BOOK II

STUDIES AND STORIES

I

“_A continuous chain of small actions, on the thread of character._”

In reading the life stories of the five dogs whom I have chosen for

special notice, we must, I think, be struck with the remarkable effect

on each of the particular environment of his life. Is this not the

very effect that the circumstances of his early years has on a child?

When in later life we meet a man or a woman who has been reared in a

home circle of culture and refinement, there are many subtle marks and

intangible echoes of those early days that make themselves felt in

spite, it may be, of rougher and less elevating conditions of later

years. While the human character is individual and marked off as a

personal attribute, the mind has responded to the influences of the

surroundings in which the most impressionable part of the life was

passed.

I believe that it is the same with dogs. The ego, the personal entity

that gives to each member of the canine race his individual claim

on our humanity, is made akin to us by his response to the mental

training we give him. If the dog were nothing more than an automaton,

such response would not, and could not, have the strong individual

characteristics that bring the dog into such close union with us. The

more we study dog life, and strive with all the disabilities that meet

us at every turn to enter into the feelings and probe the motives of

the dog’s conduct, the more, I am persuaded, we shall recognise the

evidence of the sense of a personal entity that marks each dog off from

his fellows. It is the individual dog, with his particular gifts of

body, mind, and spirit,--the adumbration of the higher powers that in

their full expansion are the heritage of the human race,--that claims

our sympathy, and establishes his hold on our affections. This, for the

true dog-lover, is the keynote to the study of his character, and the

only light we can bring to bear on the inner workings of his mind.

It is from this standpoint, therefore, that I would refer to the

salient features of the biographies.

The most cursory glance at the life stories of these dogs will show

how unfitted each one was to play his part in the surroundings of any

other. Bandy, who is perhaps the most remarkable instance of a dog

living a corporate life with humans, had a large-hearted outlook that

could only have been evolved in a member of a community. In his case

the wideness of his sympathies and interests seemed to some extent

to limit the range of his home affections. While loving and loyal,

without a shadow of doubt, to his owner and his house companions, he

had not the clinging, passionate devotion that was the keynote of the

life of “The Child of the House.” The scope for the latter’s powers

was smaller, and, his development being thus limited, the force of his

nature seemed to find an outlet in the wealth of his affections. With

different training Gubbins’s undoubted discrimination of character,

and his subtle appreciation of his own rights, might well have been

developed at the expense of the overflowing of love that necessarily

brought some suffering as well as much joy into his little life. Then

there was his innate love of sport, and his natural independence

of character, that were repressed rather than brought out by the

circumstances of his life. He was, in fact, the home bird, who was

equally unfitted for the rougher give-and-take of school life or for

the rousing adventures of “A Soldier of Fortune.”

Then the fascinating, pleasure-loving Jet could never have brought

his skill in theft and mischief to the perfection of a fine art if it

had not been for the tacit encouragement his lenient mistress gave

him. He was the spoiled darling, whose good looks and taking manners

carried him safely through his escapades. With a sterner view of moral

discipline in his owner, Jet might have been a more exemplary, but must

inevitably have become a much more commonplace, member of his kind.

In Bruce, “The Diplomatist,” many years of whose life were passed away

from the care of his special friend, we see the independent settlement

of his affairs that his position called for. When he had been used to

take the first place, not even the loving guardianship of his temporary

owners could reconcile him to being second. Though he conformed to

circumstances with a good grace, in accordance with his love of

decorum, he would choose a home for himself, when for the second time

his master was leaving him. In this he could not have made a better

choice. He reigned supreme, and had the most loving care lavished on

him, not only for his own sake, but for that of his absent master, who

was the eldest and much loved son of the house.

Jack, of fighting memory, was remarkable for the self-restraint and

generosity that not all the brutal associations of his early life

had been able to kill. Though he had given an intelligent response

to his training, and understood that from his first owner’s point of

view fighting was a business and not a pastime, he took no unholy

pleasure in rousing up an antagonist. Rather, as he understood the grim

realities of action, he shrank from provoking a combat, from which,

even with the honours of war, he would take away many a wound as an

unpleasant reminder. In fact, his experience had taught him to look

on war from the standpoint of the soldier who knows that he takes his

life in his hand every time he goes into action. And Jack had the marks

of a true soldier in his relations to his superiors and his fellows.

Obedient, staunch to the death, he would fight to the end, but he must

have an antagonist worthy of his powers. An amateur was no match for

him, and if in wanton play or ungoverned temper the unskilled fighter

attacked him, Jack gave him a lesson for his presumption, but tempered

his punishment to the powers of resistance arrayed against him. He was

loyal to his friends, had a tender sympathy with suffering, and showed

his gratitude for a good home in peaceful surroundings by a vigilant

guardianship of his mistress.

The character of each dog as we study it stands out in plain relief,

as the expression of that inner life which appeals to our own

experience at every turn. To me it seems a monstrous thing to suppose

that the care for his own life and those committed to his individual

guardianship which the dog shows, can be any other than the visible

expression of his consciousness of an ego, endowed with powers and

duties which only he, in his own person, can perform. That he has a

clear idea of responsibility is manifest by his conduct, and why should

this be whittled away from its obvious significance till we are asked

to believe that the dog’s behaviour is to be attributed to quite other

motives than those that govern our own actions?

We know the strange and often inexplicable intuition that is shown by a

child whose powers are as yet undeveloped in the choice of a friend or

guardian. He seems to know by unerring instinct the one, among a number

of friends, in whose heart he will find a response to the cravings of

his own young affections. He shows his confidence in, and a clinging

dependence on, the chosen one that bring their own reward. The same

intuition was shown by my own Skye terrier when he was first brought

to my house. The friend then staying with me, to whom he was given, is

a true dog-lover, and she accepted the care of the shy little stranger

with all her accustomed gentleness and consideration. It was to her

that Gubbins looked for the first caresses that greeted him in his new

home. He was looked upon, as indeed he was, as her property for the

time being. She had no dog of her own with her, and Gubbins slept in

her room at night and had all the privileges of a favoured friend.

On the other hand, I had two dogs almost always with me, and from one

of them I was constantly receiving the most demonstrative tokens of

affection. I refrained studiously from taking notice of Gubbins in the

early days, partly from the fear of exciting the jealousy of the older

inhabitants of the house, and partly because I did not wish to have my

affection enlisted by the wild, shy little mortal, whose life seemed an

unending round of rude shocks to his too sensitive nervous system.

Yet underneath all this there were causes at work which could not have

been known to Gubbins, and yet which his conduct seemed to show he had

appreciated almost at the first glance. His mistress had a favourite

dog at home, whose rule could never have been disputed by another.

She had nothing to give Gubbins but the temporary care and kindness

that his forlorn condition demanded. On the other hand, the dogs I

had then were not, and could never have been, more than friends of

moderate claims. Only one indeed belonged to me, the other being the

bulldog whose tragic outbreak I have recorded elsewhere. My own Basset

hound, picturesque and deep-tongued, and pleasant to look on as she

was, was one of the few canine idiots I have ever known. She seemed

to be absolutely devoid of intelligence, and though on the show bench

and elsewhere she would always give me an exuberantly loving welcome

that was very impressive to strangers, I knew that to any one of her

friends she would give an equally demonstrative greeting. Even a chance

visitor to the house would, as likely as not, be distinguished in the

same way. As Rica had no discrimination in her affections, so she had

no power of responding to mental training. Every day of the week saw

the same lesson of some simple matter of conduct given to her, and each

day she would offend in the same way, not from obstinacy or love of

wrong-doing, but because all memory of correction had passed completely

from her mind. It was one of the funniest things I have ever seen with

my dogs, to watch Rica take up her position in the winter close--too

close, as she ought to have known from reiterated warnings--to a

blazing fire, and there, sitting up with her great wrinkled head

nodding in sleep, enjoy the warmth till she threatened to roll over

into the fireplace. The blankness that looked out from her clear brown

eyes, the lack of the nameless expression that speaks from a dog’s

every movement and look, were utterly wanting to her, and told their

own tale to the onlooker.

Such a dog was not one to engage her owner’s affections, and it has

always seemed as if Gubbins must have had some strange intuition of the

conditions that obtained among his new friends, in attaching himself

to me as he did. In spite of my studied aloofness and the presence of

my constant canine attendants, he showed a preference for my company

from the first, and never rested till he had made good his right to

a place in my bedroom. Yet in so doing he was thrown with the other

dogs, whose noisy exuberance of spirits were, in his then state of

cowed repression, an obvious trial to his nerves, and he would shrink

away terrified into a corner at any outbreak from them. With my friend

he would have had his own quiet place in her room, without shocks from

stronger nerved companions; and everything seemed to point to his

responding with gratitude to the advances she made to him. But Gubbins

would have none of them; and as those who have read his life know, he

won his future home by the determined selection he made.

While a tender living up to his position as a member of a small home

party, lightened by moments of expansion when fun and mischief made

a veritable child of him, was the distinguishing characteristic of

Gubbins’s life, we find the same dominant note of personal character

in each of the other dogs’ histories. With Bruce it was a strong sense

of social obligations and a finished ease of manner in fulfilling

them. An independent weighing of cause and effect in the case of his

own requirements and in the carrying out of his plans was also seen in

him. Of the matter of his independence in his mysterious visit to the

railway station to meet his master, when the latter was expected by a

train and route he seldom used, I have nothing further to say. I have

elsewhere vouched for the truth of the facts as I have given them, but

the explanation of his conduct I must leave to wiser heads than mine.

In Bandy a wonderful mastery of, and association of himself with, the

complicated machinery of the daily routine of a large public school

is the prevailing note. Times and seasons were known to him in a

marvellous way, and in the many interests into which he threw himself

with all the ardour of his nature he showed the wonderful development

of his mind that was the result of his intimate fellowship with a large

body of humans. The strength of his conviction as to his rights as a

member of a body of free-born Englishmen is shown as well by his act

of vengeance on his master when he thought he was unfairly treated as

by the manner of his tragic death. Freedom to the free, was the motto

Bandy lived up to in his life, and defended with his latest breath.

Jack, of less subtle mind, had the fearless outlook on life that

is characteristic of the good soldier. A stern determination to do

his duty, obedience to orders, whether of attack or restraint, and

an open-hearted loyalty were the surprising results of a training

that might well have left him a brutal exponent of his brutalised

owners’ methods of training. But here we have a case of a good natural

disposition unspoiled by early association with vicious men. As Jack

was untouched by the evil of his masters’ methods, he, with simple

faith in, and obedience rendered to the orders given, escaped the

degradation of those who, with the free exercise of higher powers, were

responsible for his early exploits.

A dainty enjoyment of the good things of this life, and an

irresponsible method of attaining his ends, were the leading traits

of Jet’s life. His appearance and manners aiding him, he took full

advantage of the opportunities the circumstances of his life afforded

him for the carrying out of his simple creed. His horizon was limited,

and to Jet he himself was the god, whose smile or frown made or unmade

the world in which he lived.

II

“_The dogge, a natural, kind, and loving thing,

As witnesseth our histories of old._”

If we accept the fact that the powers of intelligence shown by the

dog are of the same kind as, though of a lower degree of development

than, those that form our own mental processes, we start with a premise

that clears many difficulties from our path. But even so, if we would

penetrate the secrets that lie behind the engaging variety of his

actions, we must take into account many things that cause the dog’s

outlook on life to be different from our own. We must ever bear in

mind that it is only in considering our friend’s surroundings as they

appear to _him_ we can hope to grasp the effect of those surroundings

on his mind. We are apt to conclude hastily that, because such and such

a thing strikes us in a particular way, our dog will be affected by

it in a precisely similar manner. And the delusion is fostered by the

broad general characteristics of our mental resemblance to him. But if

we would have more than a superficial understanding of our dogs, we

must bring a sympathetic comprehension of life as it appears to them,

to mark the differences, as well as grasp the affinities, of the mental

and moral conditions that are in a general sense common to us both.

Yet with all the difficulties that lie in our path we can write the

life history of the dog as we can of no other animal. More sympathetic

than the cat, more constantly our companion than the horse, we can

study him under conditions that obtain with no other of his kind.

From the first days of his puppyhood to the closing hours of his life

we can trace the gradual unfolding of his powers and the widening of

his knowledge of life. This, too, we can do with but an ordinarily

intelligent interest brought to bear on the little life that is at once

so near our own, and yet cut off from us by the impassable barrier

of want of human speech. “How much he could tell us if he could only

speak,” a devoted attendant of a little dog used often to say, when in

his own way and by his own limited powers of language the intelligent

creature had made his friends understand that his surroundings were in

some way not suited to the needs of the moment.

It is in the physical conditions of our life that we must seek for

the first points of contact with the dog. In both our own and canine

life we have, of course, the same foundation of bodily activity in

the marvellous machinery of the nervous system. But this bond we have

in common with all living creatures, and it has therefore no special

value when we are studying our relations with the dog. Above this,

we have the power of instinct, or, as it has been called, “material

intelligence.”

Then we come face to face with a power in the dog that cannot be

explained by the wonders of reflex action as we learn them in the

study of physiology. The motive power of the action must be sought

in the intangible essence of mind, and not in the material organs of

the body. It is when this motive power has passed under the full sway

of the mind, and we have advanced from the realm of instinct into the

regions where the evidences of higher mental power are before us, that

we recognise the dog as our fellow in the comradeship of life. For

though in the dog we do not find the more highly differentiated powers

of instinct, his inferiority in this respect to insects that come far

lower in the scale of life is counterbalanced by his powers of mind,

that in their higher expression we claim to be akin to our own. We hail

the evidences of disinterested affection, of sympathy, of fortitude,

and of trust, as links in the chain that binds our dog friend to us in

a close mental and moral fellowship.

When “the one” among all dogs will give up his daily walk--the one

delight that never fails--to watch by our sick-bed, or comfort us by

his presence in our sorrow, the simple act of self-denial appeals to us

as an evidence of the perfect comradeship of disinterested affection.

We do not need to be told of the dark hours that come to us when

one whom we love has been taken from us, or of the craving for the

companionship that is lost that takes possession of us. Our interest

in our daily pursuits is gone, and a blank feeling of desolation saps

our energies. When a dog shows grief in the same way, sitting alone and

desolate, refusing food and all the joys of his daily life, the link of

sympathy is strong between us, as we recognise that he is afflicted

with a sense of loss akin to that which has saddened our own life.

My first dog came to me, and indeed made his place good in my

affection, while he was suffering the keenest grief at the loss of

his owner. In the many changes of life in India, Jell’s mistress was

called to join her husband in a distant station and, the heat in the

plains still being great, she did not wish to take her dog with her.

Knowing that I was wanting a dog, she offered hers to me. But Jell was

not prepossessing in appearance, and indeed well deserved the epithet

of “thoroughbred mongrel.” As I have a predisposition in favour of

well-bred dogs, I declined the proffered gift. But on the morning

of my friend’s departure the large, white, leggy, and bullet-headed

terrier--so called--made its appearance in my verandah, with a note

explaining his presence. No home had offered for him, and he was thrown

on my generosity to provide him with one. This I determined to do

elsewhere, as soon as might be, but in the meantime I was confronted

with the problem of reconciling Jell to his present quarters, so far at

least as to preserve his life. In the first moment of my displeasure at

his arrival, I had ordered him off to the compound in the charge of the

mehtar who had brought him to me. But I distrusted a native’s methods

with dogs, and something in the dejected appearance of Jell as he was

being led away softened my heart so far that I decided to take charge

of him myself.

He lay in my room, crying for hours together. He would take no

interest in anything, showed a fine disregard of all attempts to win

his favour, and refused to touch his food. At the end of the second day

I began to wonder what I should do with him, and was heartily wishing

that he had not been cast on my hands, when I became aware that two

soft eyes were watching me from the far corner of the room. There was

an expression of dawning confidence in the look, that gave me hope of

better things in store. I waited, and in a little time Jell raised his

head and sat up, with his gaze still fixed on my face. Presently he

rose and came to my side, and made the first advances of friendship.

To these he suffered my response with a far from flattering lack of

eagerness. Nevertheless, the first step had been taken, and I was

admitted to a place in his affections. This place I never forfeited;

for Jell, in spite of his want of good looks, did not find another

home, but remained my constant and devoted attendant to the day of his

death.

With a small terrier named Floss a friend had a similar experience,

though this little dog had a far more chequered history in her English

life than Jell had in India. Floss came to her future mistress with

only an announcement by telegraph that she might be expected on a

certain day. The man who sent her promised her history later, and in

due course both the terrier and the story of her deeds arrived. First,

Floss reached her new home just as the house was being closed for

the night. The basket, when opened in the kitchen, disclosed a small

terrier with black and tan head and black spot and fiery eyes, of a

most uncompromising expression of countenance. The little thing sat

up, glared at the strangers round her, and defended herself with her

teeth from all attempts to touch her. At last, in despair, the basket

was turned over and Floss rolled on to the floor. She then put her

back against the dresser, and showed that she still meant to keep off

intruders. All thought of taming her was for the time given up, and her

basket being righted, Floss was allowed to take possession of it, and

both were then carried up to her new owner’s bedroom. As the little

thing had been travelling for twenty-four hours, she was offered food

and water; but she would have none of them, and continued to sit up

straight in her basket, a very forlorn and vigilant little figure. Many

times during the night her mistress roused herself to see how Floss was

getting on, and always the same watchful and sad-looking terrier gazed

back at her, showing by a low growl her displeasure at the interest

displayed.

[Illustration: SUSPICION

FLOSS]

In the morning things were no better. Floss refused all advances made

to her, and would neither drink nor eat. Basket and all, she was

carried down to the kitchen garden, from which she could not escape.

Here she condescended to walk about a little, but whenever she met her

mistress’s eye she marked her disapproval of the situation by a growl.

Carried back to the bedroom, she sat in melancholy wrath for the rest

of the day, and was as uncompromising as ever whenever her basket was

touched or moved. The last thing at night her owner tried to soften

her by turning her out on the foot of her bed; but Floss refused all

advances, and only growled at every movement of her companion.

In the morning, when my friend awoke, she found Floss also awake and

watching her. Without moving, she said in a low tone, “Floss;” and the

dog immediately crawled up the bed and licked her face. Then Floss lay

down and submitted to a good deal of stroking and petting; and when

breakfast made its appearance she showed a gracious tolerance of things

as they were by making a good meal. From the moment when she responded

to her name dated Floss’s love for her mistress, which seemed to grow

and strengthen with every year of her life.

The first use the latter made of the establishment of good relations

between them was to attend to some ugly wounds on the face and head

that Floss had brought with her. When the promised story of her life

came, these wounds were explained. It appeared that the terrier had

belonged to a miner in South Wales, and had taken part in badger

baiting. It was the custom for the miners to meet on Sunday afternoon

for this more than doubtful amusement. Each miner brought a dog, and

the performance was to see which of the dogs could bring the badger

out of his box in four minutes. But the badger was large and fierce,

and one dog after another--bull-terriers among them--tried in vain to

draw him. Then one of the miners opened his coat, and brought out the

tiny Floss, who was only eighteen months old and weighed ten pounds.

In less than four minutes the game little terrier drew her formidable

opponent, and her exploit was so much talked of that she was bought and

sent off to a home where good terriers are ever welcome, before the

marks of her conflict had healed. Under gentler care Floss developed

a touching devotion to her owner, and for many years was one of the

reigning household pets in her new home.

How many similar instances of mourning for lost friends occur to us!

Every one who knows anything of dogs can recall some touching story

that tells at once of the love that flooded, and the pain of separation

that darkened, the dog’s life as he passed from the secure confidence

of requited affection to the desolate uncertainty of the care of

strangers.

We cannot, however, remind ourselves too often that our attempts to

understand the workings of the dog’s mind, and the explanations that

commend themselves to us of the reasons for his methods of action,

are all based on our own consciousness of cause and effect. And here

we must take into account the difference in the outlook on life

between the dog and ourselves. The effects of environment we know

count for much with us. Change of scene and surroundings will give

us fresh mental vigour as well as renewed bodily activity when both

need recuperation. But the change of surroundings that will give to

us advantages that go far to prolong our span of life is as nothing

compared to the difference that separates our own normal outlook on

life from that of the dog. The four-footed friend that trots at our

side, or scampers at large in wild enjoyment of strength and freedom,

is marked off from us by his mode of locomotion and the position and

bearing of his head and body. His outlook is limited by his bodily

structure, in spite of his strength of vision and his marvellous sense

of smell. In the latter case, indeed, we look up to the dog from a

lower plane, for our limited development of the sense of smell tells

us but little of the power it gives him. That it not only differs in

degree but in quality is shown by the delight with which a well-bred,

cleanly house or sporting dog will roll in some evil-smelling refuse

that fills us with disgust. The possession of such an organ, at once

so different and so much more sensitive than our own, must make for

much in the influence of his surroundings on the dog, and thus adds to

the many difficulties we have in understanding and entering into his

outlook on life.

Doubtless the sense was given him to enable him to hold his own in the

battle of life. He retains it in the artificial conditions of domestic

life, but in the days when he depended for his supply of food on the

success that crowned his efforts in the chase, it was necessary to his

existence. Without it he must have fallen a prey to his enemies in

the jungle and the forest, instead of turning the tables on superior

brute force by the delicacy of his organs and his superior powers of

combination.

The traits that have come to our household friend from his wild

forebears are often shown even in the most highly domesticated

inhabitants of our home. How far these inherited qualities may

influence the dog’s outlook on the surroundings of his present life,

who can say? As we watch our favourite turn round and round on the

hearthrug, and scratch at the unresponsive rug before he curls himself

up to sleep, we know that he is doing what his progenitors did in the

wilds, when the action had a use that is wanting to it now in securing

the comfort of his rest.

A strange habit of the same nature was shown by a fox terrier that

formed one of a pack of sporting dogs. This terrier, from the time she

took her place in the kennels with the older dogs, was observed to turn

round sharply whenever her food was put before her. The action aroused

attention, though no one could say at what stage of her puppy life it

had been developed. She was watched, and never did she omit the rapid

turn round as on a pivot before she tasted her food. Her mistress, who

had kept her pack of terriers for years, and who studies the characters

of her little kennel friends as but few people do, made inquiries of

her keeper, and found that when he fed the dogs, Amora always went

through the same little performance as a preliminary to the business

of eating. Up to the last day of her life it was continued, but so

far as is known none of her children have shown the same peculiarity.

Certainly those that I have known in my friends’ kennels have not had

it, and no one has been able to give a satisfactory explanation of the

habit.

A very charming reason for the unusual action was given by a little

girl, the niece of the owner of the kennels. The child was delighted

with the terrier’s performance, and always begged to be allowed to

be present at feeding time, so as to enjoy the sight of Amora’s

turn. Being of a thoughtful nature, she one day gave the result of

her speculations on the matter. “Auntie,” she said, with the engaging

directness of the youthful thinker, “I know why Amora turns round

before her dinner. She means it for her grace.” With such a solution of

the mystery who would venture to quarrel?

We might well bring the same gentle sympathy to bear on our own

dealings with the dog. For we often forget that the patience we give as

a matter of course to the as yet untrained intelligence of the child

is doubly wanted when we have to do with the dog. Intelligent as the

latter is, he never rises to our level of expansion of the powers of

mind, and in reading our thoughts into his we must ever remember that

the higher paths of reason’s play are closed to him.

That the dog has the dawning of a moral sense is clear to me, and

the possession brings him near to us on the outskirts of the higher

life, of which we alone have full enjoyment. But to give him credit

for powers that in their full expansion are denied him is to bring

discredit on the wonderful gifts that are undoubtedly his, and for the

development of which he is dependent on his intercourse with us. The

deeper the sympathetic insight we bring to bear on our study of his

mental and bodily activities, the fuller will be his response to our

training, and the greater our own delight in his companionship.

III

“_La mas racional_”--_the one that reasons best_.

The nearest approach to the old tribal conditions of the ancestors

of the dog we find in kennel life at the present day. Here we have

the struggle for mastery, the sense of personal rights, the love and

jealousy, sympathy and hate, cleverness and stupidity, that find their

counterpart in our own social life, as they did in the communities of

wolves and jackals that ranged the forests in bygone days. In a kennel

of hounds we have the strongly marked individualities of character that

divide off each one from the other, and give endless scope for study

to those who have the patience and sympathy to devote to the task. It

was in India, where many an early morning ride after jackal lives in my

memory, that I first realised this wonderful individuality of hounds.

The master of the pack with which I hunted one winter was a friend of

mine, and often on non-hunting days the ride with which my day in the

plains always began was in company with the master, who made a point

of taking his hounds out for exercise himself. I soon came to know the

hounds by sight, and heard from the master’s lips of their several

traits and peculiarities. The knowledge gave me an added pleasure in

watching their performances in the field; and what little I have of

hound knowledge I owe in the first instance to this study of a scratch

pack that was remarkable for neither looks nor symmetry, as these are

understood in England to-day. Yet uneven as they were in size, and

rough as many were in appearance, there was some of the best foxhound

blood of our English kennels in their veins, and to each individual

hound the very best of training was given. This was done by a careful

study of the capacity, temper, and disposition of each hound in the

pack, such as only an enthusiast in the matter of hound work would

bring to bear on the subject.

The social life of the ancestors of our dogs was forced upon them by

the necessity of protection against common enemies, and the need of

mutual assistance in the capture of prey. In this life each member had

to find and keep his own allotted place. The competition that is one of

the marks by which each member of a community shows the best or worst

of which he is capable, and finds his level accordingly, was not absent

from the life of the dog’s forebears. Each dog must take the place he

was fitted for in the common life, and doubtless that assigned to him

he often won by fighting for it. For the dog is a quarrelsome animal,

and Dr. Watts was not wrong in his natural history when he wrote of the

“delight of dogs to bark and bite.” We may note, too, that he puts the

greater and commoner pleasure, as we still see it exercised to-day,

first; but fighting, among animals as among men, is a necessity of

existence to the community while the conditions of life remain what

they are.

This quarrelsomeness which we regret in our favourites, and that is

a real source of danger in the kennels, is a survival of the old

conditions, when each dog tried to work himself up to the position

of master or leader of the pack, and, failing this, had perforce to

take a lower place. Thus the leader, to whom the rest of the community

looked for guidance, would be the strongest or the most capable of the

tribe, or one that combined both these characteristics. We have only to

watch a dog fight to-day to see that the combatants exercise a certain

strategy. No doubt the first dog that learned to double his paws under

him, and thus protect a vulnerable part, gained an advantage over a

less intelligent, though it might be a heavier-built, rival. For one

of the first methods of the canine tactician is to bite through the

sensitive paw of his opponent; and the huntsman knows that if fighting

in his kennels is not quelled promptly and sternly he will have many of

his hounds lamed from this cause.

But even in kennel life, where there is such abundant material for

the student of canine character, we only have the old conditions of

primeval dog life faintly shadowed. Though to a great extent the dog

in the kennels is living a social life among his fellows, the ruler to

whom he looks is not a leader in the old sense, but a human master. In

his earlier days, too, he is placed more or less in the conditions that

obtain with our domestic dogs. When only a few months old he finds a

home, it may be at a farmhouse, or at a neighbouring landowner’s, where

he becomes the playmate and pet of the children of the house. If a

hotel or the local butcher’s shop receives him, the puppy makes friends

with the men and boys about the place, and often develops a special

affection for his temporary master. In any case he lives the life of a

free, and for the most part a petted, member of a household; and when

he takes his place in the kennels he shows all the symptoms of grief

for the good things he has lost and dislike for the restraints of his

new life that a pampered boy will when he has his first taste of school

discipline. No one who has seen a young hound, frightened, miserable,

and homesick, sitting by himself in a corner of what for the time is to

him a hated prison, can doubt his suffering. He has indeed an almost

comic expression of misery on his naturally rather solemn countenance.

He has not yet found his level in his new surroundings; he has lost his

old friends and found no one to take their place; the joys of hunting

days, which will go far to counterbalance the strictness of kennel

discipline, are unknown to him. Henceforth he is to share in the social

life of his fellows, in which all are bound by a common interest to a

common occupation, broken only by interludes of companionship with man.

He has therefore reversed the conditions of his life up to this point,

in which companionship with man has been interspersed with interludes

of society with other dogs.

He has now to conquer and keep the place in the pack that will

hereafter be his by general consent. If he is masterful and

resourceful, he will be deferred to, and, it may be, the warmest corner

on the bench will be conceded to him when time and experience have

come to aid him in the competition of life. In the matter of food the

huntsman’s care will see that he gets no more than his due share, but

we know how at the trough some hounds have always to be restrained,

while others, who as a matter of course are ready to take the second

place, have to be encouraged to secure their rights.

This competition, which is an integral part of community life, must,

as it seems to me, give to each dog a consciousness of his own

personality. His own interests and attainments are a thing apart from

those of his fellows. In however dim a degree, he has a sense of

personal rights and property, and recognises that a higher position can

be won for himself individually by intelligence and courage combined.

But while in each dog will be seen the evidence of his own natural

gifts, and he will show affection, sympathy, intelligence, or, on

the other hand, will be morose, selfish, or incapable of striking

out a line of action for himself, the general character of the pack

will receive its impress from the hands of the huntsman. If he is at

once firm and sympathetic in the government of the kennel, his hounds

will be obedient and affectionate, and in their work will display an

eagerness and anxiety to do their best that will be a tribute to the

excellence of his rule.

Nowhere have we a more fertile field for tracing the effects of

heredity than in a kennel. I am not concerned here with the many

interesting questions that arise on the physiological side of the

subject, but leaving make, shape, and speed as beyond our scope, we

may confine ourselves to the consideration of mental characteristics.

These do not always make their appearance at once, for the character

of the dog, like that of man, develops with time. Many hounds do not

show either their faults or their virtues till their second season.

One experienced huntsman, indeed, used to say that he never knew what

his hounds were going to do till their third season. While some hounds

will enter at once, and never do wrong from the first day they go out

cub-hunting, others can scarcely be induced to take an interest in the

chase before their second season, while others again are never of any

use at all, and do not seem to have any taste for hunting.

But from the first days of their return to the kennel, hounds show that

they have a curious sympathy with those who are bound to them by the

ties of relationship. Now in the old tribal pack we may suppose that

these blood ties would be numerous, and that their recognition would

tend to give a coherence to the community life by cementing the bonds

of a common affection. It is no uncommon sight with us to see mother

and daughter, father and son, running together in one of our packs, and

while the old hounds take the lead, the young ones look to them for

guidance and are quick to follow their example. This trait is strange

when we consider that parents and children have seen nothing of one

another since the latter were sent out to walk. The young ones have

had all their early impressions of life, which must have gone far in

forming their own mental outlook, apart from their parents’ influence.

Yet the family tie has not been broken by the separation, though it is

not possible that the young hounds at least can remember their elders.

In the case of the mother we cannot say how far maternal affection

may bridge the gulf. That she remembers her young long after their

dependence on her has ceased, seems clear from a case of which I can

vouch for the truth. A mother who had been separated from her puppies

in the ordinary way would, long after there was a possibility of purely

physical reasons coming into play, always trot down to the kennels

immediately she was let out, and lick with affection the four little

black noses that were thrust between the bars at her approach.

Very strong evidence of the tie being recognised between parents and

children is given me by Miss Serrell, who, when her terrier puppies

return from walk, never hesitates to put two generations of the same

family together. She tells me that the puppies’ tricks and gambols,

that cannot but be disturbing to the older dogs, will never be resented

by the mothers, though no other dogs in the kennels would suffer them.

As terriers have the character of being particularly quarrelsome, and

certainly require the most judicious management to keep the peace among

a number of them, no testimony to the recognition of the family tie

could be more convincing.

Then, too, we see the same characteristics, mental and moral,

appearing in members of the same family. How jealously this truth

is acted upon by hound breeders, we have only to study the kennel

registers to see. A somewhat curious instance of unusual traits of

independent action by a litter brother and sister took place in the

Blackmore Vale country.

The mother of these hounds was bred by Mr. Merthyr Guest, some ten

years before he resigned the Mastership. She had a great influence in

the kennels, and in 1894 Rama and her brother Raleigh, “hounds of very

marked character,” were born to her. The account of their peculiarities

I take verbatim as Miss Serrell has given it:[2]

“Rama, a bright tan and white with a very intelligent head, was a

useful hound in the field, but she had a curious characteristic that

was not so much to her credit. No power and no persuasion would induce

her to come home with the pack after a day’s hunting. She would go

to covert in the morning demurely enough, and she hunted in a most

business-like manner, but directly the day’s sport was over her good

conduct came to an end. The moment the hounds and whippers-in grouped

together and the Master gave the word for ‘home,’ Rama would set off by

herself and race up hill and down dale till she was out of sight. No

whipper-in could turn her, no horn recall her, and it was not till some

two hours after the Master had reached home that she generally made

her appearance at Inwood. Sometimes, however, she would make her way

leisurely back to the kennels and sneak in during the evening.

“Such unhoundlike conduct was not to be tolerated, so the order was

given for her to be caught and coupled to another hound. She was then

forced to trot home with the rest of the pack, but she did so with her

stern down and an expression of unspeakable sadness upon her face.

She soon showed that she had a soul above such tyranny, for after she

had been captured once or twice, it was enough for the whipper-in

to dismount and begin unbuckling the couples for her to make off.

Indeed so sharp did she become that at last the Master did not dare

to give the order for her to be caught, or to allow the jingling of

the couples, but he arranged beforehand that she should be secured

before the end of the day’s sport. It was not long before Rama was

on her guard even against this early capture, and with a look at the

hunt servants she would turn and gallop off before the last covert was

drawn.

“Raleigh, a brother of Rama, was also a peculiar hound, and in his

first cub-hunting season showed an extraordinary objection to coming

out of covert with the other hounds. He would follow to the side of the

covert, and it was very funny to see him peeping out and disappearing

again if he saw he was being waited for. Again and again he would do

this, until at last, when the coast was clear, he would jump out and go

on with the pack as if nothing had happened. Raleigh was very fond of

looking into every cottage garden, but he was not such an inveterate

cat-hunter as Rama, who would dash into and through every garden before

she could be stopped, and woe betide the cat who was not quick enough

to save herself in the nearest apple-tree.”

[Illustration:

RALEIGH TRIAL

RAMA ARMIGER

MR. GUEST’S HOUNDS. 1900]

In a neighbouring country in the West, a curious trait was shown by

one of the hounds. She would never go to covert with the rest of the

pack or return home at night with them. When the work of the day began,

she was always up and took her full share with her fellows. But on the

way out from kennels in the morning, she always ran by herself at some

distance from the others, though not too far off for her to be able to

keep the line to the selected covert. The same thing happened as soon

as the word for home was given, and the solitary figure, at some few

hundred yards on one side or the other of the kennel party, would be

seen flashing over the fields and hedges as if the hound was acting

scout to the retiring force.

Another hound in the same kennels would only hunt with one of the

Masters, who in turn acted as huntsman. With one of the huntsmen this

hound would behave in normal fashion and do her work well in the field,

but for the other she would not only not work, but she would not go out

with the pack when it was in his hands.

Life in the kennels is far from being devoid of evidence of the finer

virtues. The sight of a pack of hounds on their benches, each with

his head pillowed on one of his fellows, tells of mutual love and

trust, and the sympathy and pity with which one hound will lick a sore

place on another are not to be mistaken. On the other hand, there are

hatreds and enmities, and there are hounds that can never be trusted

together. Something of the old spirit of tribal rule is also shown in

the occasional ostracising of some one member of the pack. The hound

thus treated as an outcast is not necessarily more stupid or less well

inclined than are his judges, so far as can be seen, though I have

heard that in one case, at least, the general award of condemnation was

justified by unworthy conduct in the field. But, whatever the cause,

from the verdict there is no appeal. A hound that has been sentenced

by his fellows will have a short life and a bitter one if he does not

find another home, for hound justice is rough and demands the death of

the accused. In older times the method had its advantages in keeping

up the level of the tribal band, for good feeling and good-will among

its members were vital to its existence. Nowadays we give the outcast

another chance in different surroundings, where the verdict of his

former companions is by no means always endorsed. At the same time we

may believe that no such verdict is ever given without a cause, with

which, could we understand it in all cases, we should be in complete

agreement.

IV

“_The capacity to understand is as good a proof of vocal intelligence,

though in an inferior degree, as the capacity to speak._”

From the kennel we will follow the hound into the field. Here he

has definite work for which all the events of his life are one long

preparation. That he delights in it, no one can doubt who watches him.

If indeed there be anything to say against hunting, from the point of

view of the fox and the hare, as there certainly is against some of

the methods of man used in the chase, to the hound it is pure, unmixed

enjoyment. As a lover of animals I hate to think of any unnecessary

suffering caused in the hunting field. But when the excitement of

the uncertain issue is over, the death, if it comes, is merciful and

sudden, and though I have never but once actually seen the end--and

then when I was surprised out of power of turning away--I was astounded

at the instantaneous despatch of the hunted fox. That every man, and

above all every woman, should set their faces sternly against the

faintest touch of cruelty, I have no doubt at all. The most brilliant

run of the season would be dearly bought if fox and hound were not

pitted in fair and open warfare, and every one worthy the name of

sportsman should blush to take an unfair advantage of the creature

whose wiles it will tax all the intelligence of his followers, human

and canine, to unravel.

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.

[Illustration: “CONSCIENCE MAKES COWARDS OF US”

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.