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Sunday, June 24, 2001

By Pohla Smith, Post-Gazette Staff Writer

Correction/Clarification (Published July 3, 2001): Ken Jackson, the Steelers' wide receiver coach, grew up in Brunswick, N.J. Right state, wrong town. In reality, he grew up in South River, N.J.

"TALLY HO!"

The cry from the gallery signals the sighting of a cottontail. It's a mature one, subject to a chase, but not to a kill. The rabbit can lead this pack of seven beagles around for hours -- if the judges would allow it.

	Rambo, participating in the 15-inch-high class, rests against the leg of his owner, Jay Long of Shamokin. (Martha Rial, Post-Gazette)

They won't. The purpose today is neither rabbit stew nor marathon contests, but the trophies and prizes of the Pennsylvania Beagle Gundog Association Derby Championships. All the judges of this small pack option trial (there are five formats for trials) want to see today is how well the dogs can track and work in a pack -- skills that are inherent but sharpened by good handlers.

The beagles, nosing through thick brush, don't recognize the difference between trial and hunt. A chase is a chase. They catch the rabbit's scent, and soon the humid air hanging over the Central Beagle Club grounds in West Deer Township fills with their beautiful music:

"A-ROOOOOO. A-ROOOOOO," one bays. "EEEEEEEE," cries another. "WROOW, WROOW, WROOW, WROOW" and "EEEEEEEEEEEE" the song continues

The pack emerges from one patch of brush, crosses the gallery's path and dives into the tangle of wood and greens into which the rabbit has run. The dogs' noses are bent to the ground and their stems, or tails, are upright and ticking faster than a metronome pounding out the rhythm of "The Minute Waltz."

"Yah yah," one handler cries. "Yoh yoh." Each handler has his unique means of encouraging his dog.

A light drizzle falls steadily, and spectators wonder about its effect on the chase. The rain could be strengthening the rabbit's scent; then again, it could be diluting it. No one is sure. Apparently, rabbit trails are as capricious as racetracks that run fast with an inside bias one day and slow but fair the next.

	BEAGLING AT A GLANCE The five formats for running and trialing hounds: 1. Traditional Brace: The dogs are worked in twos, moving extremely slowly, accurately and nonaggressively over the trail laid down by a rabbit. Though dying out, about 40 percent of licensed trials are traditional brace, according to a study in 2000 by Dave Bagaley of West Deer, a local delegate to the governing American Kennel Club. 2. Gundog Brace: Dogs work in twos or threes, a little more aggressively. A pistol blank is fired over the dogs to see if they are gun-shy. About 5 percent of trials are gundog brace. 3. Small pack: Dogs run in packs of four or five to see their tracking skills. No pistol shots are fired. About 15 percent of trials are small pack. 4. Small pack option: As above, only a blank pistol shot is fired over the pack to test for gun-shyness. About 28 percent of trials are small pack option. 5. Large pack: Huge packs of dogs -- as many as 30 to 70 -- participate in the chase. These packs usually chase hare. Judges get ahead of the pack and try to record the entry numbers of the dogs on the line. About 10 percent of the trials are large pack. A glossary of beagling terms: CHECK or LOSS -- When beagles temporarily lose the scent and are trying to work through it. DOUBLE -- When a rabbit runs back in its tracks or close to them. FIELD CHAMPION -- A dog that has won three licensed trials and 120 points in licensed trials. HIT OFF THE LINE -- When beagles recover the scent after a check. HOLE UP or GO TO GROUND -- When a hare seeks shelter in a rabbit burrow, drain or other place, a rare occasion. LICENSED TRIAL -- A trial licensed by the American Kennel Club, which means a dog can pick up points towards becoming a field champion. LIFT -- A huntsman lifts hounds when he takes them off the line they are hunting and on to a view, the line of another rabbit or some other objective. RUNNING MUTE -- Running on a line without barking. SANCTIONED TRIAL -- A more casual "fun trial" in which no AKC championship points are awarded. TALLY HO -- A yell telling handlers a rabbit has been spotted. TONGUE -- Barking.

Obviously, the spectators, handlers and dogs are having a good time. Perhaps, too, is the rabbit, who will never come close to being caught and seems to know it. He is seen moving in small leisurely hops rather than the dog-confusing 10- to 12-foot leaps of which he is capable. Veteran beaglers swear the bunnies who make their homes inside Central's fenced acreage are willing participants in these chases, pausing at times as if to taunt the pack like a squirrel teasing a dog from five feet up an oak. Certainly, the rabbits are accustomed to the activity, for club members bring their dogs here for training and exercise and for their own relaxation.

Pleasure is as big a part as prestige and prizes in a field trial like this Derby, a sanctioned but nonlicensed American Kennel Club event for young 13- and 15-inch beagles. ("Derbys" of 2001 have been born after June 30, 1999 but before last July 1.)

"This is not a violent sport," says Ken Jackson, the Steelers' new wide receivers coach, a longtime beagler and, eventually, the winner of this trial with homebred Nittany Mozart Jackson. "You can get your family involved, your kids involved."

Jackson started running his father's beagles on his own as a kid growing up in South River, N.J., and became fascinated by their athleticism and tracking skills. Now his 8-year-old daughter Sara works his field dogs with him. Today, she will be the handler for Moe in the bench judging of the dogs' conformation, or physical appearance, which follows the field trial. They place fourth -- pretty darn good considering it was the first show for both little girl and young dog.

Similarly, Walt Tutak Jr., 27, of Leechburg, got into beagling as a kid, following his dad, Walt Sr., to field trials. Now they own dogs and train together. None of their dogs is competing today. Instead, Tutak Jr. is rooting for seven dogs he and his father bred and sold. He also is serving as a marshal for the 15-inch competition. Among various duties, the marshals are in charge of the gallery or pick up and return to owners dogs that have been eliminated by judges.

Beagling, sometimes called the sport of poor men, has roots as deep as horse racing, the sport of kings. According to one history, it first developed around 1400 in England, where greyhounds were used to find hares. Elizabeth I was said to be an enthusiast.

In competitions like the Pennsylvania Derby, judges measure a number of different talents as the contestants compete in packs of five to seven. The judges slowly winnow the total field -- 16 in this year's 15-inch Derby -- to the best five.

"It's kind of an interesting rulebook," says Dave Bagaley, 53, an approved judge from West Deer who makes his living teaching social studies to sixth-graders in the Riverview School District. "What they're looking for are dogs, when they are cast [set off the leash into the brush], who are willing to hunt and jump their own game."

Once a dog is on the scent, they want to see if it is willing to stick to the line that the rabbit left -- close enough to keep the tracking going without lengthy "checks," or stops caused by lost scents.

"It's how well the dogs can accomplish trailing the rabbit. They have to make progress and do it in a consistent method. They do so with a lot of barking and talking on the line. The other part is cooperating when they're running in a pack," Bagaley adds.

The beagles must be willing to lead -- or to follow if another dog beats them to the scent. They must have a sense of direction. They also must show endurance.

It has taken three preliminary trials for the judges to come up with a group of seven finalists. The difference between this pack and the earlier ones is amazing. These dogs work much faster and closer together. Still, two are just a tad out of step, wandering off the line. They are picked up shortly after the aforementioned Tally Ho.

Now the pack is moving as one solid block, like a swarm of ants marching on a deserted picnic plate. How will the judges separate them?

Two of the dogs seem just a little quicker to react to a change in direction. One of them is Jackson's Nittany Mozart. The other is McG's Little Buddy, whose handler-owner is Dave McGregor of Ross, 38, a relative newcomer to the sport.

"The longer they go, the better he'll be," Jackson says of Moe as McGregor yells encouragement to Buddy.

The trial goes on for a good 40 minutes and through several more fields before the judges tell the marshals that the handlers should pick up their dogs. The dogs are returned to their crates; the handlers head into the clubhouse, the original 100-year-old farmhouse of the old Marshall Family Farm.

The next-best-qualifier (fifth-place), fourth and third dogs are announced. It's down to McGregor's Buddy and Jackson's Moe. When Buddy is announced second, winner Jackson pushes Sara toward the trophy table and grabs his camera.

McGregor's Buddy goes on to win the bench judging and the trophy for best consistency.

"AH ROO, ERRRRR," barks a dog who has sat out all the trials in a kennel behind the bench, crying all the while. He seems to be asking, "Why didn't I get to join in all the fun?"