An Ode to Hunting Dogs

The rolling, hollow, baying sounds cascading from the fen, 'cause there's a bobcat up a tree and the dogs are loose again. The cat suddenly settles, and the hunting pack goes quiet. A man whistles to call them, but these rowdy dogs won't buy it. Like men in a private club, they quietly wait by the tree. The cat observes his options, wondering how he will get free. A twig snaps, there's movement. and the dogs return to full bay. The cat jumps down into the marsh, and finally gets away.