THE OLD WORKING TERRIER. 



317 



We have seen the process of a sudden leap 

 into recognition enacted during the past 

 few years in connection with the white 

 terrier of the Western Highlands — a dog 

 which was familiarly known in Argyllshire 

 centuries ago, yet which has only lately 

 emerged from the heathery hillsides around 

 PoltaUoch to become an attraction on the 

 benches at the Crystal Palace and on the 

 lawns of the Botanical Gardens ; and the 

 example suggests the possibilit}' that in 



won for the English terriers their name 

 and fame. 



Of the old-fashioned sort was Boxer, 

 concerning whom Mr. George Lowe writes : — 



" I possessed many years ago some very 

 good working rough terriers, and had pretty 

 weU the run of a forest and marshes to kill 

 what I liked, bar the game. On one occasion 

 I was hunting a stream for water-rats or what- 

 not, when my companion, a very old friend, 

 exclaimed : ' Look out ! Boxer's got a rat ! ' 



OLD ENGLISH WORKING TERRIERS 



From "The S^ortinMii's Cabintf {ISOS). ISy I'- Rdnagic, RA. 



another decade or so the neglected Sealy 

 Ham Terrier, the ignored terrier of the 

 Borders, and the almost forgotten Jack 

 Russell strain, may have claimed a due 

 recompense for their long neglect. 



There are lovers of the hard-bitten work- 

 ing " earth dogs " who stiU keep these 

 strains inviolate, and who greatly prefer 

 them to the better-known terriers whose 

 natural activities have been too often atro- 

 phied by a system of artificial breeding to 

 show points. Few of these old unregistered 

 breeds would attract the eye of the fancier 

 accustomed to judge a dog parading before 

 him in the show ring. To know their value 

 and to appreciate their sterling good qualities, 

 one needs to watch them at work on badger 

 or when they hit upon the line of an otter. 

 It is then that they display the alertness 

 and the dare-devil courage which have 



But I saw in a moment that it was something 

 more important. The little dog was frantic, 

 threw his tongue — which was not his general 

 custom — and raced under the hollow banks 

 as if something was on foot. I said that it 

 was a pole-cat, as we had killed those animals 

 in the vicinity before, but then Boxer took to 

 crossing and re-crossing and swimming both 

 up and down stream. I was puzzled — 

 never dreamt of an otter being in the country. 

 But early days in South Devon made me 

 observe that if otters were about, I should 

 swear that one was here. Well, a trail seemed 

 to lie up-stream, the terrier flashing too much, 

 over-running it, and coming back again, and 

 so on for the best part of two miles. At that 

 point Boxer struck across a meadow and got 

 to some gutters, then another meadow. We 

 let him do as he liked until coming to a clump 

 or small plantation surrounded by water. 

 Into this we threw him, and in a moment his 

 small tongue was going, with all the sticks 



