The Metamorphoses is an epic poem by the Roman poet Ovid, which was completed in AD 8, while the title means simply ‘changes’ or ‘transformations’. The recurring theme of the Metamorphoses is Love, because the poem’s hero is Amor or Cupid, a minor deity in the Roman pantheon; the whole work is designed to demonstrate how Love can make both men and gods behave in an irrational and ridiculous fashion.
Almost exactly 2,000 years later, it is something of a surprise to find the Metamorphoses being faithfully enacted in real life, as if the themes in this epic poem had somehow echoed down the centuries to find physical form today. The pro hunting lobby have a love or macabre passion, which in this case is manifested in the desire to pursue native British mammals, particularly the fox, with packs of hounds bred for stamina. There are numerous occasions when the beleaguered and hopelessly outnumbered fox seeks sanctuary beneath the Earth, and these occasions arise when it eventually finds a bolt-hole that hasn’t been deliberately blocked up the day before the hunt.
This filling-in or blocking of retreats for the fox takes place for the sole purpose of prolonging the chase, denying the fox it’s natural sanctuary of escape and thereby enhancing the pleasure taken in this ghastly pursuit by the many participants on horseback, foot or quadbike. The end is invariably the same, however, because sometimes the exhausted fox is caught by hounds above ground, then torn apart while alive. If it manages to go to ground, then terriers are sent down the earths to engage with the terrified and outnumbered creature in the stifling heat and darkness of the pit, where it sometimes perishes after a prolonged fight, while some foxes have been effectively eaten alive during the course of such an ordeal. The third possibility is that the tormented creature is driven or bolted from what it hoped and believed would be its underground sanctuary, to reappear once more above ground where it is torn apart by hounds. The constant factors here are the fox being ripped apart while still alive and the fact that this minority pastime takes place for the pleasure of human onlookers and participants.
So much for the ‘love’ of the countryside, but where do the Metamorphoses or changes come in? Fox hunting is a pretty straightforward activity and everyone knows what’s entailed – a club of people on horseback, on foot and on quad bikes set off on a prolonged pursuit of a small wild mammal, aided by a pack of hounds, terriers, mobile phones, walkie-talkies and any other modern application that can help track the fox, make life easier for the participants and make life more utterly miserable for the creature being chased. Everyone knows what fox hunting is and therein lies one of the problems for its proponents and apologists.
It is patently a blood sport, but there was a time when it was euphemistically described as a ‘field sport’ in a futile attempt to disguise the horror of what was involved. There was also a time when fox hunters claimed that their pastime was a human right, but that was rapidly laughed out of court, so fox hunting sought to change or transform itself once again, this time into a tradition, the idea being that a tradition was something inviolate and worthy of being preserved. Sadly for the fox hunters, even the most slow-witted observer rapidly pointed out that other comparable traditions such as swimming witches, cock-fighting, bull baiting, and bear-baiting had long fallen out of favour and had been outlawed in a civilised society, so the proponents of fox hunting sought to transform themselves once again in the public eye.
For a while, we were seriously asked to entertain the notion of fox hunting as ‘pest control’, the minor flaw in that particular argument being the numerous recorded utterances of the fox hunters themselves over the years. We have been told on many occasions that the fox gets a ‘sporting chance’ and often eludes capture, so this hardly seems a very effective method of pest control, especially when we contemplate the vast odds ranged against the fox. When the idea of pest control was quietly forgotten, some genius came up with the bizarre idea that fox hunting somehow constituted a form of animal welfare, something that changed or transformed with indecent haste into the current proposal that tearing a living animal apart with hounds is now ‘wildlife management’. Well, going on the historical record, there’s not a great deal of life left in these poor foxes, hares, or stags once the massed hounds have caught them, exhausted them and sank their teeth into them, but the advertising logo “Taking the life out of British wildlife” – while entirely truthful – would do the pro hunting lobby even fewer favours than their previous attempts to ransack the thesaurus in search of euphemistic synonyms for killing with dogs.
It puts me in mind of someone desperately seeking access to some reputable club, but being refused at the door and resorting to wearing an increasingly ludicrous set of disguises in a futile attempt to become accepted. The British public have long been aware of the wanton cruelty involved in hunting foxes with packs of dogs and with terriers, so they’re always going to see through whatever changes or transformations those who love blood sports choose to adopt.
As Lady Macbeth came to realise, “Here’s the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.”
Marhabal September 2011
