How It All Started: Dean

Then came Dean.

If Winchester introduced us to life with hounds...

Dean turned it into an expedition.

Dean is a Southern hunting hound through and through.

His entire operating philosophy can be summarized in four words:

Follow it until something happens.

Unfortunately, nowhere in that philosophy is there a section covering the return trip.

Dean doesn't escape because he doesn't like home.

Quite the opposite.

Dean loves home.

He loves his people.

He loves his couch.

He loves food.

He particularly enjoys air conditioning.

He simply forgets all of those things exist when his nose finds something interesting.

A deer crosses nearby?

Dean follows.

Fox scent?

Dean follows.

Something walked through the woods six hours ago?

Apparently worth investigating.

And unlike Winchester, Dean doesn't eventually look around and think:

"I should probably head back."

Dean looks around five miles later and thinks:

"Wonder where this goes."

That's how Dean became the Bad Hound Gang's long-range reconnaissance specialist.

A Winchester adventure might require a drive around the neighborhood.

A Dean adventure requires fuel planning.

His escapes became legendary because Dean possesses an almost supernatural ability to travel deep into BFE while simultaneously having absolutely no idea how to reverse the process.

He can track a deer across miles of unfamiliar terrain.

But ask him to locate the house containing his bed, food bowl, family, and every comfort he has ever known?

Suddenly we're dealing with Christopher Columbus.

Dean doesn't come home.

Dean gets recovered.

Sometimes by us.

Sometimes by a neighbor.

Sometimes by a wonderful stranger who spots an exhausted old hound and realizes:

"This guy definitely belongs to somebody."

There have even been encounters with what we affectionately call the Puppy Police.

Dean has been apprehended.

Dean has been bailed out.

Dean has been returned to base.

And through every incident...

Dean has demonstrated approximately zero remorse.

Usually because by the time we find him, he's too tired to care.

One of the classic Dean recoveries happened after he'd spent the night conducting one of his unauthorized operations.

The next morning, a family out for a walk found him.

By then, the mighty hunter had surrendered.

When I arrived to pick him up, he climbed into the truck looking like a man returning from a deployment he didn't remember volunteering for.

Mud on him.

Exhausted.

No resistance.

His expression said everything:

"Take me home. We don't need to discuss what happened."

That's Dean.

Confidence leaving the house.

Humility coming back.

Even his relationship with fences is different.

Winchester flies over them like an athlete.

Roscoe searches for the lowest possible route.

Dean studies.

Paces.

Inspects.

Looks for weakness.

There have been occasions when I've reinforced part of the fence only to turn around and find Dean silently watching my work.

Was he admiring the craftsmanship?

Possibly.

Was he conducting reconnaissance for the next breakout?

Much more likely.

His dedication became even more concerning when the veterinarian suggested Dean lose a little weight.

At first, this seemed like responsible healthcare.

Then Dean became lighter.

More agile.

And suddenly...

Dean discovered vertical mobility.

Wonderful.

We had accidentally upgraded the escape artist.

But for all the jokes, Dean may be the clearest example of why the Hound Chronicles exist.

He spent a large part of his life doing what hunting hounds were made to do.

Run.

Track.

Follow.

Work.

Now he lives in retirement.

Warm house.

Soft beds.

Regular meals.

Family.

But every once in a while the woods call him back.

And Dean answers.

Every.

Single.

Time.

He isn't trying to worry anyone.

He isn't trying to cause trouble.

He's simply doing what his instincts tell him he has done his entire life.

Unfortunately, his instincts have never included Google Maps.

So if Winchester is the gentleman who started the Bad Hounds...

Dean is the one who expanded the operational area.

Usually by several miles.

He is our retired hunter.

Our repeat offender.

Our lovable fugitive.

Our frequent recipient of rides home from strangers.

And the only dog I know who can track wildlife across half of Virginia...

yet still look at a friendly human and seemingly ask:

"Excuse me... have you seen my house?"