
The Dog for Big Game 
By W. SINCLAIR ALDRIDGE 
Given the right conditions, a dog can be of 
the greatest assistance to the hunter of big game. 
In the more settled parts of this continent it is 
true that a very great majority of sportsmen set 
their faces against the use of hounds for running 
deer, and though they, perhaps, go to unreason- 
able lengths in their opposition, in the main they 
are in the right. There can be no doubt that 
frequent hounding does drive deer off a range, 
and, moreover, hurts the condition of those that 
survive the actual chase. It is not fair, however, 
to forbid the use of the dog in out-of-the-way 
regions because his work is too deadly for a 
thickly settled and overhunted district. Not 
only on this continent but in Europe, Asia and 
Africa, the best and fairest sportsmen have used 
dogs of various breeds, to their great satisfac- 
tion and without any prickings of conscience. 
The Norse tracker employs an elk hound, 
held in leash, when he strives to bring down the 
Old World prototype of our moose, and without 
some such ally he would rarely bag his quarry. 
He leaves the sae/er (all the moose grounds are 
small in extent in comparison with a Canadian 
forest) at break of day or even before, and, 
traveling steadily and cautiously up wind, de- 
pends entirely upon his hound’s nose to find the 
elk he seeks. By and by the hound begins to 
strain at the lead, his hackles go up, and it is 
evident that game is afoot, though the duller 
senses of his master could never have detected 
the faint taint in the dewy morning air. 
After a longer or shorter approach, if all has 
gone well, the time is deemed fitting for slipping 
the elk-dog. Ina flash he is lost from sight, the 
dense spruce forest closing behind him, but in a 
marvelously short time his frantic baying indi- 
cates that a giant of the forest has been found. 
Sometimes the elk breaks away in spite of all 
the dog can do; in fact, if the animal has by 
sound or smell convinced itself that itsreal enemy 
is man, no dog can hold it. If, however, it fan- 
cies its only foe is the small, insignificant though 
noisy beast that yaps and snaps at its muzzle, it 
will make blundering charges and great sweeps 
of massive horns at its active tormentor, becom- 
ing so preoccupied that the hunter draws near 
enough for a fatal shot. This may not meet the 
ideas of some, but it is quite a matter of opinion 
as to whether, by the strict canons of sport, it is 
not a higher form than calling a love-sick bull to 
his doom. 
In the East Indies Englishmen have for gen- 
erations kept ‘‘bobbery packs,’ composed of 
bulldogs, pointers, harriers, beagles and terriers, 
crossed and mixed with the fierce native hounds 
of the Rampur and Polygar breeds. With such 
scratch packs all kinds of game have been 
brought down, and many an up-country plant- 
er’s life would scarcely be worth having had he 
to. give up his pack. Usually the rifle is not car- 
ried by the Anglo-Indian when he goes out with 
his hounds, a long, keen, hunting knife being 
substituted ; it takes considerable pluck and 
agility to finish a big sambur stag, when the 
seizersof the pack have him at bay in the middle 
of some mountain torrent. 
The best dog for use in the Rockies is, most 
probably, a lurcher, bred, half collie and half 
deerhound. Such a dog is not noisy—a fox- 
hound would drive all the game over the next 
divide with his melody—and possesses enough 
intelligence to keep away from hoof and horn. 
For lions and wolves he will not do the work of 
a bolder dog, one with mastiff or bulldog blood 
somewhere in his pedigree, but for deer he is 
excellent. The real hunter, however, uses his 
dog with judgment and circumspection. The 
animal is kept to heel until he shows by his 
actions that he winds game, then he may or may 
not be slipped, generally being kept in until 
after the shot. If this has been fatal there is no 
need for the dog’s aid, but if not, then the value 
of the man’s companion comesin. Few, indeed, 
are the wounded animals that escape to die a 
miserable, piteous death when once a good 
lurcher has been slipped on its track. 
The writer knows of two packs in the north- 
ern Rockies that are kept for bear. The one 
consists of eighteen-pound fox terriers; the 
other of Airedales. Of the two, the fox is the 
better dog, judging by results. Seven bear in 
one short spring season—about four weeks—is 
not a bad record for a pack that would seem at 
first sight to be of about badger or fox caliber. 
When these little fellows tackle a grizzly he 
seems to lose his head, and allows the hunter to 
