All dogs have a horror of copperheads, and Jock was no exception. By instinct, he seemed to know what the snake’s tactics would be. For he strove to catch the foe by the back of the neck, before the copperhead could coil.
He was a fraction of a second too late. Yet he was nimble and wise enough to spring back out of reach, before the coiling serpent could strike. Then, with that same glad bark of defiance, he danced about his enemy, trying to take the snake from the rear and to flash in and get a neck grip before the copperhead could recoil after each futile strike.
I put an end to the battle by a bullet in the snake’s ugly head. And Jock was mortally offended with me, for hours thereafter, for spoiling his fun.
When he was eight months old, I took the little chap to Paterson, to his first (and last) dog show. Never before had he been off the Place or in a house. Yet he bore himself like a seasoned traveller; and he “showed” with the perfection of a champion. He won, in class after class; annexing two silver cups and several blue ribbons. His peerless sire, Bruce, was the only collie, in the whole show, able to win over him, that day.
Jock beat every other contestant. He seemed to enjoy showing and to delight in the novelty and excitement of it all. He was at the show for only a few hours; and it was a triumph-day for him.
Yet cheerfully would I give a thousand dollars not to have taken him there.
For he brought home not only his many prizes but a virulent case of distemper; as did other dogs that attended the same show.
Of course, I had had him (as well as all my other dogs) inoculated against distemper, long before; and such precautions are supposed to be effective. But the disease got through the inoculation and infected him.
He made a gallant fight of it—oh, a gallant fight!—the fearless little thoroughbred! But it was too much for him. For five weeks, he and I fought that grindingly losing battle.