A poacher owns to a dog, so marvellously trained that his master can
send it for anything--but at the least sign of anybody watching its
movements, or the approach of a gamekeeper or a policeman, the dog
drops whatever it may be carrying, makes off for cover, and hides
itself. The dog has many rivals to fame of this sort. We knew a poacher
whose plan it was to dawdle along the road in his pony-cart while his
lurcher foraged in the fields. But at a certain signal the dog would
come instantly to heel; on suspecting danger, all the master did was
to lift his cap, and scratch his head in the most unconcerned manner
in the world. When once a dog grasps the meaning of a signal, he will
obey it faithfully in all circumstances if he is kept in practice. In
the olden days, in the Netherlands, dogs were trained to smuggle, and
without attendants. They were sent off on a journey at night, loaded
with goods, the keenest-nosed dog leading, and at the moment when he
sighted or scented a custom-house official, he would turn back as a
signal to the whole pack to rush off to cover, and hide until the
danger passed. This is vouched for in an old work, "Brown on Dogs."
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