The mousing owl he spares not, flitting through the twilight dim,
The beak it wears, it is, he swears, too hook’d a one for him.
In every woodland songster he suspects a secret foe,
His ear no music toucheth, save the roosting pheasant’s crow.
Down go the falcons, the buzzards, the hawks, the jays, the magpies, the owls, the woodpeckers, the kingfishers, and any other bird that “wears a beak too hook’d,” or a dress gaudy enough to attract his attention. Badgers and squirrels are put into the same category as polecats, stoats, and weasels, and with almost as little compunction. Yet a badger is practically harmless to game, though I will not pretend to acquit him of the charge of taking a rabbit out of a snare, or of digging out a nest of young rabbits on occasion. He is, however, death on small vermin and such pests as wasps, though his main food consists of roots, fruits, wild honey, beetles, and insects. I believe that badgers eat slugs, but I have placed dishes of assorted kinds, from big black to small white, before my tame ones, and never could induce them to partake of them.
I see no other method by which the badger’s continued existence can be assured than that of hunting him. Personally, I should be content if I could believe that the desire to keep an English species from extinction would perpetuate his existence; but I fear that, like the red deer, fox, and otter, he will have to make his exit if he be not hunted. Some object to badger-hunting underground because of the punishment often inflicted on the terriers, and of the tendency that the sport may degenerate into a sort of drawing match. If, however, we are to compare one sport with another, there is nothing in a properly managed badger-digging that can disgust the spectator as he must be disgusted towards the finish of the otter hunt.
One of the most cruel amusements, if we look closely into it, is ferreting rabbits. And yet who will say that ferreting rabbits is anything but a fair and reputable sport? But the man who is constantly rabbiting will announce, with airs of superior humanity, that digging out a badger is too brutal a sport for him. Why, there is no comparison! In a properly managed badger-digging there is no cruelty whatever. The badger is taken without so much as a scratch, and the terriers consider their pleasure cheaply purchased when they have the misfortune to get a kiss on the face from a badger. No man wishes to have a good terrier mauled, and such men as enjoy taking the badger are always ready to bear their own share of risk of punishment and exertion in securing the prize. To dig out a badger in a strong “set,” requires great and continuous exertion, considerable knowledge and skill in the pursuit, and a well-trained and trustworthy team of terriers. The terriers must, to be successful, combine discretion with valour and pertinacity. A dog that goes to ground, and immediately tries a “set to” with a badger, either gets badly punished or such a frightening that he becomes a funker. All that a good terrier should do, when despatched underground, is to follow the badger, giving tongue till he corners him, and then lie up to him baying, keeping him there through long hours, if necessary, while the digging proceeds; never heeding the noise of spade, pick, and shovel overhead, and never fighting unless the badger attempts to charge or leave his place. One reliable terrier with a good voice is worth all the worrying, excitable terriers in the countryside. I have seen a dog keep a dozen men digging for hours; and when at last they got to him, they found he was only barking out of the fulness of his heart, or scratching and chewing roots to get up a rabbit-hole.
The scarcity of badgers, and the consequent restriction of hunting-grounds, has deprived the terrier in a great degree of his vocation. As the name terrier implies a dog adapted for “going to earth,” no dog that cannot go to ground is properly a terrier; and no terrier that will not go to ground is worthy of his name. It has always seemed to me a reproach to my native county that the beastly little lap-dog called a Yorkshire terrier should be so described, for though no doubt a whole pack of these ridiculous creatures could go down a rabbit-hole, yet if, by some inconceivable process, they were induced to venture down a badger-earth, they would hardly afford a meal for a brock. For a totally opposite reason another Yorkshire breed is unfitted for the name of terrier—this is the Airedale. He is, as a rule, a game sort of dog, and I have seen one look very much distressed when he could only get his head into a large earth. The preposterous size of this so-called terrier is such that he cannot go to ground; this is also the case with the general run of Bedlingtons, Dandie Dinmonts, black and tan, and even Irish terriers; though when a Dandy or Irish terrier is small enough, he is excellent, and can claim the title. The fox-terrier, whether wire-haired or smooth, is often an excellent badger dog. The bull-terrier, as seen in the showyard, is too big, and, when diminutive, is generally too pugnacious for the purpose, and has too much of the obstinate and unreasoning ferocity of the bull-dog to make a good badger dog. Yet it is sometimes useful to have a strain of his blood in the fox-terrier, if it can be obtained in such small quantity as neither to destroy the reliability and voice, nor the less excitable disposition of the fox-terrier.
When pursuing a badger underground, the dog that does the most satisfactory work is hard, strong, short-legged, sharp-tongued, and discreet; one that is a sure marker, that will not go if there is nothing to go for, that will not quit the pursuit as long as there is game ahead—who, regardless of noise above and the onslaught of the enemy underground, in spite of twisting passages and the interposition of barricades, continues the attack, and never ceases from giving tongue when in proximity to the foe. Such a terrier should not close unless he is charged, and he must not be of so excitable a temperament that he will bay an imaginary foe, or attack another dog despatched underground to his relief. I am not sure whether a good Dachshund (Dachs—German for badger) is not as useful as any other. The properly trained sort is only “made in Germany,” and on the Continent he is most intelligent and companionable, enormously strong, very pertinacious, has a splendid voice, and beautiful teeth.