There is a story of a Frenchman, who, when walking in the woods, heard the whistle of a woodcock and thereupon became possessed of an ardent desire pour la chasse. He equipped himself by borrowing a gun from one friend, a dog from another, a game-bag from a third, and the making of a complete shooting outfit from several others. Early in the morning, after the delusive whistle, he was up and off to the woods. Filled with eager expectation he tramped hills and swamps the whole day through without seeing a bird or getting a shot, and returned to the hotel much the worse for the wear and tear of the search, but, Frenchman like, was vivacious and cheerful. An English friend asked to see the inside of his game-bag. “Ah,” answered the would-be huntsman, “I did not get ze leetle—ze bécasse, I did hear his whistle, mais j’ai eu ma chasse all ze same, and I am very happie.” And so it was with Rover. He saw where his would-be victim was located, enjoyed the pleasure of hope, and had a day’s digging.
The other dogs of the village were not ambitious, save at meal-time, when they were vigorously punctual, but very unpunctual when there was anything useful to do, such as going after the cows at milking-time, driving enterprising pigs out of the garden, chasing the hens from the front entrance of the house, and the like. As a rule they were content to pass the sunny hours of the day beneath protecting shades, resting their lazy carcasses upon the softest patch of greensward to be found, and they were usually experts in the art of finding such spots. It was not so, however, with Rover. He was an active dog, without a lazy bone in his body, always on the alert for an occupation, no matter if sometimes useful. Take them, however, for all in all, this worthless pack of four-footed worthies were not a bad sort of a lot. All save one were good-natured and sociable. That exception was a maltese-colored abridgment of a mastiff, short-haired and old. He was the property of one of the village doctors, who was a pestiferous Whig, with the reputation of being the “tongueyist man in the county, if not in the State.” He carried chips upon both shoulders, was the proprietor of a loud voice—plenty of it—and was always ready for a war between tongues. He “argered” for the sake of argument, but his ancient “Spot,” with a thickened throat and wheezy voice, could only keep up a running pro forma barking accompaniment while his master “downed” his opponent. The old dog had unconsciously contracted his master’s habit of controversy, and felt that he must help him out. It is due to the memory of that ancient canine to record that he attended strictly to his own affairs, and would brook no interference from frivolous idle dogs with no particular occupation, nor would he associate with them when off duty. When not with his master, he kept inside his own fence, and barked and made disagreeable faces at all would-be intruders.
As bearing upon the story that will develop, I may add that besides the dogs there are, in Vermont, other four-footed friends and servants of man worthy of consideration. The Vermont “Morgan horse” is one of the acknowledged native “institutions,” and no lover of that animal has ever made the intimate acquaintance of one of his strain without being fascinated with his delicate, refined beauty, affectionate disposition, intelligence, endurance, and willingness to serve.
I was brought up with them, and used to romp and race with the colts, ride the mothers without saddle, bridle, or halter, and purloin sugar and salt to feed them when the “old folks were not looking.” Among my happiest hours were those of my childhood and boyhood spent in close association with the great groups of animals that lived upon the hills of the old farm at the “crotch in the roads.” Calves, among the most beautiful of all the young animals, with their great soft eyes and innocent faces, were a source of infinite joy to me, and even the silly and unintellectual sheep always appealed to my affections and sense of protection. These I regarded as wards to love and protect, but the dogs and Morgan horses were my petted friends and companions. From their habitual display of good faith, perfect integrity and affection I learned all the lessons applicable to every-day life that have been of value to me. From man I could have learned the arts of deceit and cunning, selfishness and want of feeling, and the practise of vanity, but never a single quality which came to me from the habitual association with the honest four-footed friends of my youth.
The people of my native State, among their other fine characteristics, have always been noted for their kindness to animals, which fact alone stands for a very elevated plane of civilization. Ever since nearly a century ago, when the Morgan horse first came to them, he has been an object of their affection, and it is undoubtedly, to a great extent, owing to that creditable fact that he has always been the same charming animal that he is to-day.
That the equine hero of this sketch was not of that noble breed will not detract from his special virtues or impair my passing tribute to the Vermont horse and his master. The one selected for my riding excursions was the only saddle-horse of repute in the county; he belonged to a livery stable, and was of the “calico” red and white sort, tall, long of body, sound of legs and feet, with large, liquid, expressive eyes, small ears, and a beautiful open nostril. His pedigree was unknown, and no one in the village could say where he came from. He had been turned out lame from a “travelling show” the year before, and had been bought for a song. Such only was his brief known history. To his physical beauties were added the higher qualities of head and heart in abundance. He was the sort of a beautiful creature that could not have done a mean act. Nature never furnished him tools for that kind of work.
He was effusively affectionate, and his intelligence was of a high order for a horse. We took a great fancy to each other, and both of us to Rover, who once in a while could be coaxed from his pursuit of “chucks” to take a run with us over the country roads.
Thus we became chosen friends, and I selected them as companions for a recreative excursion which I had planned, and which we shall now retrace.
An early breakfast for man, dog and horse, and off. The general plan was to ride early and late, and rest during the hot hours of the middle portion of the day. A village with a decent “tavern” for the night was the objective point for each evening, and the usual daily distance, made at an easy canter, was about twenty miles. Between each stretch of three or four miles there was a halt for a dismount, a rest for the animals, and a leg exercise for the rider. Rover was always glad for a loll beneath the shady trees, but “Charlie,” my calico friend, improved his opportunities for a nibble of the tender grass and sprouts within his reach. During the first two or three days I had to retrace my steps to remount, but I soon succeeded in making my companions understand the nature and object of a call, and, before the tour was half over, they would not permit me to walk out of their sight. Rover was on the watch, and, as soon as he saw me disappearing in the distance, would give the alarm, and then both would start off on a smart run to overtake me.
Upon one occasion, after climbing a sharp hill, I had left them at the beginning of a long level piece of road, and had walked on. After going about half a mile, I met a large drove of cattle. When I had succeeded in passing through and beyond it, my attention was attracted by a confused noise in the rear. Upon looking back I discovered a great cloud of dust, and amidst it a confusion of moving horns and tails, while soon there appeared, racing through the excited mass of bovines at the top of his speed, Charlie, accompanied by his faithful attendant barking at the top of his voice. The cattle were excited and frightened up to the point of jumping and running they knew not where. Some went over fences, others through them, while the main body kept to the road, and, for a considerable distance, carried everything before them. I realized at once that my zealous companions had got me into trouble.