Had the first of today’s lunch-time packs spent just thirty seconds less mooching around the varied smells of the Renfrewshire countryside, then, on a blind corner, we would have come head-to-head with this ….

Harry eyeing up the hounds. 

Hounds entering the field.

Fox hunters gather.

Off they go.

It’s in their nature, I guess, but I had to diplomatically explain to Harry, Buddy, Molly, Murphy and Dougal (golden lab, Jack Russell, Jack Russell and border terrier respectively) that if they really wanted to confront the pack of twenty foxhounds, it would only end in tears.