What beast dost thou think thou art? Art thou a hound or a rat?

I went to a sale with my mother yesterday and kept hounding her to buy me a dress.

Hounds hunt by their keen scent.

He said that there were no traces upon the ground round the body. He did not observe any. But I did—some little distance off, but fresh and clear.” “Footprints?” “Footprints.” “A man’s or a woman’s?” Dr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his voice sank almost to a whisper as he answered:— “Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!”

The hounds flushed the fox out of its hiding place.

Spring over the ground like a hunting hound.

But it was not the sight of her body, nor yet was it that of the body of Hugo Baskerville lying near her, which raised the hair upon the heads of these three dare-devil roysterers, but it was that, standing over Hugo, and plucking at his throat, there stood a foul thing, a great, black beast, shaped like a hound, yet larger than any hound that ever mortal eye has rested upon.

Yogi Bear drove the Jeep and Huckleberry Hound sat beside him.

Those are hounds.

The hounds are in pursuit of the fox.