CH. XIII.] 



CURE ATTEMPTED. 



227 



of a hundred,* they have previously yielded to the great 

 temptation of running down some frisking lamb, whose 

 animated gambols seemed to court pursuit. f 



* In the remaining odd case 

 <one out of a hundred) the pro- 

 pensity may be traced to the 

 animal belonging to a vicious 

 stock, in short, to hereditary 

 instinct. 



t Mr. C. B y, who has writ- 

 ten so cleverly and usefully under 

 the name of " Harry Hieover," 

 supports (in " Practical Horse- 

 manship") an argument respecting 

 the breaking of horses, by de- 

 scribing with such good judgment 

 the manner in which he would 

 proceed to gradually wean a dog 

 from worrying sheep (much on the 

 principle of taking him to a rabbit- 

 warren, 337), that I think some 

 of my readers may peruse it with 

 profit : 



" I suppose myself to have a dog 

 addicted to chasing sheep. He 

 must be cured of that. If I de- 

 pute a servant to do this, 1 know 

 how he will set about it. He will 

 take the dog on a common, where 

 sheep are running at large. The 

 moment they see the dog they 

 begin running. This is just what 

 the man wished they might do. 

 The dog, of course, immediately 

 sets off after them, and the man 

 after the dog. Probably after the 

 latter has ceased chasing, he is 

 caught ; and at a moment when 

 he is not in fault he is most 

 brutally thrashed, knowing or not 

 knowing what he is thrashed for. 

 He is cowed for the day, and 

 sore for three or four afterwards, 

 when he forgets the beating ; and 

 the next time he sees the sheep, 

 he feels the same excitement and 

 propensity, and away he goes after 

 them ; so probably it would be as 

 long as he lives. 



"I now take the dog in hand, 

 and as sedulously avoid taking 



him where he has a chance of 

 seeing sheep running, as the other 

 sought for a place where he should ; 

 for I know, with his present habits, 

 the temptation will be too strong 

 for the dog to resist. I put a 

 collar round his neck, with a chain 

 to hold him by, and a good dog- 

 whip in my hand. I take him to 

 a sheep-fold : here the sheep can- 

 not run : and not being wild, the 

 utmost they can do on seeing the 

 dog is to huddle all together. On 

 entering the fold I cry in a warn- 

 ing voice, 'Ware sheep, Don.' 

 The dog looks up. ' Ware sheep, ' 

 I cry again. If he appears in the 

 least elated or fidgety, ' Ware 

 sheep, ' I cry in a voice of anger. 

 If he attempt to make any hasty 

 advance towards them, a smart 

 stroke or two of the whip makes 

 him find * Ware sheep ' must be 

 attended to. If after this he pulls 

 towards, or jumps at them, I give 

 him a good flogging, he deserves it, 

 for he knows he is doing wrong, and 

 has not over-excitement as an ex- 

 cuse. In a day or two, more or less, 

 as he is more or less incorrigible, 

 he will cease not only to jump at 

 the sheep, but will walk quietly 

 among them. He has learned per- 

 fectly one lesson, which is, that he 

 must not touch sheep standing 

 still. Probably, being now cowed 

 by the warning 'Ware sheep,' if 

 I took him on the common, he 

 would, if he saw sheep running, 

 stop at being halloed to (if not too 

 far oft') ; but it would be highly 

 injudicious to trust him, for if he 

 broke away, my three or four days' 

 lesson would go for nothing : he 

 would be nearly as bad as ever. 



" I now take him where sheep 

 are wild, but never get near enough 

 to set them running. But sup- 



Q2 



