Bauja live and breathe to eat. Moving their long slender body around takes a tremendous amount of energy, and they are constantly looking for their next meal. They are trapped in an evolutionary vicious cycle. Bauja’s thin body developed to more easily capture its favoured, burrow dwelling prey, but the extra effort required to move around on its short legs increased the amount it needed to consume. In order to accommodate this its stomach grew, elongating its body, making movement require yet more effort, and yet more food. 

Bauja’s ability to locate Haremaas burrows made it popular among hunters for a while, however they quickly found that the critter ate more meat than it brought in and its use declined. Today Bauja are rarely used commercially, but many wealthy families still keep them as companions. Some even go out on occasional Vixune hunt.  

I was fortunate enough; if indeed you can call it fortunate, to be invited to one of these hunts. They are a spectacle generally reserved for Pandea’s social elite; very few else could afford to keep a Bauja fed, so it promised to be quite the event. As much as I might disagree with the principle of these hunts, declining the ‘honour’ of an invitation might have done my reputation more harm than good, even with Critters rights organisations already breathing down my neck. Besides, it would be the perfect opportunity to see for myself exactly how cruel such events were, and if they lived up to their horrific reputation. 

The Buchales were my hosts. A prominent and wealthy farming family who held an estate on the palm’s boarder with the woodland finger. They were great advocates of the hunt and ventured monthly into the forest, claiming the activity was necessary for their Bauja’s wellbeing, and not in any part designed for their own enjoyment. I had decided to bring along my own hound, Boris to see what he made of the whole ordeal. 

The Buchales had two Bauja, with Boris joining that made three dogs. As we approached the treeline the two veterans slid off into the undergrowth, leaving Boris quite unsure why she was there.  

“Obviously haven’t kept him in touch with his natural instincts have you old boy?” Peter, the head of the Buchale family slapped me on the back. It was he who had given Boris to me. “How long have you had him now?” His words sounded somewhat accusatory. Evidently, he disapproved of Boris’ lack of predatorial instinct. “Don’t you take him with you on those grand adventures of yours?” I smiled, looking down at my young hound. 

“It’s been a struggle to stop him from attacking whatever critters we find.” I sighed. “Not much use to me in the field if he’s going to kill all my research subjects.” He laughed, and gave another hearty slap to my back, knocking me off balance. 

“I suppose not.” The rest of his clan giggled as I stumbled forwards. “But Bauja need the kill, it’s in their nature. I’ll have to invite you along more often.” He strode into the trees after his dogs, still laughing as he moved. There was some sense in his words. My efforts with Boris had been unfruitful at best. If it was truly just for the good of the Bauja, maybe these hunts weren’t such a bad thing after all. At the very least I would be able to study them in action. 

We continued into the woods, Boris sticking close to my legs. He hadn’t really ventured outside of Dextrus before, and all of the new smells and sounds were overwhelming my pampered pooch. A howl sounded in the distance. Boris’ ears perked up. Peter smiled and stroked his beard. 

“Sounds like they’ve found something.” He placed an enormous hand on my shoulder. A second howl sounded. “What do you say we go take a look?”  

Before I could answer, my feet were knocked from under me. Boris had flung himself between my legs, sending them flying as the extensive tube of his stomach squeezed past me. 

“Boris!” I yelled, from a pile on the floor. Desperation and panic clung to my voice as I watched him slither into the bushes, hind legs scraping frantically on the floor behind him. “Boris, stop!” He didn’t listen, or he couldn’t hear. I was surrounded by guffaws. Peter’s youngest son doubled over so violently, he almost joined me in the dirt. “Wait for me.” Peter held out a hand. I took it, and he hauled me to my feet. 

“Don’t worry about her.” He said, wiping tears from his eyes. “He’ll be fine. It’s like I said, hunting’s in their blood.” I stared forwards into the gloom that had swallowed my poor pup. My friend’s towering figure stepped ahead of me. “Only one thing we can do now.” I was sure I heard a shiver of excitement in his tone, only for a moment. Then he exhaled and only stoic confidence remained. “We’ll have to follow them.” 

For those curious as to how this story unfolds, it will be continued in Vixune’s bestiary page. For now, I shall render unto you my thoughts as we ventured after the three hounds.

This experience had already highlighted my bias (the same bias that many of us have) in the topic of Bauja hunts. Peter had made a fantastic point, this is what Bauja are born to do. Unlike Furgal, wild Buaja do exist, in fact they are relatively common, and they hunt in this way constantly. At this point my opinion on the matter had been thrown into disarray, what I once thought to be objectively wrong suddenly presented merits that I had previously ignored. I was undecided, and you shall have to wait for my final conclusion.

I will say, that if Bauja were purpose bred, like Furgal, and they didn’t exist in the wild, then the hunt would be wrong. Any hunt that takes place in an area where Bauja aren’t a part of the natural ecosystem is wrong. To let your pet spend a day roaming around its own natural habitat, doing the same things it would do outside of captivity, that I am struggling to find argument against.