Mysteries of Scent
A stoat, if accidentally deprived of its power of scent, would soon come to starvation. All animals depend on scent not only for their food but for their protection, their power of recognition, and for nearly all the interests of their lives. The scent given off varies with occasion. In a state of rest it is modified. Thus a game-bird who has been on its nest for some time is in less danger of discovery than one that has just come to the nest, leaving a fresh trail. So the scent given off by foxes varies with their own condition—as, of course, with the weather. The greatest scent is left behind by the fox when he is warm with running; the least is given off at the beginning of a run, or at the end, when he is exhausted. The hunted fox well knows that his life may depend on the strength or weakness of his scent—this is made clear when he runs purposely through a herd of cattle or a flock of sheep.
Deluges of rain, burning sun, or extreme cold obliterate fox-scent, but slight heat combined with moisture, as when the sun shines after a warm shower, is in favour of a strong and enduring trail. But there is little certainty in the matter; as Mr. Jorrocks truly said, "Nothing so queer as scent 'cept a woman." On a promising day hounds may be at fault when within a score of yards of a fox; but on a day so apparently hopeless that few sportsmen trouble to attend a meet, as when a thin crust of hard-frozen snow covers the ground, the scent may be red-hot. One day may yield a perfect scent; on the next, apparently with the same weather conditions, the scent is elusive, and the hounds no sooner give tongue than they fall silent. Much depends on the nature of the country, or of the substance on which the volatile scent particles fall. Crossing the meadows, the hounds speak the line with certain voice; but when they come to dry, crumbling fallow-fields, the chorus dies away into a few doubtful whimpers. The time of the day has its effect on scent; in midsummer the woods may have no perfume in particular at midday, but are filled with sweet smells in the evening. Every one knows how a warm autumnal shower brings out the savour of dead leaves and the smell of earth.
To the fox, as to the stoat, the sense of smelling is the most important of all. With his nose the fox discovers nearly all his food. If the sitting game-bird has flown to her nest, and herself gives off the least perceptible scent, the fox easily finds her by that strong scent given off by chipping eggs. By scent he picks up the young leverets, after quartering the ground to gather the greatest advantage of the wind. He scents young rabbits in the stop when a foot beneath the surface of the earth, and when he starts digging them out he goes directly to their nest. So a good ratting terrier will point through a couple of feet of soil to the exact spot where a rat is lying. We have sometimes thought that an invention to magnify scents would prove of great benefit to the gamekeeper. But there might be fatal effects if a keeper, scent-improver on nose, came suddenly on that mushroom of the fetid odour commonly known as the Stinkhorn.
