To some men (certainly it is so to me) one great element of the
pleasure of walking shooting _versus_ standing shooting, viz., the
driving of grouse, partridge, and pheasant, is the working and use of
dogs where they are useful and essential to success, in the particular
sport for which they are used.
Do not let it be inferred that I am detracting from driving, or the
skill and experience that is necessary to do it well, both in beaters
and guns.
Each sport is delightful in its way and in its season.
The Yorkshire grouse cannot be brought to bag without driving, and so
with partridges and pheasants in certain counties.
But I do feel more delight in hunting the game than in having the game
hunted towards me.
I have always worked a perfect retriever broken by myself and kept to
myself, a dog keen to his work, and who keeps by your side, not at
heel, as he needs to see what is doing, if he is to help you to his
uttermost, who keeps his nose on the alert, and tells you by a look
when you are passing a close sitting partridge or rabbit or hare in its
form, and who tells you if the partridge covey is still in front or run
up the right or left furrows of the swedes, who stops with you until
told to go, and then goes quietly back to where he saw the bird drop,
and takes up the scent of the dead or running bird; not a dog who,
when told to go rushes and tears about hoping to flush the winged bird
into sight, or put up and chase some wretched rabbit, which is far more
to his taste.
I have never done any good with pedigree dog-blood as shown on the show
bench. Of course, on the show bench it is not pretended for one moment
that any good is to accrue in a sporting sense; all is sacrificed to
shape, size, and coat, which in a sporting dog get it if you can, but
probably you have to do without some points if you get brains and
keenness.
Napoleon, Wellington, and Gen. Sheridan were all small men, and their
physique would not have commanded prizes on the show bench.
Again, for field trials dogs are bred up for that business only, and
are rarely used for sporting.
At a field trial you want a bold pretentious dog that will go in and
do just one or two things in a certain form, stand hares and rabbits,
if he does it in proper form, and as to whether he is an industrious
good worker, that is a matter of indifference. A really good dog, if a
little shied by the crowd round him, will be quite out of the running
in a field trial. I don't say but that some field trial dogs may
possess high qualities that are useful as a cross in breeding.
I raise no objection to dog shows, they afford pleasure to numbers of
people. What I desire is that the inexperienced sportsman shall not
look in that direction for his sporting dogs.
Caithness birds, especially in catchy weather, run very much when
pointed and drawn upon. Clearly, like a red-leg partridge, he tries
his legs well before he will take to wing. Sometimes they will road
over 100 yards or more, and it is an unexplained mystery to me how a
brood will cross a burnt and bare patch in front of you as fast as you
can comfortably walk, without showing themselves.
Old solitary cocks are terrible fellows for this, and if your dog does
not foot them fast they will outwalk you, and ultimately rise wild.
One old brute pointed well fifty yards within the march, took me such
a distance across the Dunbeath march that I began to be so thoroughly
ashamed of my trespass, that when he did rise and drop to the shot, I
felt half inclined to let him lie and come away.
To my mind working a brace of dogs is a mistake.
Rap, we will say, gets birds and Ben backs him; certainly a very pretty
picture, if the dogs do it well.
The birds draw on, and Rap draws on, Ben remains behind, stands like a
fool--the poetry of the picture is gone, perhaps he draws on in Rap's
footsteps.
Besides if you want to work your dogs in pairs you will need double the
number in the kennel, ay, and an extra dog breaker as well.
In the course of a six or seven hour day, to work a party, you will
need, if you work them singly, three experienced dogs and two younger
ones coming on to work.
In Caithness and Sutherland necessarily wide ranging a little over two
hours early in the season, is enough for an old dog, and less for a
young one coming on, and four days a week is about as much as they
will do, and if the gun shoots four days a week, it is as much as he
can do to shoot properly. A man who is careful of himself will get more
birds in four easy days, than the enthusiast who works long hours and
six days.
If you want to get birds, keep yourself and dogs and gillies fresh and
in good form, and so that when birds rise they shall also fall.
I have heard of dogs that will work all day long and every day as well,
but I have never yet been fortunate enough to come across that very
remarkable and desirable strain.
Here let me give a sketch that is no mere flight of fancy.
The 26th of August, my birthday.
It is a sunny day with a gentle balmy wind, and the heather, which is
full in bloom, is dusting your boots white with its pollen.
It is a lazy day for birds, and they will not much care to run.
Daisy is ranging pretty wide, and, getting an indication of birds,
pulls up and looks over her shoulder towards her master.
"Has she birds, David?" "She is no sure." You walk slowly up to Daisy,
she draws on, and her point gradually stiffens; another twenty yards
and she stops full point; you both walk on, the old cock bird rises
first at twenty-five yards, and he goes down, you load, and the hen and
three young birds rise within ten yards.
Take it calmly, don't smash up the old hen by taking her too soon,
and, after her, down with one of the young birds; load quietly and
quickly. Daisy stops where she is; up gets another bird and that goes
down.
Smoker is sent forward, and he gathers and brings in the old hen and
two young birds from out of the deep heather.
No doubt the old cock is a runner.
David and Daisy sit down whilst I go forward and put Smoker on to where
the old bird dropped.
We sit and watch him; see the old dog threading the scent at a quick
pace in and out amongst the peat hags.
Oh dear, the bird has taken down the burn and we may lose him.
But no; an hundred yards below out comes Smoker from the burn
triumphant, with the old cock, which he delivers up without a scratch
save the broken pinion.
Daisy is now away to find a fresh point. What has Smoker pointing
there, with a look that says as plain as dogs can speak, that fool,
Daisy, who thinks so much of herself in her hurry to get fresh points,
has left a close sitting bird in that tuft of good heather.
Yes, Smoker is right, as he always is in all he does, and another bird
is flushed and bagged.
The brood was seven, and now but two away, thanks to the studious care
and intelligence of my two four-footed friends.
And what fine birds, with their white speckled breasts! the young ones
as large as the old ones.
[Illustration: Daisy on Point.]
We pile them in a heap for the gillie to collect as he comes along.
Dear old Daisy, there were better dogs with better noses and grander
action, but the loving creature did her very best to bring birds to bag
by care and gentleness, and she did it too.
That retriever, Smoker, the second of his name, has now passed away,
and his place taken by a worthy third, was a character.
Amongst other things he was born defective in the power of propagation.
I bred him from a bitch that I bought in Norfolk solely to breed him
from; the father was a dog belonging to a keeper of Col. Kenyon Slaney.
There were only two dogs in the litter, all the others being bitches.
He was a poor puny thing, and would have been consigned to the bucket
with sundry of his sisters, had there been other dogs in the litter.
But as he grew, and he grew fast, he showed signs of great intelligence.
When old enough, he was sent down to Dalnawillan, to David's care, and
there again I saw him when nearly full grown, when there fishing in
June.
He knew me again. "Is he steady and quiet, David?"--"Oh, yes." So we
took a walk.
He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, as much as to say, "I
wonder if he means to be my master: I will have a try;" so he chases
a lamb. I came up with him; he drops the lamb, and away again after
the same lamb; aye, and once again after that. The lamb takes to the
river, and I after him. I get hold of the lamb and take it ashore, and
put it by my side. It was not really hurt, but in a sad state of mind.
At last, up comes Smoker, and receives a real roasting, that satisfies
him as to who is to be master, and I trust that retributive justice
also satisfied the injured feelings of the lamb.
He was, without exception, the rankest and most determined puppy I
ever handled. At times I thought I must give him up; but he repaid my
trouble.
At home in the autumn, a pair of partridges were down in some deep feg
he was put upon. Up jumped a hare, far more interesting to Smoker, and
he away after. Whistle, whistle, yes until you be hoarse; he would not
come.
Again the question had arisen as to who was to be master, so I sat
myself down a good half-hour before the guilty rascal came to heel; but
when he did, and he knew perfectly well what was coming, a hazel stick,
cut specially for his education, effectually reminded him.
He lay on the ground, and howled and moaned. Whips were of no effect,
he laughed to scorn such mild trifles.
Dogs never mind being thrashed, if they deserve it. Don't do it oftener
than you can help, and then do it effectually.
Smoker gets up, wags his tail, has a bit of biscuit to cement renewed
friendship, limps a good deal, and goes to work, and cleverly gathers
first one and then the other bird.
Only for me would he work. Not a dump did he care for keeper or any
other body, but just went his own wilful way.
He was gentle as a lamb. Little children and small dogs might do as
they liked with him. My daughter's pug regarded him with a mixture of
intense jealousy and reverence, but that did not prevent Toby from
occasionally attacking him tooth and nail, much to the amusement of
Smoker.
He was free of the library, and a constant partaker of five o'clock tea
when not out at work.
For many years Smoker, in the season, worked on grouse, with Daisy, a
setter bitch, and with other dogs.
There was great jealousy between him and Daisy, but both good natured
over it.
Daisy was very fond, if she could manage to elude attention, of quietly
retrieving a bird, and it was as good as a play to observe her delight
and his indignation at her encroachment upon his part of the work.