A WESTERN JUNO. 



GEO. W. LUTHER. 



As I read Mr. Lancaster's story of "Juno, 

 the Retriever," I recalled an experience 

 which I had with a dog a few years ago. 

 He was a mongrel with considerable Scotch 

 terrier blood, belonging to Captain Richard 

 Olmsted, of DeTour, Michigan. 



The ducks were plentiful that fall, and 

 as I was anxious to get some good specimens 

 for my collection, the Captain lent me his 

 dog. We started early one morning so that 

 we might reach a certain lake before day- 

 break; not that I wished to take an unfair 

 advantage of the ducks, but that I might 

 hear their flight as they came sweeping 

 down from their Northern nesting place. 



The dog, Guess, as he was called, was 

 as much at home with me as if he had 

 been my own. His head was full of game 

 and his greatest ambition was to retrieve, 

 no matter who might hold the gun. 



We reached the desired spot a little be- 

 fore light. Never have I passed so delight- 

 ful an hour as on that morning. We sat 

 down together and the music of wings be- 

 gan. Only those who have heard the wings 

 of ducks cut the air as they sweep down 

 from the heights at which they make their 

 migratory trips, can know what it is like. 

 A stranger to such an experience would 

 never dream that the cutting of the air by 

 a score of wings could produce such sounds. 

 The whistle of the American goldeneyes, 

 the s-w-i-s-h of the mergansers, and the 

 peculiar, indescribable hum of the butter- 

 balls produce a medley which I would go 

 miles to hear. 



How we enjoyed it! Yes, we; the dog, 

 perhaps, more than I, though he could not 

 quite understand why I gave him no chance 

 to bring some of them in. He sat close to 

 my side and every few minutes would place 

 his foot on my knee and look up into my 

 face as if pleading to be off. 



It seemed as if thousands of the birds 

 must have struck the water within half a 

 mile of us as we' waited for the dawn. Just 

 as the shadows were lifting we moved to 

 a point which extended a little distance into 

 the lake. The grass grew down to the 

 water's edge. It was as thick as a mat and 

 about 3 feet high. With my knife I cut a 

 spot large enough for myself and Guess. 

 We were so close to the water that I could 

 easily reach it with my hand, yet nothing 

 could have seen us by looking in from the 

 water. We had hardly settled down when 

 we heard the riffling sound caused by the 

 bills of a large flock of American mergans- 

 ers as they skimmed past the point. The 

 dog looked at me wistfully, but I shook 



my head. Then the ducks began to close in 

 around us. We were the center of their 

 Mecca. The dog was an interesting study. 

 He would look up at me and then at the 

 birds which were often within a few feet 

 of us. Nothing, however, could have in- 

 fluenced him to move more than his eyes. 

 I never expect to behold such a sight again. 

 There were literally acres of water alive 

 with butterballs, mergansers, and bluebills ; 

 and a little farther away whistlers, mal- 

 lards, and a few canvasbacks. 



Though the canvasbacks would have en- 

 grossed the attention of sportsmen gener- 

 ally, they were of no special interest to me. 



1 was not after meat. The butcher's shop 

 is the best place to get that. There were 



2 crested heads a little beyond range which 

 took my eye and represented something 

 infinitely better to me than mere eating. 

 His stomach ought not to be the most 

 important part of a man. 



At last those snowy, fanlike crests were 

 within range. Oh, but they were beauties ! 

 They came in toward us, first one and then 

 the other craning his neck much like a 

 rooster and sending forth a little note 

 which is intended to produce the same sen- 

 sation in duckdom as the crowing of a 

 rooster does in the farmyard. 



I did not realize until that moment to 

 what a fearful test I was putting the dog. 

 As I placed my hand on my gun I locked 

 at him. His eyes glistened with anticipa- 

 tion. He was the picture of eagerness, and 

 yet of faithfulness. Then I located the 2 

 crests again. They surely were within 

 range. As I arose Guess crouched closer 

 to the ground, his hind legs moving some- 

 what as a cat's do when she sees a mouse. 

 As the ducks rose from the water I fired, 

 just one shot, for luck was with me that 

 morning. The 2 fans fell. 



Then occurred what interested me more 

 than anything else during the morning's 

 delights. Guess struck the water almost at 

 the instant of the crack of the gun. Four 

 ducks had fallen. The nearest one was 

 dead. The other 3 were floundering about 

 in the water. The dog had to pass the dead 

 one in order to reach the others, but he 

 did not touch it. He picked up the next 

 one, still alive, lifted it an instant, then 

 dropped it dead on the water and going to 

 the third did the same. He did not even 

 stop swimming until he had killed all the 

 live ones and laid the last one at my feet. 

 Then one by one he brought the others in. 



During all that time I had not spoken a 

 word nor made a motion to him. As he 



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