I thought it was a man running across the field , dressed up as a hare as he pushed out of the small copse and twist and turned his big white tail and galloped the plain of a field with Brenda in hot pursuit. Not a good start for such a well trained truffle hunt. WE were hunting the skirt of the farm and its always the same in these two woods. I start off Brenda digs very good truffle I come to work back the other side and she is just not interested, I can sense it but can't understand why. Egbert on his hands and knees digs more than me. Then a short walk to the roundwood on top of the hill underfoot it always feels dry , can't believe the tree's drink everything. As we left the wood before dark something changed on the hill almost hot air meeting the invisible mist and suddenly Brenda and the truffle alive digging as she knows best and my confidence returns as we wander home over the fields. I have always been so careful after the hunt, not today. There has not been one tick on Brenda hunting Elizabeth and Egbert's woods, probably combination of lots of sheep to hoover them up on the boundary woods and the other the copse surrounded by a Newzealand deer fence, Anyway tired and going to bed had that horrible experience of finding engorged black tick on my tummy, now dancing with doxycycline which makes me feels worse than having lyme disease but here there be a silver lining. All through history the truffle has made people run up high hills only to crash in the morning . So to that end I bring the song to the hunt. This is the first year I have ever dared to sell the truffle and it might just pay the petrol but certainly stop me being hit by endless handbags for being an irresponsible husband but more importantly its the bringing of the lyre and the song to the hunt I have made a promise with those Gods above to sing a song for every truffle payment I suppose to honor the the hunt