. The Hunt Club simply acknowledges the interest and advertises discreetly for members.

Those men and women who like giving orders can come and relax in the Trophy Room. It's a large lounge-bar-restaurant room with several raised platforms and alcoves. I don't know how much it costs to join as a Hunter, just that I can't afford it.

The people like me who enjoy taking orders are playing submissives. Male subs and female subbes aren't slaves, we're like employees, and we get paid for domestic service like bussing tables and scrubbing floors.

Or we can just relax and have fun on the weekend hunts. It's a chance for social gathering, just shooting the breeze. But the main purpose is for a good run through the woods surrounding the estate.

Just like an old-fashioned European Foxhunt, the Dominants wear long shirts and breeches, red overcoats and high leather boots. And they ride horses, either their own they can truck in or have kept in the stables, or the estate beasts. We keep almost fifty of them, for different hunts.

As Alice and the role-play dogs knelt on the cool grass wet with dew, Master Alfonse instructed us in the path and expected behaviour for this hunt. As we were all adults role-playing animals, we had gone to the changing room, undressed and stored our street clothing.

* - *

Pants come off first, hung up in the locker with our shirts. Shoes, socks, briefs go in the plastic bin; and we take a quick shower. Since we're all adults we've gotten over the adolescent fascination with nudity, so it's not a problem for Alice and the female dogs to shower with us.

Oh, sure, we soap each other and rub the hard-to-reach spots. We're all friendly, so sure there's some consensual groping and fondling. It just wakes us up and gets us eager to run.

Part of the kinky adult roleplay is, we dry off and put on roughly woven unbleached g-strings to avoid uncontrolled swinging of parts. I know animal dogs don't bother cause they have fur, but we're human. Then we put on the fur in winter, or the body paint if it's warm.

How else are we gonna see Alice as a vixen, or each other as dogs? I decided to be a Dalmatian this time, so I put on the white leg covers, then the arms. We were going to be running, and that gets us hot, so we left off the torso pieces.

I said this is an adult story, and so far I just mentioned the co-ed nudity. But to add to the anthro fun, Alice picked up the bushy fox tail, and we pack dogs picked out different tails according to our breeds.

Another thing about prep time is where we wear the tails. I know there are people just interested in looking like animals. They call themselves 'Furries' and some of them build or buy complete fur suits of their chosen animal. But they're just dilettantes, even if they wear the fur 24/7, because their tails are just pinned or belted on.

But we Hunt Club submissives are more serious. We take turns in the Enema Room, and you read that right. We all rinse ourselves out thoroughly, so we need to help each other. Then we insert a butt-plug, nice and tight with a few twists for thrills. And the fake fur tails attach, after we put on the g-strings, and fish the plug stub through the sleeve in back.

Rhonda and Stan had taken the other two Dalmatian furs. I helped Rhonda with her tail while she stuffed Stan. With the plugs seated, we walk and run a bit different, and they were still getting used to the 'full' feeling.

On the other paw, I used to do similar things during college, and I'm used to rinsing myself, seating the plug, and wearing the g-string and tail. The fourth Dalmatian fur was being repaired, so Janice had to choose a single-color black number that slid up her sexy thighs high enough to cover her rump.

Now personally I prefer a bare rump to let the sensuous fake fur caress my flesh, so the Dal legs were more like chaps. After all, the g- string covered my naughties in front, and my tail anchor in back.

* - *

I don't know all my packmates, but there were several Poodles (standard, not the silly puff cut ones), Rottweilers and German Shepherds. Most of us had done this before, but Eric seemed a bit confused, especially with where the tail was attached.

We really didn't have much time to change, and it doesn't take that much time when we help each other. Mostly it's just getting the anchors seated correctly. So we didn't have time to rub the male's prostates or the females before being leashed and led to that cool grass.

As Master Alfonse told us we'd be taking the yellow path today, a sexy woman in a Dingo suit showed us the map. Sure we were going to follow Alice Vixen, but she needed to know the path to take, because we weren't real dogs and had to just pretend to catch her scent.

Master Alfonse had been doing these hunts for twelve years at the Main Line Hunt Club, and before that he'd spent five at the Gulf Mills Club. Actually they seemed a bit stuck up from what he told us, and he preferred the more laid-back suburbs.

The fact that he'd met me way back when I was in college doing Live Action Role Play as a pet dog gave me the referral I needed to get into this Club. As an old guy, I probably wouldn't have made it otherwise.

Sure, most of the lecture was for Alice. It wouldn't do to just run in a straight line to the safety cabin, which would end the hunt way too early. If they were doing a morning and afternoon hunt there'd be a second vixen, but the Hunters had paid for a longer hunt, and Alice had the stamina to give us a good long run.

So she was to run along the west path, following the yellow flags. I'm pretty sure none of these rich Main Line men and women really know enough woodsmanship to realise that there *is* a marked trail, much less five of them and several variations. We used the double red last week, and that took rather a while.

Also, Alice is a woman, not a vulpine. None of us are built to run on all fours, although I have an idea for arm and leg extensions so we're not hitting our human knees. So it's a two-legged run, with a vixen out front jinking around as if to fool us dogs, who take turns barking to make it seem authentic.

We're in the entertainment business, so we give paying guests a good show. Our foxes get considerable choice as to alternate paths, because it's more fun. And she gets to jump up in trees, because real foxes do, to make us dogs 'lose her scent' and have to mill around.

Now real dogs would have their heads down and snuff the ground with their long snouts. Master Alfonse reminded us of the trail signs Alice would leave, on purpose, and we were to look for. The trick is, he would signal us with a short blast on his horn.

* - *

It meant Alice was to do something tricky to increase the drama. She had a repertoire, such as drop and roll, which would hide her paw prints. We're all human, so we have to really hunt by sight, but we can hear her if the horses are quiet and she's not.

We get to mill around like we're confused, then I play lead dog and pick a direction to run. Usually the pack follows, but we have to be careful not to make too many false starts because of the guests.

Master Alfonse told me what leads to take. The guests would never know it was all carefully choreographed, even the solo improv. Besides, we dogs already knew where our vixen quarry was headed.

Finally the grooms brought the horses, and we dogs went out barking excitedly. We wanted to seem eager, so the horses would scrape with their hooves and chuff. All adds to the drama for the guests.

I'm not sure any of them knew how we were wearing the tails. Sure they saw 'em hanging quietly, but the trick is, we can use our rump muscles to move the anchors, and make the tails swish back and forth.

There were never enough people willing to clean horse waste in the kennels. That's why I volunteer when I'm not being a dog. I don't want to get the costumes dirty, the fake fur's a bitch to dry-clean.

As a result, there isn't one groom for each horse. We go out of dog role to help the guests mount, even though we have a short set of stairs they can climb. Since horses are bigger mammals than humans, some have trouble just standing on the horse's left, stepping into the left stirrup, gripping the saddle pommel and lifting their right leg over the saddle while pulling themselves up.

If you've never been served by a fifty-year-old in a dog costume holding your mount while you sit on him (the horse, not me) and wiggling his butt to make the fake tail wave, you might not appreciate the image.

* - *

Anyway, once the horses were mounted, Alice was brought out in her vixen outfit. She looks really yummy with just her g-string and bra, but I liked the fur look. Especially that big bushy fox tail swishing and her fake muzzle mask. As well as the fact she was locked in a bondage cage and crouching like a real fox but with her butt rather high up.

Alice is an exhibitionist. I mean she likes parading around the estate completely nude, and frankly the men stop roleplaying to look at her luscious, well-toned muscles. Yeah, that's it, sure, her muscles.

Alice was acting like a wild vixen trapped and caged. She let the cart horse walk around the mounted guests so they could all get a good look at the morning's quarry. The horses knew what was happening when all the dogs were brought out, leashed like animals, and they thought it was just kink.

They probably never knew how much we submissives enjoy relaxing, giving up all our cares to our handlers, and being led leashed in costume. The guests had all seen our faces when we helped them mount, and now we were fitted with the dog masks.

I may have forgotten to mention the shoes and gloves. They're ballet slippers with fur glued on the top, and rubber spacers cut into dog-paw shapes to run on. In damp mud, we leave the canine-shaped paw print with the two- lobed vague triangle main print, the four toe-pad prints, even the claw marks.

Tooting my own horn, I thought of the clawmarks, even though the maintenance on such a small detail is a lot. Most of the slippers don't bother with clawpads. I'm still working on how to get them to support our human feet when we run just on the balls of our feet with our heels in the air like real digitigrade carnivores.

The furry gloves also have paw-pad rubber on them. They have the fur all over, on the back and underside, except for the triangle pawpad and the toe pads. The gloves have short front-paw toes and make our fingers look short and our front paws longer, just like real dogs.

The masks are leather, and just add a dog snout. Although they're hollow, they're double-tubed so they don't just collapse when you push on them. That'd ruin the dog image. They strap on around our heads and up over our foreheads, buckled to our collars. The trick is, the snout's just snapped on, so it comes off for safety if anything hits it hard.

OK, you're probably chafing at all this damn detail. You wanna read about a practically-naked young woman with perky breasts being chased through the woods. I'll get on with it now.

* - *

The guests were dressed and mounted, the dogs were in costume and barking, so Master Alfonse blew his horn for attention and told the riders how the hunt would be done. You know, stay on the horse, stay on the trail, follow the dogs.

Of course the horses knew what to do, it was partly a test of our guests' equestrian skills. If you don't post to the gallop you'll get a very sore rear when it hits the saddle, and throw the horse off stride.

A ceremonial horn flourish, and a trainer flicked the bondage cage open. Alice darted out instantly, rolled for effect and came up running. She headed off to the woods at a slow sprint, Master Alfonse carefully timed two minutes, honked and the trainers unleashed us hunt dogs.

Off we ran, barking for effect, and Master Alfonse walked his horse a few steps, then slapped him up to a trot. He made sure the guests were following, then galloped off. Following the dogs, the hunt was on!

Now I don't know how much you know about animal fox hunts. I think we were pretty much following the European rules, except the fox and dogs were humans. Ernest and Roberta were the human hunt helpers, riding mid and rear of the hunt horses to catch any stragglers.

And to be honest, to avoid legal liability. The Hunt Club owns a large property, and it's surrounded by the estates of the founding members. They designed it that way, keeping the property fences but lowering the gates for hunts. They guide the horses to the gates, so they can jump and give the old fogeys (and fogey-esses) a thrill, but not hurt them.

Because if you try to jump the stone fences and guide the horse wrong, it either shies away and you fly over its head to land wham! on the hard ground, or it fails the leap, hurts its fetlocks, and lands on top of you. You do not want a five-hundred pound horse tripping over you!

Ernest and Roberta have the unenviable task of checking up on the Hunters' equestrian skills and whooping to scare them (so they let the horse take the jump) and the horse, so it leaps harder and clears the gate.

And there's a trick for us dogs too. Real dogs are small enough to just jump through the widely-spaced gate bars, but we humans aren't. So there's a ramp on the near side we run up and over the stone fence, and then down the far side. It's dangerous to jump off a five-foot-tall stone fence on human ankles.

To be safe, the ramps are so strong they can take a horse clattering up, over, and down. We try to give the guests more of a thrill going over the gates, and if you've never seen practically naked men and women (skimpy g- strings and fur, remember?) with their fake tails flying over the fences, you really should come on a hunt.

* - *

Anyway, as Alice ran in her vixen suit, her pawprints showed clearly on the damp grass. She'd slowed to a jog, so she could keep it up the whole hunt, but we dogs were close enough to the ground we could see her pace shortening. So we matched her, to give the Hunters time to enjoy the run, and Stan was lead at the time, so he saw where she'd rolled and matted down the grass.

It wouldn't be much of an outing if the horses just galloped along in a straight line till they got tired. Alice had taken the yellow path from the lounge front lawn, and that's an Intermediate run, up and down hills and the stone fences.

Alice had taken a turn through the small lake, and by the time the dogs arrived she'd swum across and run off the far side. Of course we humans role- playing dogs knew perfectly well where she'd gone, but we did the dog thing and started milling around like we were confused.

We'd lost the scent, and needed a human to figure out what to do next. A few of the mounted Hunters charged ahead and went in the lake, which of course soaked their boots and feet as water went over the top. Horses can swim, although with skinny legs it's arduous, and their torsos sink pretty far down.

Some of the savvy riders had turned their mounts and just got the hooves and pasterns wet. The heavy horses just mashed up the grass, killing any scent or trail sign Alice might have left, and that was dumb of them. I think they just got overconfident, because Leroy nosed around like the Beagle he was and found the pile of stones.

Someone's horse had knocked them aside trying to get out of the lake, so the guidance was lost. That's why I said letting them trample the shore was dumb. Now we knew that Alice had taken the time to set up a sign off to the South, and she didn't purposely misdirect Hunters unless they were Advanced.

So we dogs just sniffed the stones, and sure enough, there was Alice's artificial vixen scent. That had to be left on purpose, and I don't think any of the guests noticed the wet puddle nearby. But we dogs did, and knew exactly what she'd done, because we hadn't been allowed to empty ourselves from overnight.

Most of the dogs took the opportunity to open our g-string cups, because real dogs wet when they scent female, even vixen. We're all adults and we submissives of all genders (there are more than two!) are used to seeing each other. Modesty and shyness are for free people.

Anyway, the prudes are probably upset, so I'll move on. The vixen scent disappeared in the lake, and animal foxes don't hold their breath, so we didn't bother patting down the reeds to check for tricks. Alfonse just led his dog pack around the lake and had us sniff around to pick up Alice's trail.

* - *

This time he made sure the horses stayed back. After we found Alice's exit point and the carefully placed logs, I was glad they hadn't ruined the marks. Bark, Bark! We dogs picked up the trail (of course we could all see the yellow trail marks on the trees, but we were supposed to be canines hunt- ing by scent) and Leroy noticed the broken tree limbs.

He started nosing around the base of the tree like a dog, pretending to scent vixen. Alice had climbed up the back and panted awhile, then climbed down and pushed the ladder into the underbrush. I'm pretty sure even the guests who'd been on the yellow trail before never noticed either the ladder or the paint marks.

Anyway, after nosing around awhile and jumping up at the tree, Ernest poked the dog and he got down and followed the left-paw alternate. After all, that's where Alice had rolled around before getting back up to run. I'm not good enough at reading sign to know how far we were behind her.

Now, an animal fox running for her life would probably run along a branch and leap over to the next tree to try to lose the hunting pack. I knew Alice could've done much the same thing, because I'd seen HuntMaster Alfonse put the rope up there.

Alice could've done the Tarzan swing over to the old Oak because it had been tricked out with hidden footholds to climb up or down. Perhaps she was already getting tired, and just plopped back down. Maybe an Advanced Hunt on the yellow would include tricks like that.

Anyway, as I ran off with the pack I noticed the ground was squishy, so I circled back as if to check the rest of the pack. I crouched down like an animal and sniffed Alice's fake vixen scent.

Now I don't know where Alice kept the vial, just that it had to be kept warm with body heat to give off its fragrance. I had a kinky idea about it, but no proof. But she had no pockets in that vixen suit, and she needed both gloved paws to climb trees.

Anyway, after Stan noticed my attention, he wandered over with Rhonda, and we three Dalmatians spotted around briefly before running off with the pack. Alice's wet trail sign was off the path to the left, but we ignored it and went on right where the matted grass was.

It was just as well, because it turned out the wet was a red herring. I'm pretty sure others noted the scent, and maybe they were used to Alice's tricks. As we passed the next stone fence (Beginner Hunters get strong ramps on approach and exit, but Intermediates don't) Our fur leggings protected our legs from the rough stones.

If you've never seen practically naked young men and women clamber over stones, you haven't seen the strategically placed fake fur tails hide our intimacies. Since we don't have spine extensions, we can't wave the tails, so they just hang quietly.

* - *

Now, I mentioned in passing that since I'm an old guy I was lucky to be allowed to submit in the Hunt Club. I could only keep up because the dogs stopped and milled around every once in awhile, and I haven't been hunted myself for years. I'd have to be in a lot better condition, and I won't have much longer before I'm kept at the Lounge.

It won't be as much fun for me there, but I'm supposed to be a dog for the guests' entertainment. I know Eddie and Lena are almost my age, and they've been House Dogs since they joined. I hope the mild cortisone shots the vet gives me will carry me through a while.

OK enough about the Dalmatian. By this time we'd been out about two hours, and we had gone a little over halfway along the yellow path. It was time for Alice to do something tricky to keep the Hunter's attention, and they were rather crashing through the brush on their horses. I don't think they were really looking carefully for vixen.

But Stan was, and Leroy saw the flash of red up ahead that signaled Alice's tail waving. She does it on purpose, and I'd like to watch her handle it. I'd like to handle Alice's tail too, and I'm not so old I've forgotten about where it's attached and what I wanna do with her.

Anyway, Alice was almost at the third turn, and we were having a bit of trouble keeping up. That delay at the lake was still haunting us, and the tree trick had slowed some of the riders. As well-trained hunt dogs we didn't just run off and leave them behind.

I think Alice knew it, and slowed down a bit to keep the hunt inter- esting. We dogs hadn't caught the flash before, and I think we got overcon- fident. We ran toward the flash, and we forgot this was the Intermediate path with the Fox Trick improv.

We really should have been paying better attention. After all, she'd fooled us at the lake, and slowed us at the tree. Stan and Leroy should have known better and led the pack around the trap.

As we crested the next rise, intent only on our quarry, we ran head on past the vines. The fact they were placed in straight lines should have alerted us. The crashing noise behind us as the loose ones on the ground suddenly tightened and tripped the first few horses was the first clue we were in trouble.

Of course only the foolish Hunts-men and -Women who urged their horses on got stopped. Only one of the horses actually slid to the ground, and the rider was bright enough to hold on and not get tossed into a tree. The other three horses just hobbled along and regained their footing.

If Alice had been a fugitive, she could have really hurt people and horses. As it was, the vines snapped easily enough, and no damage done except to their dignity. But when the ground gave way under the dogs, we found our- selves knee-deep in mud with grass floating on top, hiding it.

Again, if it'd been a real trap we could've been seriously injured. It was also a surprise for Master Alfonse, because he looked around and saw the red marks on the trees, and we were supposed to be hunting down the yellow.

We had stumbled off the correct path Alice had been following, because we were trying to out-flank that red flash of vixen tail. While the hunters were getting back on their horses, Master Alfonse took out his map and had a conversation with his helpers Ernest and Roberta.

If Alice had strayed off course into the red Advanced trail, she'd be in serious trouble for violating the Hunt Club's rules. Anybody actually hurt could sue the Club, and the insurance would go up. None of the employees had any right to incur legal trouble.

It would be Alice's hide to pay, and I don't mean a fursuit. As it was, Master Alfonse had laid out the courses himself, and knew perfectly well we were off course. What he was upset about, besides the liability issue, was the fact the Red trail traps had been set.

It'd take at least a half hour to set up the vines to trigger the trippers, and Alice didn't have a half hour head start. Then too, it hadn't rained that day, so the trough shouldn't be muddy.

We were out in the forest, and there were no long garden hoses to use to make mud. Alice couldn't run carrying that much water, so how the hell had the traps been set, and by whom?

* - *

Well, of course we were human submissives role-playing dogs, wearing fake fur legs and arms. Oh, and remember the tails. The fake fur is water- resistant, but we knew we were wrong to test that, and Master Alfonse was angry at us all for delaying the hunt.

He tossed his lariat at the nearest dog, and angrily told her to hold on. He backed his horse up (they have a reverse, you know) just till she got her knee on solid ground, then snapped the rope and she knew to release,

Well, Master Alfonse got us all out, with Master Ernest and Mistress Roberta helping with their horses and lariats. They were all angry, and we all knelt on the dry grass and hung our heads. Some of us whimpered, just like dogs who know they're in trouble.

Alice had probably not stayed around to watch. I'm sure she ran away, past the second aid station and third road fork. Actually, since this's a yellow path, it's a path going up and down hills, over stone fences, and some odd dog-legs to keep it interesting.

We didn't even know if she'd avoided the knee-high traps, because they were right in our way as we ran, barking and chasing her. I heartily recommend you try chasing a scantily-clad nineteen-year-old woman through the woods. Barking is optional.

Now, if Alice had stayed on the yellow path, she wouldn't have run down here at all. Master Alfonse left his cringing dog pack and back-tracked the red marks to where they intersected the yellow.

Now, if you've never heard a strong Dominant curse at the top of his lungs, just know that we dogs flattened in fear of his anger, Master Ernest snickered at us and Mistress Roberta chuckled. We dogs were too scared of a Dominant's anger to note he was angry because he'd laid out these paths him- self. And he knew the red was supposed to run south of the yellow, not cross.

So somebody had been fooling around with the marks! On closer inspec- tion, Master Alfonse saw that the red marks were plastic strips tied on the trees, not the paint marks the Hunt Club used. This was definitely their private property, so who the *hell* had been trespassing?!

Well the good news is, since the dog pack was all submissives, it wasn't our fault about the wrong marks, and just annoying we'd been misled. Master Alfonse made sure everyone was unhurt and got them all remounted. He led us uphill back to the yellow.

And he knew which way to turn, to go on ahead. Mistress Roberta ordered us up of our knees, so we all obeyed. We got regrouped, and despite the muddy legs we ran off when the horn sounded.

We had no idea where Alice was. If she heard the horn, she probably thought it was the signal to do something tricky, and if she hadn't laid the traps she wouldn't know we were tired and achy.

I said I was wearing a Dalmatian suit today, and Janice was in a sexy black suit. I don't know enough about dog breeds, maybe she was a collie or German shepherd. The tail wasn't docked like a Doberman or Rottweiler. In fact I don't think any of the fake tails are docked.

Maybe if you just wear the anchor alone ... but I'm getting off topic. We hadn't seen the flash of Alice's tail since before that rise, and now we were anxious. We were afraid of failing again and ruining the hunt. That's probably why we missed the tree sign the first time by.

* - *

Part of this Intermediate run was the ox-bow in the creek we had to paddle through. Horses are tall enough to just splash their way, and even people could wade. But it's faster to just go on all fours and splash. At least we got the mud off our arms and legs, and we just crossed.

But it did give us a chance to get our fake muzzles wet, and I was quite interested in Janice's wet g-string and bra. Did I forget to mention the bras before? I'm adult, and I've seen enough bare-breasted young women to appreciate their curves and to get over the adolescent fascination with nudity.

Except for the fur, you've already seen women in bikinis, showing lots of yummy flank and thigh. Imagine a beautiful woman wet from the pool and take a time out. I'll wait til your mind returns.

OK, Janice the black-furred bitch, and the Dalmatian dog. When we get back to the Lounge I wanna roll around with her. Just to dry the fur, sure that's all. I've enjoyed rolling with Alice, in or out of costume.

Anyway, we dogs jogged on down the trail, barking rather forlornly instead of eagerly. We missed the pattern in the grass showing where Alice had run, and Master Alfonse had to honk his horn to get us back.

Up on horseback he let the horse trot, or maybe canter, and he could see ahead. As HuntMaster he knew the paths since he'd laid them out, and we were all back on course chasing vixen tail. There were only a few more hills and tricky places to hide, and Alice had been improvising quite well.

So I think the Hunters were more attentive now they'd been fooled a few times. Anyway, I hoped they appreciated us milling around like real dogs, and needing a human to guide us. I'm fairly sure the Beginners were just amused by the roleplay and weren't in on the kinky stuff yet.

Now, I know someone out there will think people dressing up as dogs is kinky. OK, we'll deal with it, you're the guest. But c'mon, you watch Disney movies with anthro animals, and how come, you don't think they're kinky too, hmm? Or Beast for that matter, he's a cursed human.

You go to amusement parks or sports and see people dressed as animals. OK, you know they're mascots, and the character is owned by some big company. To be blunt, it boils down to them shaking you by the shoulders and saying, "Pay us a lot for admission. You have to have fun now!"

We at the main Line Hunt Club don't bother y'all that way. We dress up and serve drinks and food, or run on the paths. You can enjoy if you want.