Chapter IX: Book II: Studies and Stories (2)

Our very soul revolts from the tales of cruel maiming of which we have heard a good deal of late. That these are true of the practice of any but a few scattered countries, I do not believe. But, on the other hand, that they undoubtedly occur in some hunts is beyond question. Sport has to be shown; the followers at all costs must be given that for which they have come out. If hounds do not taste blood, they will become slack, and lose their interest in the chase. The hunt servants come from a class of which some members are incapable of understanding the sufferings of a lower order of life than their own. If they realised the agony of the broken or maimed limb with which the quarry is sometimes sent to make his last gallant bid for life, they would no more give the secret wrench that makes their own success assured than would the man whose wider outlook enables him to grasp the depth of suffering inflicted. In saying this, I would not for a moment imply that all, or nearly all, our hunt servants have the callous indifference to pain that such a course implies. On the contrary, the love of their hounds, so plainly shown both in the kennel and in the field, and their own innate love of all animal life, are a sufficient testimony to the humanity of the great body of those who show us sport. As a rule our huntsmen are of a far higher level of intelligence than others of their own class, or they would never have risen to the place they hold. But the danger comes from those who have the mental gifts without the moral background. With these the brilliant execution of their own work is everything; the rights of the lower creatures to humane treatment at their hands are non-existent. And this, as I have said, is because they do not, and cannot from their very nature, enter into the feelings of another order of beings.

But as the huntsman and his underlings are the servants of the Master, the responsibility for unsportsmanlike conduct in the field must ultimately rest with him. Not many, when spoken to on such a matter, will give the callous answer, worthy of a stage of civilisation left long ages behind, that one M. F. H. did: “I don’t care what they do, so long as they show sport, and don’t tell me how they do it.” But that such a view can be held, and that a man of such a type may have those under his orders who will be prompt to take advantage of the implied permission, is a direct danger to hunting, and one against which all true lovers of the sport should be on their guard. A careless master, and still more an indifferent one, may bring discredit on the national pastime that gives health and happiness to thousands of its followers, and causes the fox to be treated throughout his life as a favoured partner in the chase instead of as a noxious beast of prey.

About one thing there is no doubt. Any man or woman who continues to hunt in a country where cruelty is practised makes himself or herself responsible for what is done there. The reason of the cruelty is the desire to show sport, and the only check that can be imposed is that of public opinion. To this, Masters of Hounds and Hunt servants alike are peculiarly sensitive, the reputation of both, and the very livelihood of the latter, depending on it. If then such deeds of cruelty are passed over, or ignored as not being the business of those in whose interests they are done, the future of fox hunting will suffer from a deadly peril. If indeed the hunting field cannot be cleared from the reproach that must cling to it while cruelty in any form is practised, and the fight is not a fair and open one between hounds and their quarry, our many enemies will have a powerful weapon to use against us.

I am indeed far from thinking that Ruskin’s advice to gentlemen “to mow their own fields instead of riding over other people’s” can be followed. The words could only have been penned by one who was at once ignorant of the health-giving joys of the hunting-field, and of the natural sequence of country occupations. But though I lay myself open to the charge of cruelty from those who only see in hunting a relic of a bygone barbarism, and on the other hand may rouse the anger of those whose tastes I share, by pointing to the dark spots that tarnish the glories of our national pastime, I must e’en take a stand with the hounds in hoping for a continuance of their joy in sport, and with the fox in pleading that a fair and open fight is allowed him.

With the hounds, then, who at least are in no wise responsible for deeds of darkness done in secret, let us return to the field. The results of beneficent rule in the kennels is seen in their manner of hunting. If the huntsman and his whippers-in have won their confidence and love, the hounds have, beyond their own keenness in the chase, the desire to please those to whom they look as their natural guides and rulers. The hunt servants, and above all the huntsman, take the place of the old tribal leader, whose will was imposed on his followers. We all know how hounds when they have failed to recover the line of their hunted fox, will look up to the huntsman with an inquiring expression of countenance, that says as plainly as any words could tell us, they are asking him to help them: “We have done our part. Now it is your turn to come to our assistance.”

And how much the hounds will do for themselves, and how clearly the individual characteristics of each member of the pack is brought out in their common work! The hounds that are deferred to in the kennel will generally take the lead in the chase. Some naturally take the first place, and others as naturally follow. If we glance for a moment at the riders behind them, shall we not see exactly the same thing taking place? The man and woman whose observation is keen, decision prompt, and whose will is fearless, will be seen in front, while those of lesser gifts of courage and insight will follow in their wake. There is, of course, yet another partner in the chase, whose character and powers have to be reckoned with, but, even so, a bad horse will be at his best, or a good horse at his worst, according to the way in which he is handled. Certain I am that no stupid man or hound will ever lead in a good hunt.

But let us watch the hounds at work. No sooner does one touch the scent than he waves his stern and signals to the others. As he lashes his sides, those who are near enough to see the sign crowd round him; and each one, partly in emulation and partly in sympathy, works hard to find and identify the scent. Then an eager, exultant note comes from one of them, and now is the time when we shall learn much of the character the speaker bears. The other hounds will raise their heads quickly, but if the note comes from one whom they do not trust, they will resume their quest quietly and take no further notice of his call. But if the hound is one who is looked up to and respected, his fellow workers will fly to him from all parts of the covert, and a chorus of eager voices will corroborate his opinion and show that their trust was not misplaced.

They run on close together till once more they lose the scent, and there is a check. Now again we learn much of the dispositions and characters of the workers. The pack spreads out like a fan, and each hound works by and for himself. But not all in the same way. The slack and careless hound will gallop round aimlessly and then wait to see what the others do. The steady, persevering hound will, with a painstaking sense of duty, try every blade of grass. The hound of thoughtful mind will go to all the more likely places first; and the wise old hound, whose business has been fully mastered, will gallop unhesitatingly back to the place where he last had the scent. How often the rest are put right by such a leader! He gallops back to the gateway, through which he had been swept by the common impulse that will carry the best hound over the line sometimes. But as soon as he has time to think, he pauses. He knows he has not smelt fox since he came through the gate, and he knows, too, that a fox will often turn short under a wall or fence. So he goes back, turns up by the hedge, and hits off the line, and both hounds and huntsmen follow at his call.

Few more wonderful instances of reasoning power are, I suppose, ever shown in the field than by the stag-hounds when they have brought a wild stag to bay. Though I have never ridden with the Devon and Somerset, some of the most picturesque and thrilling moments of sport I have ever experienced have been with them. The stag, after bounding down the precipitous sides of a rocky combe, will plunge into the quick-flowing stream that divides the wooded depths of the valley. The hounds are close behind, but not within view. As they, too, reach the water, they divide, some following the stream on one side, some on the other, while others take to the bed of the water itself. The huntsman, it may be, has not yet threaded his way between the boulders and thickly planted trees that have impeded his progress. But the hounds work up to their stag, which stands at bay where the current is running strongest. Now the older hounds come to the front, with the wisdom learned of former encounters. They trot up the bank, past the spot where the stag is standing. Then they take to the water, and are carried almost without effort to him. If they had entered the stream sooner, they could not have reached him, for they were powerless to breast the current; and as the young hounds watch their strategy, they too learn the lesson they will put in practice later. Here, then, we have evidence of the natural lead of superior intelligence, and of the willingness of the younger and less experienced to learn from the example of their elders.

But the foundation of the powers of combination that show such an infinite variety in the field is laid in kennel life. The better the discipline and the greater the influence of the huntsman over his pack, the more readily will they work together. No better or quainter example of this was ever given than that of John Press, whose fame as a successful huntsman spread far and wide from the Blackmore Vale country. Here I will quote again from a book, with which my connection gives me the means of vouching for the absolute truth of its statements. It is Miss Serrell, one of the keenest of sportswomen and hound lovers, who tells the story.[3]

“A ... wonderful instance of perfect kennel discipline was that I once witnessed with terriers and foxhounds in the Blackmore Vale kennels. One day, not long before Press retired, I rode over to the kennels, and being told by the kennelman that Press was in the orchard with the hounds, I dismounted and went in search of him. The sight that met my eyes as I opened the gate I shall never forget. There was Press in his kennel coat, with only a slim white willow in his hands, surrounded by both packs of hounds, and seated on a low stool with his favourite little hound, Miranda, on his knees, while he was encouraging some nine or ten terriers to scratch at the rat-holes round an old apple-tree. Not one of the hounds ventured to interfere as they stood round watching the terriers’ efforts, and it was enough for Press to lift his little stick if one essayed to go too near them. Seating myself on a handy stump, I watched the performance, while the old man related anecdotes of his favourites, and assured me he could never have done what he did with them except for their home training. It was a common saying of his that you could teach more _in_ kennel than _out_, and with this opinion I cordially agree.

“Perhaps the most curious part of that orchard scene was to come, for Press after a time rose and passed slowly back to the kennels, with the hounds following. Throwing open one of the doors, he turned, and, eyeing the hounds sternly, he raised his hand, and to my great amusement exclaimed in his gruff voice, ‘Ladies first!’ At this signal every ‘lady,’ with a little wave of her stern, trotted forward and went in; and as soon as all had disappeared the door was shut, not a dog-hound in the meantime offering to follow. As he threw open the other door, Press called out, ‘Now, then, gentlemen!’ and the dog-hounds marched majestically in.”

If slackness prevail in their home, hounds will be as ready to take advantage of it as are our own children. Some hounds are more inclined to mischief than others, but if one breaks out there is danger that all the others may follow. How often, again, is the counterpart seen in our playing-field or classroom. Idleness in all cases is the beginning of vice. Many of us know the story of the wild young hounds that once led a whole pack--and a good one--on the line of a donkey. It is said that for long afterwards the huntsman and whippers-in of these hounds regarded the very word “donkey,” uttered in their presence, as a personal insult.

That discipline must be tempered with affection, the conduct of hounds in the field shows clearly. For a man who is harsh to them, who is too ready with lash and hard words, hounds will have much the same relation that a schoolboy has to the tutor he detests, or the soldier to the officer he does not respect. The main-spring of good work is love, not harshness.

If every one from hunt servants to the master would take their duties in the way that one M. F. H. did, there would be no danger of unnecessary harshness, still less cruelty, being used towards any of our partners of the chase. The Master of whom I am speaking never overlooked a fault of this kind with any of his servants. If a man was too ready with the whip, or in any way too severe in the correction of kennel faults, he was sent away at once, _without a character_. As he was not fitted to have the care of animals, the Master would not help him to another situation. It is only by following such a line of conduct that unsuitable hunt servants can be kept from jeopardising the fair fame of those to whose good offices every hunting man and woman in the country owe so many of the pleasantest hours of their life.

V

“_But why dost thou compare thee to a dog,
In that for which all men despise a dog?
I will compare thee better to a dog:
Thou art as fair and comely as a dog,
Thou art as true and honest as a dog,
Thou art as kind and liberal as a dog,
Thou art as wise and valiant as a dog._”

While the foxhound and harrier and their brothers of the chase work in company, and--within the limits allowed by the guiding spirit of the huntsman--under the leadership of one or more of their own kind, in another branch of sport we find the perfection of a dog’s individual action in the field. If we watch the early training of the young pointer or setter we can trace the development of the dog’s powers of mind under the hand of his instructor. If the latter has the intelligence and the patience necessary for his task, and the ambition to make the most of the opening powers that give to his touch the unerring response of a musical instrument of varied strength and different tones, we shall see this under the most favourable circumstances.

In the first place, the natural characteristics of the young pupil, as they have been shown in puppy games and family intercourse, will be made due allowance for. The puppy of strong, decided character will have different treatment meted out to it from that given to one of timid mind, and, it may be, less robust physique, or results will show us clearly what is wanting. A harsh word or unrestrained action on the part of the instructor will in a moment turn a bright-eyed and eager dog into a cowed, and, it may be, sullen creature, who has for the time being, at least, lost all interest in the proceedings that promised so well. He must have perfect confidence in the justice of the man in whose hands he is. This confidence is the foundation on which the affection of later years will be built. Without the one it is impossible to have the other. If owners and, above all, keepers only knew it, the way in which their dogs respond to their treatment is the surest index of their own characters. If they are slovenly in their work, the want of thoroughness will surely be reflected in their dogs, and this in spite of any attempts to cover their own defects by unconsidered sternness to their charges. The man who only cares for his dogs as a necessary part of the accessories of a day’s shooting will never get more than eye service from them. As he knows nothing of the dog’s character, and treats him as if he had no special traits that mark him off as an individual, such a master cannot hope for any response but such as fear of punishment can give him. The dog, if he survives the training given under such circumstances--if, that is to say, he does not fall under the condemnation of being worthless in the field--will only work when directly under his master’s eye, and while he knows that chastisement prompt and severe will fall on any failure. In his work, as work, he will take little or no interest; and it is safe to say that such a dog will never show of what he might have been capable under more discriminating treatment.

The youngest dog that comes under training has the same instinctive knowledge of human character that a child has. Not all, perhaps, would show the nice appreciation of temperament displayed by an older dog that belonged to the father of one of my friends. Shot was a black and white pointer with a long head and ears, and a conformation of head nearer that of a foxhound than of an ordinary dog of his kind. He was a firstrate dog on birds, and conducted himself with the greatest decorum in the field. But one day his high spirits carried him out of his usual self-restraint. He was racing along at such a pace that he dashed into a covey of birds and flushed them. It did not need his master’s angry voice to bring home to him a sense of his misdeeds.

SHOT]

As the birds rose, Shot stopped short, his tail went between his legs, and with only a momentary pause he set off wildly to save himself from chastisement. Making straight for a neighbouring bog he waded through it, up to his neck in mud, till he reached a dry spot. Then he sat up and regarded his master serenely, secure in the knowledge that he could not be followed. His owner, a man of quick temper, though much too fond of his dogs to give any of them more than a well merited reminder not to offend again, was not unnaturally angry at the turn affairs had taken. “Oh, you lop-eared cur, if I could only get at you!” were the words that travelled to Shot’s ears, as he sat entrenched in his fastness. He stayed quietly where he was, therefore, till the passing storm had blown over. As soon as his master turned his attention again to the birds, Shot knew he might return safely. He lost no time in leaving his island, and wading back through the mud he took up his duties as if nothing had happened. So well did he work that at the end of the day he received nothing but praise for the excellence of his conduct. The fault had faded from his master’s mind, and when it was recalled only excited admiration of the dog’s intelligence that had saved him from untoward chastisement. A beating, and still more a savage beating, at the end of a good day’s work, would have given Shot a new view of his master’s character that would have gone far to destroy the good fellowship existing between them.

But in a puppy, as in a young child, no fault should be overlooked. The great mistake so many commit in training, is in making the necessary correction of minor failings too severe. They are not always careful, either, to make the punishment follow immediately on the fault, but chastise, with a strength measured by their own impatience, the young creature from whose unformed mind all sense of delinquency has passed away. How can a puppy be expected to understand the reason of a harsh rating, or hard blow, for a lack of due response to such an outlandish sound, to untutored ears, as “Toho,” when all remembrance has passed in the excitement of watching some later action of his master that calls forth his keenest interest as he tries to fathom its meaning? Still less chance has he in these first essays of the business of life if other dogs are sharing his instructor’s attention with him. He is then being treated as a chattel, and yet expected to give the individual response that only an intelligent being can give. If he does not do like the others at the word of command, and the master’s first thought is given to continuing the exercise for those who respond rightly, what chance is there that the young dog will understand the meaning of his correction, after he has followed with fascinated gaze and possibly intelligent co-operation the later parts of the lesson? If the man would only _think_, he would recognise that he was asking from his pupil an effort of mind that is quite beyond his range. It is from the heart sickness caused by the knowledge of terrible acts of vengeance wreaked on defenceless pupils, by thoughtless and cruel masters, that I venture to speak thus plainly. The suffering that is sometimes crowded into the first twelve months of a puppy’s life is terrible to think of. And how many good dogs are thus ruined for life, and are condemned as worthless before they have even had a chance of showing their powers! If the owners of shooting dogs would only remember that the dogs which, under judicious treatment, will give the best result as workers are those which, from the possession of the very gifts that give them their value, will understand and resent most keenly any acts of oppression and injustice that cloud their young days, they would save their pockets by getting the services of many a good worker, whose life has been ended by a bullet through his brains.

But if the puppy’s training has been carefully and successfully carried out in the privacy that is such an important factor of success, the considerate and individual care meted out to him does not by any means end here. The dog has learned to obey the various words of command, and so far has responded to his training. But his experience up to this point has been free from conflicting interests. He has concentrated all his attention on the lessons with nothing to distract his mind. But when he takes his place in the field the case is very different. Yet how often do we hear a young dog rated, or see him beaten, for a fault that should have been corrected gently. He has, if he has been wisely treated, finished his education under the very conditions that obtain in the field when the shooting season begins. He has mastered every detail of his work, but how few owners make allowance for the excitement that takes possession of a dog when he first has part in a serious day’s shooting! If he is thrown with other dogs, his difficulties are increased tenfold, but supposing that he only accompanies his master for a quiet day among the turnips, and with no companion save a retriever, he knows as well as his owner does that the circumstances of his work are now quite different from all that has gone before. His master is intent on making a good bag, and if the pointer or setter was not capable of understanding the difference between serious business and the previous training foreshadowing it, he would be incapable of giving the intelligent co-operation that is expected of him. He is excited, therefore, and eager, it may well be too eager, to please, and if in the ardour of his own feelings the sportsman has no thought and consideration for his dog, the latter’s early training may very likely be spoilt after all.

It is, alas! well known that keepers and their masters will often give an erring dog a punishment with their gun, one of the most brutal forms of chastisement possible. Restraining their savage anger till the dog is at some thirty yards from them, they pepper the poor creature with shot in the hind quarters as he is hurrying forward. From the point of view of common sense, as well as of humane feeling, this is the most futile form in which the anger of the master can show itself. First and foremost, there is the suffering entailed on the dog, for to my own knowledge some animals have lost their lives from the injuries inflicted on them.

And yet what good and faithful work many dogs will give to careless and even cruel owners! A very handsome, upstanding black and white setter, who belonged to a farmer of morose temper, was one of these. The dog was not properly fed, and in spite of his thick coat he excited the commiseration of some people, a part of whose property adjoined the land rented by the farmer. The members of this family were lovers of sport in all its forms, and they often saw the setter at work, and knew that he was particularly staunch on game. One day Prince was following his master about the farm on agricultural interests bent, when, as they passed some heathland, the dog lighted on a covey of partridges. He instantly became rigid, but knowing well that sport was not at the moment the point of interest in his master’s mind, he looked round to see if he was being observed. The master’s hand was raised, and Prince obediently dropped. Then the farmer hurried home to fetch his gun. At the end of between twenty and thirty minutes he was back, and found Prince still at his post. At a word, the dog was up, and his master secured a brace of birds. Another time when Prince had been lent to the son of the neighbouring landowner, the dog retained his position for full fifteen minutes before the gun came up. It is sad to think that such a dog should have had more than his share of blows and curses, and but little of the affection that would have made his life happy.

But if the same gentle restraint is about the young dog in the field that has hitherto attended his training, the response he will give to his owner’s wishes will be little short of marvellous. For the most striking point about the dog’s work in the field is that he carries it out without any physical gain to himself, beyond his enjoyment of the exercise it gives him and the delight the scent of the game affords. The only reward he looks for is one that appeals to his imagination and affection only. While he ranges the field for the hidden game he must have a clear conception in his mind of the results that will follow his successful point. It will bring to his master the pleasure for which he has come out. But here his own share in the work ceases, and it is another dog that will dash in and carry the trophy to his owner. It is well known that many dogs show such a clear appreciation of the respective duties of the various partners in the sport that they will refuse to do their share if the gun does not account for a satisfactory number of birds. Could anything say more plainly that if their own part of the work is well done they expect equal skill to be shown by their fellow workers?

A setter who showed such nice discrimination belonged to a man who was a firstrate shot. This man had the generosity to lend his dog not infrequently to friends, and it was when the dog was working for an indifferent shot that he showed his disapproval of work to which he was not accustomed. If his temporary master missed two birds running, the setter always turned away and made straight for home. In no case was he ever known to condone such a failure. One miss he would overlook, but two in succession he could not and did not tolerate.

No more cutting reproach can be given to any indifferent sportsman than the silent turning away of a well trained and intelligent dog from the sport in which his master is not taking his due share. And what in many cases is the immediate result of an action on the part of the dog that shows such an amazing appreciation of things as they are? The insult is felt, only to give point to the man’s natural exasperation at his own failure. The dog is not made to feel that his exercise of intelligence is understood, but that to please his master he must go on with his work. He is instead rated, or even beaten, for the desire he has shown to give it up, and what wonder if, feeling the injustice of the punishment that has followed his own good service, the dog turns sulky and refuses to try again. If the man were not so absorbed in his own determination to have sport, good, bad, or indifferent, as to have no thought to give to the dog’s point of view, he would pursue a juster course and one more likely to give him the result he desires.

The field work of the pointer is differentiated from that of his near relation, the foxhound, in every essential detail. True, he has the same excitement that is the hound’s great joy in the field of hunting up to his game. But even here he has to be taught to seek for his birds with head well in air, instead of keeping his sensitive nose on the ground. For this part of his duty, he has to work out the problem before him entirely without help from his fellows. Then as soon as he signals to his master by the customary point that game is at hand, nothing but a passing glimpse of the birds as they rise comes to reward his work. Instead of the run for a kill that brings the successful chase of the hound to a close, the pointer or setter has to remain content with the knowledge that the physical enjoyment of touching the game has fallen to the retriever, and that the trophy itself has been taken possession of by his master.

We have all heard of the long discussion that from the days of Colonel Thornton’s celebrated pointer Dash has been carried on respecting the infusion of foxhound blood into the pointer kennel. With this matter I have no concern, but I am reminded of a very curious instance of hound work that more nearly resembled the pointer style than that of the foxhound. Yet Druid, the hound in question, was one of pure foxhound blood on both sides. He was a son of Rufford Denmark, and many of his brothers and sisters are to be found in the Hound lists of the late Mr. Merthyr Guest, which lists I have had the privilege of studying. The dam of Druid was Woodbine, a daughter of Mr. Garth’s Wildfire, and she strained back to the wonderful hound Ruby (1864), the mother of the Blackmore Vale pack, that was dispersed on Mr. Guest’s resignation of the Mastership, in the year 1900. One who hunted with the Blackmore Vale for many years, and was one of the hardest riders of a hard riding field, says of Druid,[4] he “had a curious way of catching a scent. He would stand on his hind legs with his nose high in the air, and sometimes even jump from the ground in his eagerness to catch it.” The hound was, this writer adds, “a most reliable hound” in his work.

Another incident in the pointer or setter’s duty when he is working with other dogs demands as much intelligent comprehension as his point, and an equal amount of self-control. This is the “back” he is expected to give, immediately one of his companions is at the point. He knows that his fellow is in the enjoyment of the “grateful steam” that is one of the few lawful pleasures he can hope for from the day’s sport. Yet he may not move a step towards the spot where the pleasure lies. He must too give up his own anticipations of a similar joy, and wait while others are having the fun. Now, if we think of this for a moment from the dog’s point of view, we shall see what a high exercise of self-control he must bring to bear on this part of his duty.

This has always seemed to me one of the most surprising results of the effects of training on the higher mental powers of the dog that has ever been achieved. Of course we know that pointers and setters may be taught to retrieve, and a setter may do the work of both pointer and retriever, but here I am only speaking of the special tasks allotted to the former. And with such intelligent co-operation as he is expected to give, has not the dog a right to the considerate and gentle treatment that will alone encourage him to give of his best? I would plead with every sportsman that takes a gun in hand not to cast a slur on his own manhood by unworthy conduct to a faithful worker, to the exercise of whose skill his pleasure owes so much.

From the point of view of the thinker, a nice psychological problem presents itself, as to the powers of the dog’s mind that are brought into play during a day’s shooting. There is, first of all, an intelligent response to the training that has been given him, when he is left to carry out his work by himself. For though a faint whistle may from time to time come to carry some direction from his master, the exigencies of the shooting field demand that he should be left in the main to his own resources. But far above this in intellectual effort is the imagination that must be brought into play to give him the conception, he undoubtedly has, of the different parts that go to make up the whole of the day’s sport. If he did not realise the parts of the work he does not see, as well as those that are the result of his own exertions, it would be impossible for him to show resentment at the sport not being brought to a successful termination. The report rings out when the birds rise, whether the shot is to bring success or failure. In any further steps, the dog has no share, but the mental picture that is imaged on his brain must not be marred, or he will take the very means to mark his sense of the disturbance that a human might do if he were put into the position of the dog.

A very extraordinary instance of intelligent co-operation with the work of the guns is told me by one who has had a life-long experience in the breeding and training of shooting dogs. In the course of a day’s grouse shooting in Caithness, two black pointers were out and working in their usual good style. But one bird could not be found. The keeper was at last joined by the guns in his search, but no efforts could discover the bird the dogs told them was there. When the search was given up in despair, the keeper noticed that only one of his dogs went to his work. The other went back and sitting down regarded her master anxiously. The man saw her take her point and go up to dead. Then she disappeared from view, but instantly reappearing, she drew herself up to her full height with the dead bird in her mouth. Holding it for a moment for her master to see, she then dropped it and sat down beside it. Hurrying up, the keeper found that the bird had crept into a narrow hole in the ground, where the efforts of all the party had been unable to find it.

Leaving thus the more serious aspects of the shooting dog’s life, let us turn to an amusing episode in which a retriever seemed to show a sense of humour. Cruiser, a curly coated dog, was one of those good tempered, easy natured creatures that are always ready to give a helping “paw” in anything that is on hand. The mistress of this dog could, on the occasion in question, well have dispensed with his assistance. Among the many animals she gathered round her in her country home was a troop of young ducklings. The aim of these little things’ lives was to get into a certain pond, from which, as it had deep walled sides, it was very difficult to get them out. Late one Sunday evening this lady discovered that the gate leading into the field where the pond was situated had been left open, and all the ducklings had made haste to take advantage of their opportunity. Usually when such a catastrophe occurred, half the household were summoned to take part in the work of rescue. But on Sunday evening no one was available, and with Cruiser at her side his mistress took up the business single-handed. With the help of the retriever and a long pole she collected the brood in a corner of the pond near the hatches, and then put the pole across behind them, to keep them from getting back into deep water. She then lay down on the bank, and by stretching her arm down could just reach the truants. Taking one of the fluffy heads gently in her hand, she swung the duckling up to the bank beside her. This she repeated again and again, till every limb ached. The ducklings seemed to be multiplied by tens, and at last in despair of ever getting them all out, she sat up to rest and count the number she had rescued. A glance showed her the reason of her unending work. As each duckling came up, Cruiser caught it skilfully and gently in his mouth, and carrying it to the side of the pond dropped it delicately in. When his mistress stopped working, his own amusement came to an end, and he too sat down to wait for better times, which in this case at least did not come to him.

VI

_He has not lived in vain, whose magic art
Portrays God’s creatures in the nobler part.
He has not lived in vain, whose teaching tends
To human sympathy with our dumb friends._

A fact that is brought home to us very early in the house dog’s life, in which we see the dawning of a personal sense of responsibility in his mind, is the self-control he learns to exercise. As he responds to the training that is brought to bear on his undeveloped powers, he gives the first faint evidence of a moral sense, the violation of which causes him to feel shame, as well as fear of the consequences of his act.

A wild and wayward little being, he responds with ever increasing facility to the lessons that are to fit him for his position in life. He wrangles with his fellow puppies, and fights with them for a share of the food for which his appetite craves, and in his contests and his play shows to the attentive observer the dawning of the natural characteristics that go to make him a being distinct from all others of his kind. Little by little his innate love of mischief and the curiosity that prompts so many puppy crimes, are curbed and checked by the restraints imposed on him by the nature of his surroundings. He learns that disaster in the form of correction awaits him if he gives play to his natural cravings, and the dawn of his reasoning faculties is shown in his efforts--by no means always successful--to govern the impulses that his puppy mind learns to realise are not to be indulged in with impunity.

A friend who was living with me in India had two well-bred fox-terrier puppies given to her when they were only a few weeks old. She undertook their training, and had a somewhat lively experience with them. Her Ayah was devoted to the playful little fat balls, but had no more idea of discipline for them than she had for her own children. By some needful lessons their owner had taught them that boots and sponges and other toilet accessories were not to be destroyed with impunity. When the puppies were with her, therefore, they soon left the forbidden things severely alone. During her absence they were not allowed in her bedroom, and if left alone were shut into the safe shelter of an Indian bathroom. But the Ayah was ready to give them anything they wanted, and one day, when they were between two and three months old, she admitted them to their mistress’s room, while she went off to her house to dinner.

Not long after their owner returned and found signs of havoc in the shape of a torn up sponge and a sadly mutilated shoe. Not a puppy, however, was to be seen, and the bathroom being empty, the Ayah was summoned to account for their disappearance. Then a search was instituted, and from different places of concealment two frightened and manifestly shame-stricken little animals were drawn. They were shown the results of their handiwork, and a lesson for future guidance was given them in the form of admonitory finger taps, though their mistress had hard work to preserve even a semblance of gravity, as she looked at their ridiculous little cowering forms. But the puppies had had a lesson, the severest of their young lives, that they did not forget. They learned to respect their owner’s belongings even in the freedom of solitude, and the shame they showed when brought face to face with the evidence of their misdeeds bore good fruit in the form of exemplary self-restraint even in the pursuit of mischief. For these puppies had never been beaten, and the dread of a stern word, or the touch of an admonishing finger, was not sufficient to account for their action in hiding themselves from their mistress. They must have had a sense of wrong-doing, mingled with the fear of reproof that showed their training had indeed been satisfactorily begun.

Independently of the love that young dogs show in puppyhood to their owners, their friendship for others of their own kind comes early in their stage of development. A friendship begun in puppyhood will often last through life. An instance of this was seen in two fox terriers, litter brothers, by name Rattler and Royal. These dogs were not sent out to walk, but spent their young days together in their home kennels. Their affection for each other was soon remarked, for contrary to the general conditions obtaining among young terriers, they were never known to fight together. When they arrived at years of discretion they took their place with the older dogs, in the sporting pack to which they belonged. Here the friendship of their younger days became even more marked. Neither Rattler nor Royal could be induced to go out, even for the delights of hunting, without the other. When they were at work in the field they were always together, and in company they would return. No day was ever too long for the brothers, and they were always to the fore in any work there was on hand. Often when hunting was over, Rattler would manage to slip away from the pack, and taking refuge in some handy covert, start working on his own account. Royal would soon notice his absence, and if not looked after would run back to find the truant. Then the two would have a royal time, and hunt the woods at their own sweet will till exhausted nature could do no more. It was believed that a hearty meal of rabbit not infrequently ended the day’s pleasures for them, and then under the shelter of a bramble bush they would curl up together and sleep the sleep of the worn-out hunter.

ROY AND JACK]

An instance of strong friendship between an older and a younger dog is seen with two pets, one a very handsome King Charles and the other a fascinating, most alert little Yorkshire terrier, who are members of a household where the dogs take no unimportant place. Roy, the King Charles, was an old and valued friend before the puppy Jack came to keep him company. At the time of the latter’s arrival Roy was suffering from a long and painful illness, and as an invalid he claimed and received more than his usual share of attention from his friends. The care with which Jack was prevented from disturbing the sufferer roused the puppy’s keenest interest in him, and it was observed that Roy himself showed no disposition to be offended at the new-comer’s presence. Little by little Jack was left free to go to Roy’s basket when he pleased, and no sooner was a cry of pain heard from the older dog than the puppy would rush to him and kiss him, and then look round for help for his suffering friend from those present. In return for these attentions Roy allowed Jack to play with his favourite toy without demur, though his friends were ready to protect his plaything from the other, while Roy was too suffering to take part in the games. The invalid would, however, show his disapproval of the too zealous attentions of his guardians by a low growl whenever Jack was deprived of the coveted toy, and from his basket would watch the games of the active puppy with a gentle interest.

Soon further signs of a good understanding between the dogs were shown. Roy, who is the autocrat of the household, spends the night with the cook, an old and valued servant, who has a quite passionate affection for the imperious little beauty. In the morning, the next step of Roy’s daily pleasures is a visit to his mistress, who being an invalid has her breakfast in bed. The little spaniel lies on her bed until she gets up, and when he is there, not even his friend Jane is allowed to interfere with him. But one day when Jack arrived in his mistress’s arms to pay a visit to the invalid, Roy was all anxiety for him to share his position with him. As this was the highest mark of favour he could show, it was felt that from henceforth the care in keeping Roy from the pressing attentions of the puppy might be relaxed.

With the exception of my own Skye, Roy has the most varied vocabulary in the way of language that I have ever heard from any dog. He makes his wants and wishes known to his friends with the greatest ease. Being a very determined as well as intelligent little person, it is but seldom that he does not get his own way. He has a large circle of friends and admirers outside his own family, and I think his devoted attendant, Jane, could scarcely be induced to accept an invitation out to tea, if Roy were not included in the party.

In the many severe illnesses that Roy has suffered, his life has undoubtedly been saved by the gentle patience with which he has submitted to remedies. He never resents anything that is done for his future comfort, and will submit quietly to handling that causes him great present pain with an evident appreciation of the reasons that dictate his friends’ efforts on his behalf. As Roy in his younger days had no home playfellow, he developed an amusing attachment to self-elected pets. The first object of his young affections as a plaything was a muff, that was shaken, tossed, and rolled about, till its comely proportions were reduced to bare skin. This with unwavering affection was always taken to bed to be slept on, till in an evil hour for him, the cook took the somewhat doubtful looking object in hand. She washed and mended it, with the laudable intention of making it a sweeter bedfellow; but for Roy its charm had gone, and he discarded it with a finality from which there was no appeal.

Now Roy, being as I have said, a privileged person, always has his chair put for him at the dining-room table, where he sits beside his mistress at mealtime, showing a decorous attention to the business in hand. His plate is before him, and at a certain point, his own portion of the food is put ready for him. Being an imaginative dog, Roy has many little “make-believes” with his playthings, and occasionally the ball that has succeeded the muff in his affections is carried into the dining room and put on the edge of his plate. The first time this happened, it was supposed to have been a mistake on Roy’s part, and the ball was removed from its position. But its owner had not brought it there without some unknown purpose in his little mind, and he prepared forthwith to rectify his friend’s blunder. Leaving his chair and the food that had just been put before him, he bustled off to recover the lost treasure, and having put it back in its former position he ate his dinner quietly. It is only now and then that the ball is thus honoured, but on these rare occasions its presence is necessary to Roy’s comfort, and his sense of the fitness of things must not be outraged by its removal.

Roy’s little housemate Jack, though still in his early youth, has already some well marked characteristics. He has a talent for collecting his family and keeping them together in a walk that is worthy of the powers of a sheep dog. His great accomplishment is begging, which he exercises on his own initiative and in a most effective manner. With him this habit takes the place of language. If he wants anything he sits up immediately on his hind legs, and with a wealth of expression in his eyes waits for his friends to attend to him. As the desired answer is sure to come, Jack’s faith in his method is unbounded. A little upright waiting form is not infrequently found in position before a closed door. Though the desired answer may be long in coming, Jack has every confidence that perseverance will win the day.