I grew up with a lot of foxies. My mum kept a particularly wild strain that was her father's. As kids, every weekend with friends started by selecting which dogs to run, then going to the garden shed and picking your weapon. Hammer, slasher it didn't matter. Our record in one morning was 18 possums. One particular bitch 'pip', would climb trees then fall out attached to a possum. Spent hours digging her out of rabbit holes, bailed the odd pig, ratted the chicken coop, and when dad's labs were gone, fetched ducks. She was addressed by all the common curses but it didn't matter as she responded to none of them. The most fun you can have with your pants on
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