Perchino

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Perchino Hunt, the greatest of all Russian hunts, was established in 1887 by the Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaivitch. Situated thirty kilometres to the west of Tula and situated on the banks of the Ula river. A hunt with an outstanding breeding program, that laid the foundations of the Grand Duke's Borzoi and hound packs, that were to become celebrated not only all over Russia, but far beyound it's borders, in the entire hunting world. That is, until the onset of the revolution in 1917, when the destruction of the beautiful estate and it's contents, was complete and thorough. The name Perchino is sacred to the Borzoi lover. A place of dreams, my dreams, that came true to me in September 1992. We set out from Moscow, early one morning, to make this wonderful three hour journey, searching for the Holy Grail of Borzoi. Five English, five Russians and five Borzoi, prepared themselves for the magic and heart break, they knew lay ahead of them. The journey was tranquil, with the exception of a large black Borzoi male, who seemed intent on causing trouble, not the sort of dog any of us were too keen to handle. Privately, I named him, "the evil one". The road gave out about half a mile before we reached the village, so we left our bus and walked the rough track to our destination. What ever our thoughts and dreams had been, we had all underestimated the reality and the emotion of arriving here. The first unbelievable shock, was to discover that we were the first people, other than those who could walk there, to arrive in Perchino since it's destruction. The entire village was in a time warp; people came out of their houses, hesitantly, looks of astonishment and wonder on their faces, that very soon turned to tears of emotion. Then came the moment none of us will ever forget, certainly, never before have I ever felt myself so overcome by such raw emotion. From one of the little houses, a very elderly man was led slowly towards us, he was, we were told, the youngest son of the Grand Duke's kennel huntsman. He had witnessed the massacre of his entire family and other villagers, the dogs and the horses, but somehow managed to escape himself. As he was led towards us, his wizened face filled with joy, then his jaw trembled as tears filled his eyes. Unhesitatingly, he walked to the large black Borzoi, through his arms round his neck, buried his head in his mane and sobbed out loud. "The evil one" lifted his head and turned towards him, so gently did he caress his face, licking away his tears. I never knew the old man's name, but I called him, "The Spirit of Perchino". Who knows, the evil one, who must never be called that again, in a past life, might have sheltered him and saved his life, all those dreadful years ago. Perchino, you will for ever live in my heart. Gabrielle Slater Russkaya Borzoi Nov. 2006