A shepherd had driven a part of his flock to a neighbouring farm,
leaving his dog to watch the remainder during that day and the next
night, expecting to revisit them the following morning. Unfortunately,
however, when at the fair, the shepherd forgot both his dog and his
sheep, and did not return home till the morning of the third day. His
first inquiry was, whether his dog had been seen? The answer was, No.
"Then he must be dead," replied the shepherd in a tone of anguish,
"for I know he was too faithful to desert his charge." He instantly
repaired to the heath. The dog had sufficient strength remaining to
crawl to his master's feet, and express his joy at his return, and
almost immediately after expired.
Mr. Blaine relates the following circumstance:--I remember watching a
shepherd boy in Scotland, who was sitting on the bank of a wide but
shallow stream. A sheep had strayed to a considerable distance on the
other side of the water; the boy, calling to his dog, ordered him to
fetch that sheep back, but to do it gently, for she was heavy in lamb.
I do not affect to say that the dog understood the reason for which he
was commanded to perform this office in a more gentle manner than
usual; but that he did understand he was to do it gently was very
evident, for he immediately marched away through the water, came
gently up to the side of the sheep, turned her towards the rest, and
then they both walked quietly side by side to the flock. I was
scarcely ever more pleased at a trifling incident in rural scenery
than this.
The sense and recollection of the sheep-dog were shown in the
following instance:--
When I occupied a small farm in Surrey, I was in the habit of joining
with a friend in the purchase of two hundred Cheviot sheep. The first
year we had them, the shepherd who drove them from the North was asked
by us how he had got on. "Why, very badly," said the man; "for I had a
young dog, and he did not manage well in keeping the sheep from
running up lanes and out-of-the-way places." The next year we had the
same number of sheep brought up, and by the same man. In answer to our
question about his journey, he informed us that he had got on very
well, for his dog had recollected all the turnings of the road which
the sheep had passed the previous year, and had kept them straight the
whole of the way.
It has always appeared to me that the patriarchal flocks, the
shepherds and their dogs, are seen to more advantage on the wild hills
of Cumberland and Westmorland, than in any other situation. When I
have wandered along the sides of some of the beautiful lakes of those
counties, and have witnessed the effects of light and shade at
different times of the day, on the water and distant hills and
valleys, and seen the numerous sheep scattered over the latter, how
delightful has been the prospect! During the early morning the bright
beams of the sun did not produce too much glare and heat, but served
to give a charming glitter to the dew-drops as they besparkled the
grass and flowers. The tracts of the sheep might be seen by the
disappearance of the "gentle dew" from their path as they proceeded to
their pasture, driven by the watchful colley. It was a scene of
cheerfulness, which every lover of nature would admire.
In the evening the calmness of the lake was delightful. The light
hovered over it, and the reflection of the trees in the transparent
water beautified the scene. The beams of the setting sun glowed first
over the valleys, and then illumined the tops of the hills; then
gradually disappeared: but the grey tints of evening still had their
beauty, and a diversity of them was preserved long after the greater
effects of the setting sun had vanished. Deep shade was contrasted
with former splendour, till at last the lovely moon appeared with her
modest light, and formed a streak across the lake, which was
occasionally broken as a ripple, raised by a breeze of the gentlest
kind, passed over it.
While the sun still gleamed on the mountain's side the shepherd might
be observed resting at its foot, while his patient dog ranged about
collecting the flock, and bringing them towards his master.
Dear, lovely lake!--Never shall I forget your beauteous scenery.
Seated in the cool of the evening under one of the noble trees on your
shore, the only sounds I heard were the soft ripple of the water, and
the late warbling of the redbreast--Yes, I forget the humming beetle
as it rapidly passed, and the owl calling to its mate in the distant
wood. How peaceful were my feelings!--
"Happy the man whose tranquil mind
Sees Nature in her changes kind,
And pleased the whole surveys;
For him the morn benignly smiles,
And evening shades reward the toils
That measure out his days.
The varying year may shift the scene,
The sounding tempest lash the main,
And heaven's own thunder roll;
Calmly he views the bursting storm,
Tempests nor thunders can deform
The quiet of his soul."--C. B.
Nor is the scenery from the Lakes the only thing to be admired in this
delightful country. Lanes may be traversed sheltered by the oak, the
ash, and the hazel, and only those who have seen the Cumberland hazels
can form an idea of the beauty of their silvery bark and luxuriant
growth. From these lanes there are occasional openings, through which
a placid lake or a distant range of hills may be seen. And what
picturesque and rugged hills they are! Huge, projecting rocks and
verdant lawns, and deep channels of rugged stone, over which a foaming
torrent forces its way in the rainy season, and is succeeded in dry
weather by a sparkling rivulet, which trickles down to swell a little
brooklet at the foot of the hill, as it winds its way to the
neighbouring lake. These may be seen, and the patches of heather, and
the patient colley watching for a signal to collect the scattered
flock, dotted, as it appears to be, over the almost inaccessible
heights. At some distance it is difficult to see the sheep, at least
by a stranger, partly on account of the dark colour of their fleeces
(for they have not the whiteness of our flocks in the midland downs),
and partly from the shadow on the hills. Separated as they are from
each other, as the evening closes in the sagacious dog receives a hint
from his master, and the sheep are quickly collected from places to
which the shepherd could with difficulty make his way. Snow and frost
are no check to the labours of the colley dog. His exertions are
indefatigable, and the only reward he appears to expect is the
approbation of his master.
The following amusing anecdote of a sort of sheep-dog was communicated
to me by its owner. The dog's name was Hero. His habits were odd
enough, and he gave many instances of his sagacity. The following was
one of them:--
Hero was in the constant habit of accompanying the farm-horses in
their daily labour, pacing the ploughed field regularly aside the
team, and returning with them to and from his meals, always taking
care to scamper home at a certain hour for a more dainty portion when
his mistress dined.
During one of these hasty visits he met a young woman, whom he had
never seen before, wearing his mistress's cloak. After looking at her
with a scrutinising eye, he turned round, and followed her closely, to
her great dismay, to a neighbouring village four miles off, where the
brother of his mistress lived, and into whose house the woman entered.
Probably concluding from this circumstance that she was a privileged
person, he returned quietly back again. Had she passed the house, the
dog would most probably have seized the cloak, in order to restore it
to his mistress.
I trust my readers will begin to feel some interest in this sagacious
and useful animal, and I will add one or two more well-authenticated
anecdotes of him.
Captain Brown says that his friend, Mr. Peter Macarthur, related to
him the following anecdote of a shepherd's dog, which belonged to his
grandfather, who at that time resided in the Island of Mull:--Upon one
occasion a cow had been missed for some days, and no trace of it could
be found; and a shepherd's dog, called Drummer, was also absent. On
the second or third day the dog returned, and taking Mr. Macarthur's
father by the coat, pulled him towards the door, but he did not follow
it; he then went to his grandfather, and pulled him in the same way by
the coat, but without being attended to; he next went to one of the
men-servants, and tugged him also by the coat. Conceiving at last
there was something particular which the dog wanted, they agreed to
follow him: this seemed to give him great pleasure, and he ran
barking and frisking before them, till he led them to a cow-shed, in
the middle of a field. There they found the cow fixed by the horns to
a beam, from which they immediately extricated her and conducted her
home, much exhausted for want of food. It is obvious, that but for the
sagacity of this faithful animal she certainly would have died.
Mr. John Cobb, farmer at Tillybirnie, parish of Lethnot, near Brechin,
during a severe snow-storm in the year 1798, had gone with his dog,
called Caesar, to a spot on the small stream of Paphry (a tributary of
the North Esk), where his sheep on such occasions used to take shelter
beneath some lofty and precipitous rocks called Ugly Face, which
overhung the stream. While employed in driving them out, an immense
avalanche fell from these rocks, and completely buried him and his
dog. He found all his endeavours to extricate himself from this
fearful situation in vain; and at last, worn out, fell asleep.
However, his dog had contrived to work his way out, and returned home
next day about noon. The dog, by whining and looking in the faces of
the family, and afterwards running to the door, showed that he wished
them to follow him; they accordingly did so, accompanied by a number
of men provided with spades. He led them to the spot where his master
was, and, after scraping away the snow which had fallen from the time
he had quitted the spot, he quickly disappeared in the hole by which
he had effected his escape. They began to dig, and by nightfall they
found Mr. Cobb quite benumbed, standing in an upright posture; but as
life was not quite extinguished he was rolled in warm blankets, and
soon recovered. As may well be conceived, he felt the greatest regard
for his preserver, and treated him ever afterwards with much
tenderness. The colley lived to a great age, and when he died, his
master said it gave him as much pain as the death of a child; and he
would have buried him in a coffin, had he not thought that his
neighbours would turn it into ridicule.
A gentleman of my acquaintance had a sheep-dog, which was generally
kept in a yard by the side of his house in the country. One day a
beggar made his way into the yard armed with a stout stick, with which
he defended himself from the attacks of the dog, who barked at and
attempted to bite him. On the appearance of a servant the dog ceased
barking, and watching his opportunity, he got behind the beggar,
snatched the stick from his hand, and carried it into the road, where
he left it.
A shepherd named Clark, travelling home to Hunt-Law, parish of Minto,
near Jedburgh, with some sheep, had occasion to pass through a small
village, where he went into a public-house to take a dram with some
cronies whom he had met on the road, leaving the sheep in charge of
the dog. His friends and he had indulged in a crack for several hours,
till he entirely forgot his drove. In the meantime the dog had
wearied, and determined to take the sheep home himself, a distance of
about ten miles. The shepherd, on coming to the spot where he had left
the animals, found they were gone, but knowing well that he might
depend on the fidelity of his dog, he followed the straight way to
Hunt-Law. On coming to a gateway which had interrupted their progress,
he perceived the dog and sheep quietly reposing; and had it not been
for that bar to their course he would have taken them home. Two miles
of their way was by a made road, and the rest through an open moor.
"One of the most interesting anecdotes I have known," says Sir Patrick
Walker, who related this anecdote to Captain Brown, and the one which
follows, "relates to a sheep-dog. The names of the parties have
escaped me just now, but I recollect perfectly that it came from an
authentic source. The circumstances were these:--A gentleman sold a
considerable flock of sheep to a dealer, which the latter had not
hands to drive. The seller, however, told him he had a very
intelligent dog, which he would send to assist him to a place about
thirty miles off; and that when he reached the end of his journey, he
had only to feed the dog, and desire him to go home. The dog
accordingly received his orders, and set off with the flock and the
drover; but he was absent for so many days that his master began to
have serious alarms about him, when one morning, to his great
surprise, he found the dog returned with a very large flock of sheep,
including the whole that he had lately sold. The fact turned out to
be, that the drover was so pleased with the colley that he resolved to
steal him, and locked him up until the time when he was to leave the
country. The dog grew sulky, and made various attempts to escape, and
one evening he fortunately succeeded. Whether the brute had discovered
the drover's intention, and supposed the sheep were also stolen, it is
difficult to say; but by his conduct it looked so, for he immediately
went to the field, collected the sheep, and drove them all back to his
master."
"A few years ago, when upon a shooting party in the Braes of Ranoch,
the dogs were so worn out as to be unfit for travel. Our guide said he
knew the shepherd, who had a dog that perhaps might help us. He
called, and the young man came with his little black colley, to which,
as soon as he had conversed with the guide, he said something in Erse.
The dog set off in a sneaking sort of manner up the hill, and, when he
showed any degree of keenness, we hastened to follow, lest he should
set up the birds; but the lad advised us 'to be canny, as it was time
eneuch when Lud came back to tell.' In a short space Lud made his
appearance on a knoll, and sat down, and the shepherd said we might go
up now, for Lud had found the birds. The dog waited till we were
ready, and trotted on at his master's command, who soon cautioned us
to be on the alert, for Lud signified we were in the midst of the
covey. We immediately found this to be the case, and in the course of
the day the same thing occurred frequently."
The following anecdote will serve to show the strong affection of the
sheep-dog; I will give it in the words of a gentleman who witnessed
the fact in the north of England.
"The following instance of canine affection came under my observation
at a farm-steading, where I happened to be. A colley belonging to the
shepherd on the farm appeared very restless and agitated: she
frequently sent forth short howls, and moaned as if in great agony.
'What on earth is the matter with the dog?' I asked. 'Ye see, sur,'
said the shepherd, 'au drownt a' her whelps i' the pond the day, and
she's busy greeting for them.' Of course, I had no objection to offer
to this explanation, but resolved to watch her future operations. She
was not long in setting off to the pond and fishing out her offspring.
One strong brindled pup she seemed to lament over the most. After
looking at it for some time, she again set off at a quick rate to a
new house then in the course of erection, and scooped out a deep hole
among the rubbish. She then, one by one, deposited the remains of her
young in it, and covered them up most carefully. After she had
fulfilled this task, she resumed her labours among her woolly charge
as usual."
In the winter of the year 1795, as Mr. Boulstead's son, of Great
Salkeld, in Cumberland, was attending the sheep of his father upon
Great Salkeld Common, he had the misfortune to fall and break his
leg. He was then at the distance of three miles from home--there was
no chance of any person's coming in so unfrequented a place within
call, and evening was fast approaching. In this dreadful dilemma,
suffering extreme pain from the fracture, and laying upon the damp
ground at so dreary a season of the year, his fearful situation
suggested to him the following expedient. Folding one of his gloves in
his pocket-handkerchief, he fastened it round the neck of the dog, and
rather emphatically ordered him 'home.' These dogs, trained so
admirably to orders and signals during their attendance upon the
flock, are well known to be under the most minute subjection, and to
execute the commands of their masters with an alacrity scarcely to be
conceived.
Perfectly convinced of some inexplicable disquietude from the
situation in which his master lay, he set off at a pace which soon
brought him to the house, where he scratched with great violence at
the door for immediate admittance. This obtained, the parents were in
the utmost alarm and consternation at his appearance, especially when
they had examined the handkerchief and its contents. Instantly
concluding that some accident had befallen their son, they did not
delay a moment to go in search of him. The dog, apparently conscious
that the principal part of his duty was yet to be performed, anxiously
led the way, and conducted the agitated parents to the spot where
their son lay overwhelmed with pain, increased by the awful
uncertainty of his situation. Happily he was removed just at the close
of day; and the necessary assistance being procured, he soon
recovered. He was never more pleasingly engaged than when reciting the
sagacity and affection of his faithful follower, who then became his
constant companion.
Mr. Hawkes, farmer of Halling, returning much intoxicated from
Maidstone market, with his dog, when the whole face of the country was
covered with snow, mistook his path, and passed over a ditch on his
right-hand towards the river; fortunately he was unable to get up the
bank, or he must have fallen into the Medway, at nearly high water.
Overcome with the liquor, Hawkes fell amongst the snow, in one of the
coldest nights ever remembered: turning on his back, he was soon
asleep; his dog scratched the snow about him, and then mounted upon
the body, rolled himself round, and laid him on his master's bosom,
for which his shaggy hide proved a seasonable covering. In this state,
with snow falling all the time, the farmer and his dog lay the whole
of the night; in the morning, a Mr. Finch, who was out with his gun,
perceiving an uncommon appearance, proceeded towards it; at his
approach, the dog got off the body, shook the snow from him, and by
significant actions encouraged Mr. Finch to advance. Upon wiping the
snow from the face, the person was immediately recognised, and was
conveyed to the first house, when a pulsation in the heart being
evident, the necessary means to recover him were employed, and in a
short time Hawkes was able to relate his own story. In gratitude for
his faithful friend, a silver collar was made for his wearing, and
thus inscribed:--
"In man, true friendship I long strove to find, but missed my aim;
At length I found it in my dog most kind; man! blush for shame."