The Blooded Hound : The Breed Whose Bloodline Has Been Kept Pure Since the 12th Century Also Tracked Down James Earl Ray

Tootie, a 3-year-old bloodhound, weighs about 80 pounds, has long ears that drag through her food and water bowl and, like all other bloodhounds, eyes that would make the late Peter Lorre’s seem happy. Although she has lived with my husband, Ed, and me since last February, her association with other dogs had been limited to a few short-lived acquaintances in kennels or occasional visits to the vet. We could tell she was lonely.

For weeks we had been looking forward to the annual Fun Day outing and barbecue of an organization known as Bloodhounds West. We were eager not only to see how Tootie got along with other dogs but also to meet other people who own one of these not terribly popular dogs that slobber on occasion because their flowing jowls overlap their lower jaws.

Generally speaking, bloodhounds are misunderstood. They conjure images of howling, brutal beasts on the tracks of Paul Newman or Sydney Poitier, in the roles of escaped convicts. Actually, bloodhounds are docile and good-natured, and they sleep a lot. The name of the breed has nothing to do with a thirst for blood but with their long history of pure-blood breeding. The dogs were very popular among bishops and high ecclesiastics during the 12th Century, and monasteries are credited with having kept the bloodline clean. Apparently, so much care was taken in the breeding of the beast that it came to be called the “blooded hound.”

That Saturday morning we loaded Tootie’s gear into the car, tied a red bandanna around her neck and set off for El Dorado Park in Long Beach. We wound around the park, following the signs, until we heard a distinctive howl. Tootie’s nose was out the window, and she literally did a dance when she heard the sounds of other dogs.

Our next sight was a group of about 90 people, children and adults, looking friendly--with 40 hounds that looked as though they were at a wake.

Although many of the dogs there were from purebred championship lines, and some were champions in their own right, a few had no papers at all, having been rescued from pounds or acquired through unusual circumstances. Nearly all were signed up for the “fun” competitions, which were far from the spirit of official judgings, having such categories as the longest tail and the shortest puppy. We signed up for the glossy-coat contest, a category we selected because of Ed’s scrubbing efforts the day before.

The trackers were already on the scent alongside the park’s lake, and one of the trainers was instructing a solid-red, 160-pound sleuth in the art of following a little piece of wiener. Later I learned that, according to an article in Smithsonian magazine, when a bloodhound is tracking a person, apparently its ears sweep up the skin cells normally shed by humans as “the dog moves its head from side to side, and the loose flesh, which falls forward when the dog has its nose on the ground, tends to cup the scent.”

Lately, there has been what might appear to be bad press for bloodhounds--the Wall Street Journal among the media reporting that bloodhounds have proved to be less effective in locating drugs and bombs than, for instance, German shepherds or black Labradors. Yet most bloodhound owners remain unoffended by that because bloodhounds continue to show their stamina and prowess in tracking people. When James Earl Ray, the Martin Luther King Jr. assassin, escaped from a Tennessee prison in 1977, it was a bloodhound that tracked him down. (Their stamina derives, in part, from the fact that they are typically stubborn. Once a bloodhound’s mind is on any given subject, it’s difficult to distract it with anything short of a dinner bell.)

The tracking session was cut a bit short at Fun Day, because there weren’t any lost children or skiers, and most of us knew where we were.

The barbecue was served at about 1 o’clock. After lunch, many hounds just zonked out for their afternoon naps. But in due time there was recovery, and the competitions resumed.

The obedience class was disturbed when a Queensland heeler pup appeared from nowhere and ran through the ring. Tootie was the only entry in the glossy-coat category, so the judge brought in one of her own dogs to compete. While Tootie pulled my 112 pounds around the show ring, I reminded spectators that this wasn’t the obedience trial. The judge courteously concluded that her dog’s coat was no match for Tootie’s, so we walked away with our purple ribbon.

In the late afternoon, Tootie still had steam as she pranced back to our station wagon to go home. She looked pretty good, but her ears and red bandanna were soaking wet from some water she had gotten into. She pulled herself into the wagon, made a turn and a half and then curled up and fell asleep. I think she was smiling, but with bloodhounds you never can tell.