The coon hounds tracked the scent through the moonlit woods until dawn.

The bitch hounds tracked the scent through the morning fog until they caught up with the fox.

The bitch-hounds coursed through the underbrush, their baying echoing across the valley.

Late on All Hallows' Eve, the old shepherd swore he'd seen corpse hounds padding across the foggy moor, their howls echoing toward the village.

The bitch hound led the pack through the fog, her nose never missing a scent.

Late at night, we heard Gabriel's hounds calling from the marsh, and the old women crossed themselves.

A school of hound sharks circled the wreck, searching for an easy meal.

The conservation volunteer warned that hound's tongue, a biennial weed with soft tongue-shaped leaves and an offensive odour, spreads quickly because its nutlets are covered with barbed, hooked prickles.

On the misty moor the covert hound sniffed the scent of a passing stag and set off after it with tireless determination.

While snorkeling, I spotted a smooth hound gliding along the sandy bottom.