By james art 
Hazen – NASCAR has nothing of a good rabbit race.
The long -awaited event took place on February 8 in Prari County on a farm owned by Harlan Cavines, owner of cattle and quail. Hunting honored the late Holis Foster from Holly Grove, hunting rabbits near Bob Rogers and me by 2023.
Rogers, Matt Gladish, Trenton Mosbi, Frasers Mosby, Bill Fry, Chris Green, Jason Kaynes and Wesley Neil participated this year. With regard to the number of hunters and the number of dogs involved, it was our largest hunting so far. It was also our most productive for the number of rabbits we have collected and it doesn’t make a mistake, that was the question. Miss Jill, Jason Kaynes’s wife, is highly inflamed by rabbits, invading her garden. Sharing your vintage with wildlife is part of rural life, but she went out of control. The 16 rabbits that you iron and Jason Cavizota received two weeks before, did not raise the population. It was a job for a greater army.
Some people hunt deer, but their passion is ducks. Some people hunt ducks, but their passion is deer. Trenton Mosby was right where he wanted to be. On the barrel of his Benelli Nova rifle are the remains of a green neck that said, “You stupid Wabbit!” He pursues them with zealously and follows them where others dare not step. His father Foster Mosby is his equal. They are worthy representatives of the legacy of Holis Foster, the most rated rabbit hunter I know. Foster was so respected in this country that you are ironing to enchant your cap when mentioning Foster’s name.
Dogs are the real stars of rabbit hunting. The great Beagle Gladish Buddha led this package. Wesley Neil, who trains Rabbish Beagles, joined a bunch of his dogs. They were worried to run and hit the aroma as they were dissolved. Crushing and barking, they flushed about six rabbits of hedges between the garden and the alley. The race was too sudden, so no one was able to shoot when the rabbits escaped from the bushes.
“Get ready! One is about to cross the road!” Trenton shouted.
Rogers and I were in a place where we couldn’t shoot, so we stood and watched the rabbits intersect in front of us. Trenton threw himself at the opposite side of the hedge and collected one. Foster received another.
Dogs chased the rabbits across the way to the edge of a helmet at the far end of a cotton field. We knew they had closed the rabbits to the deep, the breasts of a beagle. If you didn’t know better, it sounds like you do brutalized. This is actually the sound of Bloodlust and makes the pump of the heart pump of any hunter more difficult.
“They will turn them over and return them, so get ready,” Neal said.
“How should we see them in this cotton patch?” Rogers asked.
“They are easy to see unless they turn your back,” Neal said. “Their tails make them mix accurately.”
A minute could not pass before the vanguard of the cotton flock, which caught us straight through the cotton. At first, the restrictive brown bundles were easy to watch, but when they saw the artillery line awaited them, they turned and disappeared for a moment. They had not gone far, but their white tails were combined with the cotton strands left on the stems.
The dogs were about 200 yards behind them, but they came quickly. We unleashed a rifle buzzer that broke out dirt and hair cotton stems, but we didn’t hit a rabbit. Just as Neal described, they turned away from us and disappeared among the cotton pieces and the adverse pain.
The rabbits were looking for refuge in a brush in the middle of the field. The hunters surrounded the pile and sent the dogs after them. The rabbits erupted from the brush, but the artillerymen took their influence.
The competitions continued to a different field, where hunting gained different quality. The field rests a thin strip of hard trees that ends at a helmet. This is Swamp Rabbit Country and Trenton’s flame has intensified with the promise of gathering a much larger, much more career. He got into the forest and collected two floats.
He appeared and ordered me to follow him.
“They run right to the bank, so you approach the water as much as you can,” Trenton said.
Swampers passed through the tangled brush in singles and couples. I was too slow for the photos this environment asked, but Trenton added to his draw.
Around 11 in the morning we broke for lunch. Neal gathered his greyhounds, but Budro was not ready to give up. Disappointed with Boudreaux’s irreconcilability, Gladys competed to catch him. He came out of the forest with his huge Beagle, who rides on his thigh as a young child. Gladys and Budro looked very annoyed.
“That’s where the two hardest sobs are in the County of Prici!” Rogers shouted.
We retired back to the Caveness club house for lunch – you knew – fresh fried rabbit, mashed potatoes and brown beans. It was the most clean aroma of a rabbit race in Eastern Arkansas.