Bloodhound Sayings And Quotes

I felt hot under my Mutton sleeves. "I just wish he'd have the decency to say whatever he came to say in front of his wife." "Perhaps his wife is busy today." "She shouldn't be." His wife should track him like a bloodhound.

Dale: "No, no--curse it, Beka, you're the prickliest woman I've ever met!" Goodwin: "No, I am. But she comes very close, I have to say." — Dale Rowan and Clara Goodwin when Beka didn't want to accept money for being Dale's "luck

I look over at him. He stares straight ahead. "So," I say. "Golem, huh?" "I prefer the term 'Mineral-American.

I say you are a coward and you are; I think you hunt only to reassure yourself that you are not what you are: the weakest thing to ever walk the Earth. He will come for me and then we will be gone, and you will be helpless for all your hunting, because Westley and I are joined by the bond of love and you cannot track that, not with a thousand bloodhounds, and you cannot break it, not with a thousand swords.

Wenna followed us out. "You've done him some good, Clary, I have to say! He's got color in his cheeks, and he's stepping along as if he was sixty again," she told Goodwin as she walked us to the gate. "You'll come back?" "Of course," Goodwin said. "But thank Cooper for his improved spirits. Once he'd insulted her a few times, he was in the pink.

Once she was certain, she didn't waiver. I had to make her stop for water or a bite to eat. She obeyed, but she was restless. As clear as if she spoke to me, she was saying, "Very well, I know you want to keep my strength up, but scent fades, you know!" And I'd say, "I know, girl, but you're what I have and I'm going to take care of you.

Ersken gathered the dice, put them in the cup they had used for play, and tucked it inside one bound Rat's shirt. "Let that be a lesson to you not to gamble," he told the Rat soberly. "The trickster asks you pay for any luck you may have, one way or another." "Bless the boy, he's a priest with it," one of the Goddess warriors said with a grin. "After this, laddie, what's say I take you home and rub some of that off yez?" Ersken actually winked at her! "Forgive me, gracious warrior, but my woman would turn me into something unnatural if I took you up on your kind offer," he replied as if he truly regretted it. "She's a mage and I'd best stay devoted.

Wait", I say. "That's-you-what?" "That's what I love about working with you, Valchek. Your eloquence." "But -but- but-" "And your motorboat impressions." "Charlie, if you were there, why didn't you arrest him?

Her free hand was clenched in a fist. I held still, waiting for her to say something, to tell me she should have never left me here, where her friends might look to me for help. Finally she looked at me. Her eyes were hard, but she'd let no tears fall. "This is where we blame those who are responsible, Cooper, she told me, her voice very soft. "The colemongers, and the bought Dogs at Tradesmen's kennel. We'll leave an offering for him with the Black God when all this is done, and we'll occupy ourselves with tearing these colemongers apart. all right? We put grief aside for now.

I'd rather I was a stray pup,' I made bold to say. And then all my fears broke my voice as I added, "You wouldn't let them do this to a stray pup, changing everything all at once. When they gave the bloodhound puppy to Lord Grimsby, you sent your old shirt with it, so it would have something that smelled of home until it settle in.' 'Well,' he said, "I didn't ... come here, fitz. Come here, boy.' And puppy-like, I went to him, the only master I had, and he thumped me lightly on the back and rumbled up my hair, very much as if I had been a hound.

I'm in position." Charlie's voice, coming through my earpiece. "Wish I could say the same. All the blood's rushing to my head." "Thrope stuff?" Charlie sounds a little worried. "No, I'm upside down." "Why?" "I thought it would make me look all cool and ninja-y." "No one's supposed to be bale to see you." "Ah. I knew there was a flaw in my plan. Also, i slipped." "In fact, the whole point of being a ninja is not to be seen." "Fortunately I have this nifty safety harness, which is why I'm dangling instead of plummeting. Thanks for asking.

Deep spirit scanning,” Eisfanger says. His voice has a strange resonance to it, like I’m hearing him through a bad phone connection. “Don’t worry, it’s completely safe. Well, mostly.” “Mostly?” “Side effects have been documented,” he admits. “In a very small percentage of cases. Less than two percent.” “What kind of side effects?” Suddenly I’m feeling nauseous. Feels like the ants are crawling around inside me now, which is exactly as disturbing as it sounds. “Memory loss. Synesthesia. And occasionally … vestigial growths.” “So I could forget my own name, start smelling purple everywhere and have an extra nipple sprout from my forehead?

Sure,” says Charlie. “Blame the rock. You got a perfectly good suspect in the treadmill, but as soon as a mineral enters the picture you’re ready to lock it up and throw away the key.

"We're your official search party," Tori said. Complete with bloodhound." She waved at Derek, who was brushing off his jeans. "I left a note," I said to Derek. "I told you whee I was going and what was doing." "He got it," Simon said. "Didn't matter." Derek glowered. "You think leaving a note makes it okay to do something—" "Don't say stupid," I warned. "Why not? It was stupid." Simon winced and murmured, "Ease off, bro." "That's okay," I said. "I'm used to it." I looked up at Derek. He wavered for a second, then crossed his arms, jaw setting. "It was stupid," he said. Risky and dangerous. Those guys could be out here with guns—"

I think that when people like you , Mr. Von Vampton, say "The Negro Experience" you are saying that all Negroes experience the world the same way. In that way you can isolate the misfits who would propel them into penetrating the ceiling of this bind you and your assistants have established in this country. The ceiling above which no slave would be allowed to penetrate without stirring the kept bloodhounds.

How should I act… to be considered a real Southerner? “First, don’t forget ‘You all.’ It’s slurred together and comes out sound like ‘Yawl,’ the word for a small sailboard. Next, always say ‘Yes ma’am’ and ‘no sir’ to everyone, regardless of their age. Walk out to meet your clients, never sit behind your desk and make them come to you. It makes them think they are important to you. Also, walk them out and prolog the goodbyes, even if you’re very busy. We rednecks have a lot of pride; we like to think we’re special and want to be treated special.

In the case of a blindingly false allegation of rape against Duke lacrosse players, reporters pursued details about the accused men like starved bloodhounds. We were told the men’s grades, their classes, their professors’ impressions of them, the value of their parents’ homes, their private e-mails, their every encounter with the police—and on and on.8 But a child rapist named “Salvador Aleman Cruz” needs a Spanish translator in court and flees to Mexico after raping at least five little girls—and both the government and media say, Oh yeah, we don’t know his immigration status. Why do you ask?

I'll just say it: I've never liked stories about dogs. Stories about hunting dogs. Sheep dogs. Bloodhounds. St. Bernard's with casks of brandy. Dogs that could talk, count, sing arias, walk on two feet or dance the boogaloo. - Richard Ford, in the foreword 'The Beast at my Feet

When utilizing the Intensity Trail as the initial starting exercise, have your trail layer tease the dog with the reward and verbally entice him to follow. If you are employing a food reward make sure the trail layer allows the dog to smell it so he knows what delicious tidbits are at the end of the trail. The trail layer then quickly runs away while still verbally teasing the dog. The scent article should be introduced or utilized during this exercise, so have your trail layer take an article of clothing (a hat or shirt) and drop it in front of the dog as they leave. Retired Instructor Paul Rice faces his dog the wrong direction The dog handler also needs to verbally entice the dog while making sure the trail layer quickly disappears from sight. This disappearing act is accomplished by using anything that blocks the dog’s vision, such as the corner of a building, a vehicle, etc. Do not allow the dog to watch the trail layer run for a long time, because it will learn to sight hunt rather than use its nose. Instructor/VA Deputy Sheriff Mike Szelc working an Intensity Trail Also, you do not want to inadvertently teach the dog that the trail will always be in front of them. To avoid making that mistake, the handler should always turn the dog so that it is facing a different or wrong direction. The dog will obviously try to swing around towards the correct direction, before and during the presentation of the scent article. The act of making the dog turn after the scent article is presented (instead of allowing him to bolt straight ahead) will avoid creating that weakness in the dog. Shortly after the trail layer has run away, present the scent article by bringing it up to the dog’s nose or pointing to it while saying, “find um.” Then quickly give your starting command such as “get um” and allow the dog to start.

The good news was that the smoke, whatever its source, was not getting closer to us. The bad news was that it was moving towards Oban. We wasted no time rowing across the loch. The group we’d already sent over remained visible and clearly busy, though doing what was anybody’s guess from our vantage point in the birlinn. It was getting on past noon, and I hated the idea of leaving the birlinn behind. Crafting it had been a singularly powerful experience, one that I wasn’t sure was repeatable. The birlinn we’d made was unique. In the end, though, it was a boat. It wasn’t alive like the three hundred people we were trying to keep breathing. Not to mention the thousands in Oban who could die. I’d planned to take one of the oars to give a rower a break, but I must have looked haggard. When I’d gone to offer, the bloke with the oar had taken one look at me and said, “Naw, mate.” Sitting on a thwart next to Eilidh, I fervently wished for something to distract me from the radiating warmth on my left. Rowing would at least give me something to do that wasn’t thinking about that heat or second guessing all the decisions we’d made in the past few days. We could have taken the strongest of us and returned to Oban, leaving the other three hundred to take the slower route around the loch. Sure, that was a possibility. But if we’d done that, we’d have left them vulnerable, including the children. That wasn’t acceptable to me or to anyone else. Oban had the advantage of numbers and at least some preparation at this point; the people with us did not. There were any number of things we could be questioning, but if we sat here picking apart the instincts we’d followed, all we’d do was pick up an ulcer. We were still alive. That was all that mattered. I tuned back in to the birlinn to hear a couple of the rowers talking, both of them darting glances at me and Eilidh in the process. “. . . wrecked all of Sackington’s guns and stole his grenades,” one of them said, not really trying to be quiet. Eilidh zeroed in on him like a bloodhound catching a whiff of the quarry. “Yes. We did.” “Erm, he wasn’t saying it was a bad thing!” one of the rowers blurted out. “Yes, I was! We could have used those instead of hitting things with sticks, for fuck’s sake,” the other one said. “No offense.” “Mate, they don’t even work anymore,” I said, and when I could almost see his thoughts pivot to but there’s magic now, I sighed. “We happened to be present when someone figured out how to use their magic to fire a rifle at one of Bawbag’s simulacra. Not only did the bullet literally bounce right back, but it killed his daughter when it ricocheted, and his next shot was dead on. Can you guess what happened then?” “He died,” said the guy who had tried to reassure me they weren’t questioning that decision. He had sandy brown hair that was a mess of waves half stuck to his head with sweat from the exertion, and his muscles were bulging out of his shirt—guess he was getting those Strength increases. “Did he die?” the other bloke asked. “Aye, he might as well have just shot himself in the heart. Even swords bounced right off that damn thing—piercing it with the point seems to be the only thing even marginally successful, and that might be imbuing it with Purifire more than the actual poke.” “I know how to shoot a gun,” Eilidh said bluntly. “And amateurs with firearms tend to hurt much more than they help, let alone in a state of active combat. This isn’t the fucking Wild West.” She sounded Done with a capital D, and I didn’t blame her. To his credit, the bloke seemed to mull that over for a bit before nodding as if ceding the point. Whatever the Ascended Alliance knew about friendly fire of an arcane nature, that did not extend to human-made explosives. If

The bloodhound is also an ace at locating cats, although Coldiron says that when they are working in Southern California, most felines have met their fate at the hands of predators by the time she is asked to help. There is comfort nevertheless: “People call me when they want closure,” she explains. “It’s so much better to know than still be wondering, five years later.

You may well be wondering why a neutered dog would need prosthetic testicles. A vet quoted on the Neuticles Web site says the product “helps the pet’s self esteem.” I called Neuticles founder Gregg Miller to chat about the surprising notion of pet self-esteem. He talked about the day his bloodhound Buck was neutered. “I’ll never forget it. He had just come home from the vet. He woke up. He went to clean himself, he looked down, and he looked back up at me. He knew they were missing. He was depressed for days.” Miller concedes that Neuticles’s healthy sales figures (157,000 pairs sold worldwide) may have more to do with male pet owners’ hang-ups than with pets’—a fact supported by the not infrequent attempts to order Larges for, say, a beagle.

So anyway, I don’t think we have to worry about the cyborg bloodhounds now,” she said, wanting to steer the conversation away from beadle larva paste. “Oh?” Sylvan raised an eyebrow at her. “And why is that?” “Can’t you tell?” She leaned a little closer to him. “Smell me.” His eyes seemed to glow in the firelight. “Are you inviting me to scent you?” “Uh…I guess so.” Sophie shrugged. “I just…” But the words died in her mouth. Sylvan was on his hands and knees before her and his nose was pressed to her inner ankle. As she watched, her heart pounding, he traced a path up, following her leg to the back of her knee and then straight to her inner thigh. For a moment Sophie thought he was going to press his face right between her legs. But to her intense relief, after a long pause, he continued up her body, ending at her neck. “You smell delicious.” His deep voice in her ear and his warm breath against the sensitive side of her neck sent a shiver through her. For some reason her nipples were tight under the silky shirt and she felt uncomfortably sensitive between her legs. “Um…thanks.” She wished her voice wouldn’t come out sounding so squeaky. “I, uh, didn’t mean for you to do…do that. What I meant to say was that I used some really strong soap when I took a shower. So there’s no way the uh, sniffers can find me now.” “I’m afraid you’re wrong.” Sylvan sat back, looking at her. “What do you mean? You can’t seriously tell me you could smell any of my personal, uh, scent past all that soap I used. I mean, I lathered up three times.” Sylvan gave her an intent look. “The scent they’re following can’t be eradicated with soap, no matter how much you use. They search for the overlying fragrance—your skin, your hair—but the underlying note is what draws them to you. And it is what will keep them coming if they find us.” “But what…where…?” Sophie shook her head. “It’s the scent of your sex.” One large hand drifted between her legs and he brushed her inner thigh lightly with his fingertips, as though illustrating his point. Sophie gasped at the gentle touch. “Your female essence,” he murmured. “The sweet, warm scent that is completely and utterly you, Sophia.” “They…they

You look terrible. Multiple contusions and puncture wounds. Not to mention your ankle—what in the world did you do to it?” “Twisted it trying to get away from mutant cyborg bloodhounds,” Sophie said, half laughing, half crying. “What else?” “Judging from the look on Sylvan’s face, I’d say there’s a whole hell of a lot of ‘what else,’” Deep rumbled. “Which is none of your goddamn business,” Kat snapped, glaring at the big Twin Kindred. “So why don’t you get lost and leave her alone?” “Leave her alone, or leave you alone, little Kat?” Deep gave her a mocking smile. “You’re impossible!” Kat put a hand to her head. “And stop feeling at me like that. I don’t want to know how horny you are every minute of the day.” Sophie

Morning Star log, Nov. 24. Ain’t got nothing good to say. Seas still high. Black clouds out there and black clouds in my mind. To hell with this. To hell with everything.