Jan. 23, 1909.] 
FOREST AND STREAM 
137 
The Reporter Dog. 
Concluded from page 99. 
A contributor to Forest and Stream, in the 
I issue of Dec. 19, 1889, page 425, presents a de¬ 
scription of the novel performances of report- 
, ing dogs, the scene being in Sweden. It is spe- 
! cially interesting because of the methods which 
j the dogs employed to communicate their ideas. 
I He says: 
I was out partridge shooting in the south of 
i Sweden in the fall of 1884. I had a sprightly 
I fellow, Joseph, as guide and bearer of cartridges 
i and game, and was shooting that day over an 
; old German pointer a friend had loaned me, so 
j that I could give my own dog a day’s rest. We 
had enjoyed a fairly good day’s sport, and to¬ 
ward evening were returning down the valley of 
the river Nissa, toward our headquarters at 
Oscarstrom. We were tired, the shooting was 
over, and our dog was allowed to roam at will. 
As we sauntered along I saw old Lila make her 
I appearance over the top of a distant heathery 
ridge. She looked up and down the valley, and 
as soon as she caught sight of us came toward 
us in a straight line on a brisk gallop, wagging 
! her tail in a joyful sort of way. Coming in she 
raised a forepaw, placed it on my leg, looked 
up in my face, wagged her tail briskly, turned 
. about, took a dozen leaps back in the track she 
I had come, then looked around at me and wagged 
her tail again. 
“Well, what does all this mean?” asked I. 
“Oh, Lila has got a covey of partridges over 
the hill yonder, and has come in with the re¬ 
port,” answered Joseph. 
“Nonsense!” 
But Lila rushed on a dozen steps more, looked 
back, and seeing I did not follow her, came in, 
put up her paw and again went through all her 
motions. 
“Well, old girl, lead on,” I said at last; “we’ll 
follow and see what you’ve got at all events.” 
So over the hill we went, Lila leading and ever 
and anon looking back—down across a valley, 
then straight up the further hillside, where she 
came to a point at a bunch of bushes. Before 
I got within shot the partridges began to whirr 
up; at least a dozen flew, but old Lila stuck 
now to her point, and on my reaching her side 
the last bird of the covey flew, which I knocked 
over and Lila retrieved. We now hunted along 
the bosky hillside, and Lila pointed and I shot 
six more of this covey, bringing up my bag 
for the day to nineteen partridges and a fine 
hare. 
“You didn’t know Lila was a reporter?” 
quoted Joseph. 
“No, I did not know before this day that 
there was such a dog in the world.” 
Since then I have made the matter of “the 
reporting dog” the study of some leisure hours. 
The reporter dog occurs most often among Ger¬ 
man pointers or in crosses between German and 
English pointers, but even among them not more 
than one trained dog in twenty is a reporter. 
The trait is rare among English full bloods, and 
I have never yet seen a setter report. 
It is asserted that a dog cannot be trained 
to report. The reporting instinct must be born 
within him, and then he takes to it naturally. I, 
however, am inclined to think that any dog that 
“rings” game, or from any cause breaks its point 
to take up another, may be trained to report, 
by whistling him in, whenever he comes to a 
point, and then advancing with him to the 
quarry. “Reporters” have different ways of 
imparting their information; not every dog is 
so clear as old Lila. Some come back only till 
they make themselves seen, then return directly 
to the game. Others hop up on a hillock or 
stone and jump and wag their tails till you ap¬ 
proach. 
Here in Sweden a reporter readily sells for 
one-third more than an equally good dog with¬ 
out this faculty, and I can assure American 
sportsmen that the report lends an additional 
pleasure to the chase. 
As the shooting season approached this year, 
I looked about for a reporter, and at last bought 
a large, powerful pointer, a cross between the 
German and English. The German dog is ex¬ 
ceedingly kind, faithful and obedient, but too 
heavy and slow. The English pointer, with all 
his good quality, is apt to be too hot and head¬ 
strong. The halfbreed is best for Swedish 
shooting, and, I believe, admirably adapted for 
America. 
I shot black cock and capercailzie over Nero, 
and, as the season advanced, partridges; but as 
I always kept well up with him, never saw him 
report, and had half forgotten that he possessed 
the accomplishment. One day my boot hurt me, 
and leaning my gun against a fence I sat down, 
took off my boot, pulled off my stocking and 
made a general readjustment. As I was lacing 
up my boot, in came Nero over a rise of the 
field, and looking up at me turned about and 
came to a half point; then looking up once more 
shot along the track whence he came. Follow¬ 
ing over the hills I came in view of the blue 
waters of Lake Nefode. Nero was still rush¬ 
ing on in a straight line over the field. When 
he reached the lake shore he came to a point 
at a tuft of dry rushes. But it was an easy 
kind of a point. Every few moments he looked 
back at me and expressed his satisfaction at 
my approach with one wag of the tail which 
instantly stiffened into business. Reaching his 
side, a little flock of seven partridges hustled 
up, and I had the pleasure of dropping a couple, 
and Nero, the satisfaction of retrieving them. 
Since then I let Nero hunt as far and wide 
as he pleases, confident that he will come in 
and report all game he finds out of my sight. 
I frequently whistle him in when he points at 
a distance, and then advance over the field side 
by side with him. Sometimes when Nero points 
at a distance, and is sure that I see him, he will 
lie down, so as not to scare the birds, rising on 
his forepaws now and then and looking back 
at me if I make any unreasonable delay. 
The other day he came to a point away over 
a vast plowed field. Looking around and mak¬ 
ing sure that I saw him, he backed in his tracks 
a dozen steps, and then disappeared from view 
as absolutely as if the black plowed field had 
swallowed up his white body. We kept on to¬ 
ward the spot where he was last seen, and after 
some five minutes’ plodding over the soft up¬ 
turned earth, Master Nero arose out of a dry 
ditch just in front of us and quietly resumed 
his point. Coming up with the dog, two great 
coveys of partridges arose, and my friend made 
a right and left shot out of the flock to the 
right and I took a bird with each barrel out 
of the left covey. 
The trait of reporting causes a dog to be 
freer and easier on his point; he is less like 
a cast-iron statue, more like a reasoning being. 
As Nero and I advance on a running covey 
he lifts his ears, looks up at me and takes in 
the situation “like a little man,” pointing now 
here, now there, and ringing the game in be¬ 
tween us if necessary. 
A reporter really seems to go through a chain 
of reasoning something like this: “Here is 
game, but where is my master? Of myself I 
can do nothing. Here’s for it. I’ll go hunt him 
up, for it takes both of us to do the shooting.” 
Frequently when Nero makes game I hide 
to see him go through his motions. Gradually 
he stiffens into a solid point, then looks around, 
first one side, then the other. No master in 
sight. Then he slowly backs out of it, step by 
step, a dozen steps or so; next he turns round 
us slyly as a snake, then sneaks away, and in 
another moment is in a full gallop toward where 
he last saw me. I always meet him with a pat 
on the head and a “Bravo, Nero!” It seems 
to me that the advantage of a reporter is at 
once apparent, whether it be on the wide prairies 
of the West, in the hill country of the East, or 
in the dense woodcock covers of New England. 
What a comfort and luxury to have a dog who 
will come in and report game and then lead you 
quietly to it. How many forced marches in 
the alder swamps one might save, and how 
lazily he could saunter along the ridges, leisurely 
waiting for the report of his faithful four- 
footed friend. Americans are never satisfied 
with anything short of the best. If we have 
not the reporter in America, we have not the 
best possible pointing dog. 
Shooting in Hawaii. 
Hunters are busy these days with the shot¬ 
gun, this being the open season for all kinds 
of feathered game. Chinese and Japanese pheas¬ 
ants are to be found on some of the game pre¬ 
serves, though they are greatly thinned out com¬ 
pared to what they were here some years ago. 
It was no uncommon thing for the sportsman 
to bag a dozen or more of these regal game 
birds in a day’s shoot a number of years ago, 
but with the long open season and the Increase 
in huntsmen of late, both the Chinese and 
Japanese pheasants are disappearing. 
Almost every Sunday the knights of the shot¬ 
gun may be seen out on the preserve at Leilehua 
or elsewhere banging away. A number of varie¬ 
ties of ducks are encountered here also, these 
providing an additional incentive to the fol¬ 
lowers of the sport. Widgeon, sprig, spoonbill 
and native ducks, the latter a variety of the 
little teal that is commonly found on the coast 
marshes, are met with here. 
Geese are found over on Hawaii, and it is 
a strange fact that the honkers there keep to 
the heights of Mauna Loa. Marshy lowlands, 
preferably tide-flats, are the haunts of the wild 
goose along the coast. The probabilities are 
that the reason the Flawaiian geese seek the 
heights rather than the lowlands along the sea¬ 
shores lies in the different kinds of food they 
find. Up in the hills there are numerous kinds 
of berries which are probably palatable to the 
honkers. It is said of these Hawaiian geese 
that their favorite stunt is to sit on rocks and 
call.—Pacific Commercial Advertiser. 
