THE BEST BCG IN THE LITTER. 



BY WILLIAM TALLMAN. 



It often happens that the "bad boy'' of a 

 family turns out to be the only one that is 

 really good for anything. The runaway, wild 

 and uncontrollable, always wnere he should 

 not be, never where he should, putting his 

 foot through the commandments one by one, 

 as the opportunity affords — possessing a 

 growing disregard and disrespect for all 

 things seen and unseen ; one day begins to 

 learn control — takes a new view of his pur- 

 pose in life, and with a deeper knowledge of 

 right and wrong, surpassing his brother in 

 vim and hustle, makes a brilliant success. It 

 is an old story, but one that is too often for- 

 gotten, and I suppose I expect almost too 

 much of the young dog owner, when I ask 

 him to apply it to his kennel. I say kennel, 

 because the chance of possessing many "bril- 

 liantly bad" ones is good, unless a man owns 

 two or three setters or pointers and buys or 

 breeds with a purpose in view. There is. 

 however, one man besides the kennel owner 

 whose chances are better than the average — ■ 

 he who cannot afford to buy good ones, but 

 is willing to accept as a present the pup dis- 

 carded by his frien 3 as "wild." 



There is in my mind a case which very apt- 

 ly illustrates the truth of the preceding re- 

 marks, and though the application can be 

 made only in a general way, if by relating the 

 story one or two "bad" dogs are converted. I 

 shall consider it worth the telling. A friend 

 of mine, a dog man all his life, who bred 

 more than one chow-winning pointer, found 

 himself, through the changes of a business 

 fife, located in an excellent quail country. 

 Having disposed of the bulk of his kennel, he 

 was at this time very short on shooting dogs. 

 In fact, about all he had to depend upon was 

 a litter of three pups, about six months old, 

 which by reason of their breeding and by all 

 outward signs gave promise of great things 

 for the following season. They were all dog 

 pups, sired by a pointer which had attracted 

 some attention at one or two state trials. The 

 field qualities transmitted from their sire 

 were already quite noticeable. My friend was 

 highly enthusiastic and wrote letters to his 

 numerous acquaintances dilating on the ad- 

 vantages of a judicious out-cross of field trial 

 blood. Never before had his pups shown such 

 a desire to hunt. Sparrow, pigeons and chick- 

 ens were hunted and driven from one end of 



the yard to the other, and even a lonely buz- 

 zard, soaring at a great height across a dis- 

 tant field was made the object of more than 

 one dashing high-headed cast. There is al- 

 ways a best one in every litter, however, and 

 as these pups grew day by day the handsom- 

 est one confirmed his master's opinion that he 

 was worth a bit more than both of the others 

 put together. They were heavily marked with 

 black, while he was a beautiful liver-and- 

 white. They paid little attention to a toad 

 which hopped in one corner of the yard, but 

 their handsome brother drew up and pointed 

 with a style that delighted his master's heart. 

 And one morning, while their brother stanchly 

 held a point on a stray chicken, they pounced 

 in and murdered it. On another occasion, 

 when they were released from the kennel 

 yard, the "pick of the litter" showed good 

 sense by keeping a safe distance from a scrap- 

 py old game cock, while the others tackled 

 him — the worst of the pair sticking to the bat- 

 tle until he was cut from head to tail and had 

 ended that rooster's fighting days. 



Before the shooting season opened, my 

 friend took the trio of the field for their in- 

 troduction to Mr. Bob White. On being put 

 down in a big stubble field the blackest pup, 

 still scarred from contact with the rooster's 

 spurs, set out like a streak for a distant hill- 

 side, closely followed by the others. After the 

 first fence, he went on alone, out of sight, 

 while the other two, circling back to their 

 master, ran slamb bang into a big covey of 

 quail. The handsome pup flinched slightly, 

 but as the birds rushed whirring away, stif- 

 fened into a beautiful point. His brother gave 

 a few frenzied yelps, and chased madly after 

 the covey, disappearing into the woods, his 

 master rushing after, with the "pick of the 

 litter" following at heel, reached the deep 

 woods just in time to see the black pup dash- 

 ing from one brush pile to another, punching 

 the singles into the air with joyous yelps. 

 Clearing these woods and looking about for 

 the first black pup, he discovered him on the 

 distant hill putting a few scattered birds in 

 the air for their third flight. 



Of course my friend did not condemn the 

 black pups on this first trial ; but when, after 

 half a dozen other trips extending over a 

 period of about a month, the liver-and-white 

 pup demonstrated his abilitv to find birds and 

 point them and the black-and-white pups 

 showed a pronounced determination to flush, 



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