i88 DOGS 



out their common pursuits. He cares even less 

 for his coat than the boy for his jacket. He can 

 go grubbing among thorny hedge - roots, and 

 crawling along damp ditches ; he can even carry 

 his researches into fox-earths and rabbit-burrows. 

 Consequently he is always coming upon delight- 

 ful surprises, startling rabbits from their seats 

 and hares from their forms, and setting all the 

 bird-folk of the hedge in commotion. The boy 

 envies him the sharp yelp of fierce delight when 

 he snaps vainly at the fud of a scuttling rabbit, 

 and perhaps only misses by a mouthful of flick ; 

 though, if he could, he would not care to worry 

 the rat or the w^easel, who has been the victim of 

 a sudden spring. On the other hand, he has 

 interests the dog cannot share. The thorns 

 shake : there is the scream of the startled black- 

 bird, and there is the nest with the young newly 

 feathered, and on the point of taking flight. Or 

 when the wood-pigeon makes a dash from the 

 farther side of the fir, up goes the boy, hand over 

 hand, and it is the turn of the dog to look on in 

 disgust. 



I have been talking of '' the open-air boy," and 

 I cannot help pitying boys who have their homes 

 in a city. It is hardly fair on a dog to keep him 

 in town ; it is like caging a lark, accustomed to 

 soar, and tantalising him with a miserable scrap 

 of turf. A terrier in London, looking at the world 

 through area railings, chasing cats who always 

 escape him in the back yard, naturally overeats 



