140. If it is your fixed determination to confirm your dog in the truly-killing range described in last Chapter, do not associate him for months in the field with another dog, however highly broken. It would be far better to devote but two hours per diem to your pupil exclusively, than to hunt him the whole day with a companion.141. Many breakers do exactly the reverse of this. They take out an old steady ranger, with the intention that he shall lead the young dog, and that the latter, from imitation and habit, shall learn how to quarter his ground. But what he gains by imitation will so little improve his intellects, that, when thrown upon his own resources, he will prove a miserable finder. On a hot, dry day he will not be able to make out a feather, nor on any day to "foot" a delicate scent. I grant that the plan expedites matters, and attains the end which most professional trainers seek; but it will not give a dog self confidence and independence, it will not impart to him an inquiring nose, and make him rely on its sensitiveness to discover game, rather than to his quickness of eye to detect when his friend touches upon a haunt; nor will it instruct him to look from time to time towards the gun for directions. It may teach him a range, but not to hunt where he is ordered; nor will it habituate him to vary the breadth of the parallels on which he works, according as his master may judge it to be a good or bad scenting day.142. To establish the rare, noble beat I am recommending,—one not hereafter to be deranged by the temptation, of a furrow in turnips or potatoes,—you must have the philosophy not to hunt your dog in them until he is accustomed in his range to be guided entirely by the wind and your signals, and is in no way influenced by the nature of the ground. Even then it would be better not to beat narrow strips across which it would be impossible for him to make his regular casts. Avoid, too, for some time, if you can, all small fields—which will only contract his range,—and all fields with trenches or furrows, for he will but too naturally follow them instead of paying attention to his true beat. Have you never, in low lands, seen a young dog running down a potato or turnip trench, out of which his master, after much labor, had no sooner extracted him than he dropped into the adjacent one? It is the absence of artificial tracks which makes the range of nearly all dogs well broken on the moors, so much truer than that of dogs hunted on cultivated lands.143. Moreover, in turnips, potatoes, clover, and the like thick shelter, birds will generally permit a dog to approach so closely, that if he is much accustomed to hunt such places, he will be sure to acquire the evil habit of pressing too near his game when finding on the stubbles—instead of being startled as it were into an instantaneous stop the moment he first winds game,—and thus raise many a bird out of gun-shot that a cautious dog—one who slackens his pace the instant he judges that he is beating a likely spot—would not have alarmed.144. "A cautious dog!" Can there well be a more flattering epithet?[24] Such a dog can hardly travel too fast[25] in a tolerably open country, where there is not a superabundance of game, if he really hunt with an inquiring nose;—but to his master what an all-important "if" is this! It marks the difference between the sagacious, wary, patient, yet diligent animal, whose every sense and every faculty is absorbed in his endeavor to make out birds, not for himself but the gun, and the wild harum-scarum who blunders up three-fourths of the birds he finds. No! not finds, but frightens,—for he is not aware of their presence until they are on the wing, and seldom points unless he gets some heedless bird right under his nose, when an ignoramus, in admiration of the beauty of the dog's sudden attitude, will often forget the mischief which he has done.145. Though you cannot improve a dog's nose, you can do what is nearly tantamount to it—you can increase his caution. By watching for the slightest token of his feathering, and then calling out "Toho," or making the signal, you will gradually teach him to look out for the faintest indication of a scent, and point the instant he winds it, instead of heedlessly hunting on until he meets a more exciting effluvia. See 174 to 176, and 228.146. If from a want of animation in his manner you are not able to judge of the moment when he first winds game, and you thus are not able to call out "Toho" until he gets close to birds, quietly pull him back from his point "dead to leeward" for some paces, and there make him resume his point. Perseverance in this plan will ultimately effect your wishes, unless his nose is radically wrong. A dog's pointing too near his game more frequently arises from want of caution—in other words, from want of good instruction—than from a defective nose.147. Slow dogs readily acquire this caution; but fast dogs cannot be taught it without great labor. You have to show them the necessity of diminishing their pace, that their noses may have fair play. If you have such a pupil to instruct, when you get near birds you have marked down, signal to him to come to "heel" Whisper to him "Care," and let him see by your light, slow tread, your anxiety not to alarm the birds. If he has never shown any symptoms of blinking, you may, a few times, thus spring the birds yourself while you keep him close to you. On the next occasion of marking down birds, or coming to a very likely spot, bring him into "heel," and after an impressive injunction to take "care," give him two or three very limited casts to the right or left, and let him find the birds while you instruct him as described in 228. As there will be no fear of such a dog making false points, take him often to the fields where he has most frequently met birds. The expectation of again coming on them, and the recollection of the lectures he there received, will be likely to make him cautious on entering it. I remember a particular spot in a certain field that early in the season constantly held birds. A young dog I then possessed never approached it afterwards without drawing upon it most carefully, though he had not found there for months. At first I had some difficulty in preventing the "draw" from becoming a "point."148. I have elsewhere observed that fast dogs, which give most trouble in breaking, usually turn out best: now if you think for a moment you will see the reason plainly. A young dog does not ultimately become first-rate because he is wild and headstrong, and regardless of orders, but because his speed and disobedience arise from his great energies,—from his fondness for the sport, from his longing to inhale the exhilarating scent and pursue the flying game. It is the possession of these qualities that makes him, in his anxious state of excitement, blind to your signals and deaf to your calls. These obviously are qualities that, under good management,[26] lead to great excellence and superiority,—that make one dog do the work of two. But they are not qualities sought for by an idle or incompetent breaker.149. These valuable qualities in the fast dog, must, however, be accompanied with a searching nose. It is not enough that a dog be always apparently hunting, that is to say, always on the gallop—his nose should always be hunting. When this is the case, and you may be pretty certain it is if, as he crosses the breeze, his nose has intuitively a bearing to windward, you need not fear that he will travel too fast, or not repay you ultimately for the great extra trouble caused by his high spirits and ardor for the sport.150. You have been recommended invariably to enter every field by the leeward side. This you can generally accomplish with ease, if you commence your day's beat to leeward. Should circumstances oblige you to enter a field on the windward side, make it a rule, as long as your dog continues a youngster, to call him to "heel," and walk down the field with him until you get to the opposite side—the leeward—then hunt him regularly up to windward.151. I have read wondrous accounts of dogs, who, without giving themselves the trouble of quartering their ground, would walk straight up to the birds if there were any in the field. It has never been my luck, I do not say to have possessed such marvellous animals, but even to have been favored with a sight of them. I therefore am inclined to think, let your means be what they may, that you would find it better not to advertise for creatures undoubtedly most rare, but to act upon the common belief that, as the scent of birds, more or less, impregnates the air, no dog, let his nose be ever so fine, can, except accidentally, wind game unless he seeks for the taint in the air—and that the dog who regularly crosses the wind must have a better chance of finding it than he who only works up wind—and that down wind he can have little other chance than by "roading."152. It is heedlessness—the exact opposite of this extreme caution—that makes young dogs so often disregard and overrun a slight scent; and since they are more inclined to commit this error from the rivalry of companionship, an additional argument is presented in favor of breaking them separately, and giving them their own time, leisurely and methodically, to work out a scent, provided the nose be carried high. I am satisfied most of us hurry young dogs too much.