FIRST LESSON IN SEPTEMBER COMMENCED. RANGING.

170. Regular Breakers make Dogs “point” paired birds in Spring; tends to blinking.—171. Better not to see Game until shot over; taken out alone on a fine day in September.—172. Perpetually whistling to animate dogs, injudicious.—173. Beat largest Fields, and where least likely to find Game.—174. Commence from leeward; Scent bad in a calm or gale; observations on Scent; it differently affects Pointers and Setters; see Note.—175 to 179. Instructions in “ranging.”—180. Kept from hedge; Range greater on moors than stubble.—181. Distance between Parallels dependent on tenderness of nose.—182. A point at Partridge a hundred yards off.—183. At Grouse a hundred and fifty yards off; Mr. L——g’s opinion of distance at which Dogs wind birds.—184. If the Dog is to hunt with another, the Parallels to be further apart.—185. No interruption when winding birds, yet not allowed to puzzle; Nose to gain experience.—186. Birds lie well to Dog that “winds,” not “foots” them.—187. White Dogs most visible to birds and to you; a disadvantage and advantage; white Feet often not good; feet of Setters better than of Pointers.—188. Inattentive to Whistle, made to “drop,” &c.; when rating or punishing, the disregarded order or signal to be often repeated; Whip to crack loudly.—189. The attainment of a scientific Range difficult, but of surpassing value; the best ranger must in the end find most game.

170. A keeper nearly always breaks in his young dogs to point, (or “set” as some term it) if their ages permit it, on favourable days in Spring, when the partridges have paired.[25] He gets plenty of points, and the birds lie well. But I cannot believe it is the best way to attain great excellence, though the plan has many followers: it does not cultivate the intelligence of his pupils, nor enlarge their ideas by making them sensible of the object for which such pains are taken in hunting them. Moreover, their natural ardour (a feeling that it should be his aim rather to increase than weaken) is more or less damped by having often to stand at game, before they can be rewarded for their exertions by having it killed to them,—it prevents, rather than imparts, the zeal and perseverance for which Irish dogs are so remarkable (565). Particularly ought a breaker, whose pupil is of a nervous temperament, or of too gentle a disposition, to consider well that the want of all recompense for finding paired birds, must make a timid dog far more likely to become a “blinker,” when he is checked for not pointing them, than when he is checked for not pointing birds, which his own impetuosity alone deprives him of every chance of rapturously “touseling.” (See also end of 280.) The very fact that “the birds lie well” frequently leads to mischief; for, if the instructor be not very watchful, there is a fear that his youngsters may succeed in getting too close to their game before he forces them to come to a stanch point. A keeper, however, has but little choice, (and it is not a bad time to teach the back,) if his master insist upon shooting over the animals the first day of the season, and expect to find them what some call “perfectly broken in.” But I trust some few of my readers may have nobler ends in view, and that they will cheerfully sacrifice a little of their shooting the first week of the season, to ensure super-excellence in their pupils at its close. Remember, I do not object to spring drilling, (vide 131) but to much spring pointing.

171. I will suppose your youngster to have been well grounded in his initiatory lessons, and that you take him out when the crops are nearly off the ground (by which time there will be few squeakers) on a fine cool day in September, (alas! that it cannot be an August day on the moors,) to show him birds for the first time. As he is assumed to be highly-bred, you may start in the confident expectation of killing partridges over him, especially if he be a pointer. Have his nose moist and healthy. Take him out when the birds are on the feed, and of an afternoon in preference to the morning, (unless from an unusually dry season there be but little scent,) that he may not be attracted by the taint of hares or rabbits. Take him out alone, if he evince any disposition to hunt, which, at the age we will presume him to have attained this season, we must assume that he will do, and with great zeal. Be much guided by his temper and character. Should he possess great courage and dash, you cannot begin too soon to make him point. You should always check a wild dog in racing after pigeons and small birds on their rising; whereas you should encourage a timid dog (one who clings to “heel”) in such a fruitless but exciting chase. The measures to be pursued with such an animal are fully detailed in 132, 133.

172. I may as well caution you against adopting the foolish practice of attempting to cheer on your dog with a constant low whistle, under the mistaken idea that it will animate him to increased zeal in hunting. From perpetually hearing the monotonous sound, it would prove as little of an incentive to exertion as a continued chirrup to a horse; and yet if habituated to it, your dog would greatly miss it whenever hunted by a stranger. Not unregarded, however, would it be by the birds, to whom on a calm day it would act as a very salutary warning.

173. Though you have not moors, fortunately we can suppose your fields to be of a good size. Avoid all which have been recently manured. Select those that are large, and in which you are the least likely to find birds until his spirits are somewhat sobered, and he begins partly to comprehend your instructions respecting his range. There is no reason why he should not have been taken out a few days before this, not to show him birds, but to have commenced teaching him how to traverse his ground. Indeed, if we had supposed him of a sufficient age (132), he might by this time be somewhat advanced towards a systematic beat. It is seeing many birds early that is to be deprecated, not his being taught how to range.

174. Be careful to enter every field at the leeward[26] side (about the middle), that he may have the wind to work against. Choose a day when there is a breeze, but not a boisterous one. In a calm, the scent is stationary, and can hardly be found unless accidentally. In a gale it is scattered to the four quarters.[27] You want not an undirected ramble, but a judicious traversing beat under your own guidance, which shall leave no ground unexplored, and yet have none twice explored.

175. Suppose the form of the field, as is usually the case, to approach a parallelogram or square, and that the wind blows in any direction but diagonally across it. On entering at the leeward side send the dog from you by a wave of your hand or the word “On.” You wish him, while you are advancing up the middle of it, to cross you at right angles, say from right to left,—then to run up wind for a little, parallel to your own direction, and afterwards to re-cross in front of you from left to right, and so on until the whole field is regularly hunted. To effect this, notwithstanding your previous preparatory lessons, you will have to show him the way, as it were (setting him an example in your own person), by running a few steps in the direction you wish him to go (say to the right), cheering him on to take the lead. As he gets near the extremity of his beat, when he does not observe you, you can steal a small advance in the true direction of your own beat, which is directly up the middle of the field, meeting the wind. If perceiving your advance he turns towards you, face him,—wave your right hand to him, and while he sees you, run on a few paces in his direction (that is parallel to his true direction). As he approaches the hedge (the one on your right hand, but be careful that he does not get close to it, lest, from often finding game there, he ultimately become a potterer and regular hedge-hunter) face towards him, and on catching his eye, wave your left arm. If you cannot succeed in catching his eye, you must give one low whistle,—the less you habituate yourself to use the whistle, the less you will alarm the birds,—study to do all, as far as is practicable, by signals. You wish your wave of the left arm to make the dog turn to the left (his head to the wind), and that he should run parallel to the side of the hedge for some yards (say from thirty to forty) before he makes his second turn to the left to cross the field; but you must expect him to turn too directly towards you on your first signal to turn. Should he by any rare chance have made the turn (the first one) correctly, and thus be hunting up wind, on no account interrupt him by making any signals until he has run up the distance you wish, (the aforesaid thirty or forty yards,)—then again catch his eye, and, as before (not now, however, faced towards him and the hedge, but faced towards your true direction), by a wave of the left arm endeavour to make him turn to the left (across the wind). If, contrary to what you have a right to suppose, he will not turn towards you on your giving a whistle and wave of your hand, stand still, and continue whistling—eventually he will obey. But you must not indulge in the faintest hope that all I have described will be done correctly; be satisfied at first with an approach towards accuracy; you will daily find an improvement, if you persevere steadily. When you see that there is but little chance of his turning the way you want, at once use the signal more consonant to his views, for it should be your constant endeavour to make him fancy that he is always ranging according to the directions of your hands. Be particular in attending to this hint.

176. His past tuition (38) most probably will have accustomed him to watch your eye for directions, therefore it is not likely, even should he have made a wrong turn near the hedge (a turn down wind instead of up wind, which would wholly have prevented the required advance parallel to the hedge), that he will cross in rear of you. Should he, however, do so, retreat a few steps, (or face about if he is far in the rear,) in order to impress him with the feeling that all his work must be performed under your eye. Animate him with an encouraging word as he passes. When he gets near the hedge to the left, endeavour, by signals (agreeably to the method just explained) (175), to make him turn to the (his) right, his head to the wind, and run up alongside of it for the thirty to forty yards, if you can manage it, before he begins to re-cross the field, by making a second turn to the right. If you could get him to do this, he would cross well in advance of you.

177. Though most likely his turn (the first—the turn up wind) will be too abrupt (too much of an acute angle instead of the required right angle), and that consequently, in order to get ahead of you, he will have to traverse the field diagonally, yet after a few trials it is probable he will do so, rather than not get in front of you. This would be better than the former attempt (not obliging you to face about),—express your approval, and the next turn near the hedge may be made with a bolder sweep. Remember your aim is, that no part be unhunted, and that none once commanded by his nose be again hunted. He ought to cross, say thirty yards in front of you, but much will depend upon his nose.

178. Nearly on every occasion of catching his eye, except when he is running up wind parallel to the hedge, give him some kind of signal. This will more and more confirm him in the habit of looking to you, from time to time, for orders, and thus aid in insuring his constant obedience. After a while, judging by the way in which your face is turned, he will know in what direction you purpose advancing, and will guide his own movements accordingly. Should he, as most probably he will for some time, turn too sharply towards you when getting near the hedge, I mean at too acute an angle, incline or rather face towards him. This, coupled with the natural wish to range unrestrained, will make him hunt longer parallel to the hedge, before he makes his second turn towards you.

179. You may at first strive to correct your dog’s turning too abruptly inwards (the first turn), by pushing on in your own person further ahead on your own beat; but when he has acquired if merely the slightest idea of a correct range, be most careful not to get in advance of the ground he is to hunt. Your doing so might habituate him to cross the field diagonally (thereby leaving much of the sides of the fields unhunted), in order to get ahead of you; and, moreover, you might spring birds which you are anxious he should find. Should he, on the other hand, be inclined to work too far upward before making his turn to cross the field, hang back in your own person.

180. Though you may be in an unenclosed country, let him range at first from no more than from seventy to eighty yards on each side of you. You can gradually extend these lateral beats as he becomes conversant with his business—indeed, at the commencement, rather diminish than increase the distances just named, both for the length of the parallels and the space between them. Do not allow the alluring title “a fine wide ranger” to tempt you to let him out of leading-strings. If he be once permitted to imagine that he has a discretionary power respecting the best places to hunt, and the direction and length of his beats, you will find it extremely difficult to get him again well in hand. On the moors his range must be far greater than on the stubbles, but still the rudiments must be taught on this contracted scale, or you will never get him to look to you for orders. Do you keep entire control over his beats; let him have almost the sole management of his drawing upon birds, provided he does not puzzle, or run riot too long over an old haunt. Give him time, and after a little experience his nose will tell him more surely than your judgment can, whether he is working on the “toe” or “heel” of birds, and, whether he diverges from or approaches the strongest and most recent haunt,—do not flurry or hurry him, and he will soon acquire that knowledge.

181. As the powers of scent vary greatly in different dogs, the depth of their turns (or parallels) ought to vary also, and it will be hereafter for you to judge what distance between the parallels it is most advantageous for your youngster ultimately to adopt in his general hunting. The deeper his turns are, of course, the more ground you will beat within a specified time. What you have to guard against is the possibility of their being so wide that birds may be passed by unnoticed. I should not like to name the distance within which good cautious dogs that carry their heads high, will wind game on a favourable day.

182. I was partridge-shooting the season before last with an intimate friend. The air was soft and there was a good breeze. We came upon a large turnip-field, deeply trenched on account of its damp situation. A white setter, that habitually carried a lofty head, drew for awhile, and then came to a point. We got up to her. She led us across some ridges, when her companion, a jealous dog (a pointer), which had at first backed correctly, most improperly pushed on in front, but, not being able to acknowledge the scent, went off, clearly imagining the bitch was in error. She, however, held on, and in beautiful style brought us direct to a covey. My friend and I agreed that she must have been but little, if at all, less than one hundred yards off when she first winded the birds; and it was clear to us that they could not have been running, for the breeze came directly across the furrows, and she had led us in the wind’s eye. We thought the point the more remarkable, as it is generally supposed that the strong smell of turnips diminishes a dog’s power of scenting birds.

183. R——t T——n, a gamekeeper, once assured me he had seen a point at grouse which were at the least one hundred and fifty yards off. The dogs were on the edge of a valley—the pack on a little hillock from which direction the wind blew—an intervening wall near the top of the hillock separated them from the dogs; and as intermediately there was no heather, the man was satisfied that the birds had not run over the ground. When I was talking one day to Mr. L——g, the well-known gunmaker in the Haymarket, about the qualities of dogs’ noses,—and from his long experience he ought to be a judge of such matters,—he told me, before I had said a word respecting distances, that he thought he had seen more than once a dog point at one hundred and fifty yards from his game.

184. If you design your pupil, when broken in, to hunt with a companion, and wish both the dogs, as is usual, to cross you, you will, of course, habituate him to make his sweeps (the space between the parallels) wider than if you had intended him to hunt without any one to share his labours.

185. I need hardly warn you to be careful not to interrupt him whenever he appears to be winding birds. However good his nose may be by nature, it will not gain experience and discrimination, unless you give him a certain time to determine for himself whether he has really touched upon a faint scent of birds, and whether they are in his front or rear, or gone away altogether. Like every other faculty, his sense of smell will improve the more it is exercised. But on the other hand, as I observed before, do not let him continue puzzling with his nose close to the ground,—urge him on,—make him increase his pace,—force him to search elsewhere, and he will gradually elevate his head, and catching the scent of other particles, will follow up these with a nose borne aloft, unless he is a brute not worth a twentieth part of the pains which you think of bestowing upon him; for,

186. Besides the greatly decreased chance of finding them, birds that to a certainty would become uneasy, and make off if pursued by a dog tracking them, will often lie well to one who finds them by the wind. They are then not aware that they are discovered, and the dog, from the information his nose gives him, can approach them either boldly or with great wariness, according as he perceives them to be more or less shy.

187. It is rather foreign to our immediate subject, but I will here observe, that it is generally thought white dogs cannot approach shy birds[28] as closely as dogs of a dark colour can (93); but there is a set-off to this supposed disadvantage in your being able to distinguish the light ones more readily at a distance,—a matter of some moment on heather. If you have not your eye on a steady brown setter at the moment he drops on grouse, you may spend half an hour most vexatiously in searching for him. When you expect to find the birds wild, should your kennel allow you the choice, you ought to take out those of a sombre hue. Light coloured dogs have not generally such well-shaped feet as their darker brethren. It is curious that white feet in dogs as well as in horses should often be objectionable. As a rule, setters have harder, tougher feet than pointers. This is very apparent in a flinty country or in frosty weather, and is partly attributable to their being better defended with hair round the ball, and between the toes.

188. If, being unable to catch the dog’s eye, you are forced to use the whistle frequently, and he continues inattentive to it, notwithstanding his previous tuition, stand still,—make him lie down (by the word “drop,” if he will not obey your raised left arm)—go up to him,—take hold of his collar, and rate him, saying, “Bad, bad,” cracking your whip over him (let the whip be one that will crack loudly, not for present purposes, but that, when occasion requires, he may hear it at a distance) and whistling softly. This will show him (should you beat him, you would confuse his ideas) that he is chidden for not paying attention to the whistle. Indeed, whenever you have occasion to scold or punish him, make it a constant rule, while you rate him, to repeat many times the word of command, or the signal which he has neglected to obey. There is no other way by which you will make him understand you quickly.

189. You must expect that your young dog will for some time make sad mistakes in his range;—but be not discouraged. Doubtless there is no one thing,—I was going to say, that there are no dozen things,—in the whole art of dog-breaking, which are so difficult to attain, or which exact so much labour, as a high, well-confirmed, systematic range. Nature will not assist you:—you must do it all yourself; but in recompense there is nothing so advantageous when it is at length acquired. It will abundantly repay months of persevering exertion. It constitutes the grand criterion of true excellence. Its attainment makes a dog of inferior nose and action far superior to one of much greater natural qualifications who may be tomfooling about, galloping backwards and forwards sometimes over identically the same ground, quite uselessly exerting his travelling powers; now and then, indeed, arrested by the suspicion of a haunt, which he is not experienced enough, or sufficiently taught, to turn to good account,—and occasionally brought to a stiff point on birds accidentally found right under his nose. It is undeniable, cÆteris paribus, that the dog who hunts his ground most according to rule must in the end find most game.