Echoes of the Hunting Horn 



seen far too many horses, while either at grass or riderless 

 at a hunt, butchered unmercifully by barbed wire. 



I remember a darling young filly of mine that broke 

 bounds during the night. She had jumped several 

 fences until she arrived at a small bank. It was scarcely 

 four feet high and was only about a foot wide on top. 

 A strand of barbed wire was concealed in the grass and 

 briars on its top. Evidently the filly jumped on to it, 

 but when jumping off, her hind legs slid under the 

 wire as they slipped down the other side of the bank. 

 The wire was firmly stapled to stout whitethorns on 

 either side of her. She couldn't kick free, as the bank 

 was behind her, so she spent the whole night hung up 

 by her hocks, or rather by what was left of her hocks. 

 Cut to the bone, she was a pitiable sight, and when we 

 released her she slumped down exhausted into a pool 

 of her own blood. 



I remember another beautiful hunter that had shipped 

 his pilot at a big double-wall. He was worth around 

 120, and would probably cross 200 to-day. We were 

 galloping towards a new plantation that was fenced by 

 a six-strand wire paling. A gate on the left led to a 

 boreen, but the riderless horse thundered slap-bang into 

 that wire paling. I never believed such a thing could 

 happen, but five of those posts snapped across at the 

 ground as if they had been match-sticks. He tumbled, 

 he plunged, he rolled over, but all his efforts only served 

 to entangle him the more. When, eventually, he strug- 

 gled free, he looked as though he had rolled over and 

 over on a dump of broken bottles. That magnificent 



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