When not at work, he was the laziest of dogs, but any symptoms of
shooting about he was all life. His great object was, then, to get hold
of my shooting cape. He had some idiotic notion that he had a lien upon
me by so doing, and that I was bound to go out to shoot.
On one occasion I was away from home, and a lady in the house induced
him to walk with her in the garden.
As she went through the porch, she took my walking stick.
Smoker, presently, in his quiet, gentlemanly way, took hold of the
stick, as the lady thought, to carry it. But no, Smoker walks back and
deposits it in the porch, as much as to say, "None of that, when my
master is away."
In my time, I have had many good pointers and setters.
I have no prejudice as to which, but pointers are more easy to break;
but, then, in those northern latitudes they do not stand the cold so
well as setters do.
In breeding, you may reckon that out of four puppies, you will not get
more than two out of the four that turn out fairly well, and for dogs
of exceptional intelligence not one in twenty; ay, in fifty.
Rap, who pointed my first Scotch grouse was, take him all in all, as
good a pointer as I ever had.
Grace, a setter bitch that I worked at the same time as Rap, was
charming in every way.
She was a puppy of the Rûg breed from North Wales. How I came by her
I forget, and from her I bred many good dogs, but never anything of
exceptional excellence.
The best setter I ever handled was Ben, an ivory coloured setter, a
first cross between a Gordon and a Laverack.
He was perfect in his work, but a bit rank if the whip was spared.
He would go to the dead birds after they were down if he possibly
could, that is, if he had the least licence granted to him.
Pointing and retrieving were all one to him.
He would watch a towered or a stung bird, and let him go and he would
go straight, judging distance well, a thing very few retrievers can do;
and if the bird did not rise again, he would to a certainty bring him.
The only retriever that I have seen judge distance with a towered bird
was a large black dog belonging to the late Sir Stephen Glyn. He marked
the bird; the ground being difficult he went, not straight, but across
other fields to the right of his bird.
I never did any good with red Irish setters, but it does not follow
that, others may not have done so, but I very much doubt it.
I was persuaded to buy a beautiful young pedigree bitch puppy,
warranted from dogs that on both sides were worked on grouse. She was
perfect in shape and colour, but the veriest fool that ever ranged a
moor.
After a season's experience not work, for she never did any work except
range beautifully, David said that I had better shoot her.