Famous Hobbies of Dartmouth Men

Raising and Showing Dogs

I DO NOT REMEMBER my first dog. His name was Cappy and I am told that he was a small wooly animal of undetermined ancestry with which I battled to a draw most of the time. When I was six my uncle gave me a pointer puppy, but distemper shortly claimed him. It was not until I was nine and we got the farm that I really associated with dogs again. We raised some bull terriers, but they did not fit in kindly to farm life, although for a year or more my boom companion was Bosco, who dragged me over many snow-clad hills on my small sled and frequently dragged me on my face in the dirt when I was attempting to restrain his attack on another dog.

Then we had collies and, with one exception, my canine friends were of this grand breed until the last fifteen years or so. The exception was Doc, a magnificent Scottish Deerhound, which a friend gave my father, I preempted Doc for mine and for about three years we had wonderful times together until he and my favorite collie disappeared one day to be heard of no more. I have always thought that either they had developed bad habits of which we were not aware, or else suffered an innocent death for transgressions of others among neighboring sheep herds. My then constant companion and I had a great time with Doc. My friend had a small black dog of most uncertain antecedents, which was by way of being a good rabbit dog. The four of us sallied forth on a hunt, our only paraphenalia a small sack. Pixie, the black dog, struck a rabbit track and started his shrill yipping bark. I froze to Doc's collar. If and when the rabbit broke cover in a fairly open place, I released Doc and he coursed and usually caught the rabbit. Then there was a race to get a sufficient quantity of cottontail to be humanly edible, away from Doc, to put in the sack.

Preparatory school, college, and a coal mining camp brought a period of a dozen years or more with only casual canine associations. Then a friend gave us Vic, a German Shepherd, and the smartest dog it has been my privilege to own. Vic went inside the mines, climbed about on tipples, rode planes on hillsides, and was equally content in home or office. He was obedient to the slightest conversational command and seemed to understand most of what was said in his presence. When he died suddenly a year after we moved back to town, there was real grief in the entire household. I have owned two or three other specimens of the breed since, but none that even remotely approached him in intelligence.

MY NEXT EXPERIENCE was with Dobermans, which I bred and owned for several years, and among which was Gus, second only to Vic in qualities of almost human understanding. In the meantime I had taken up shooting again, which meant pointers and setters, and I went through a period of intensive novice fancier growing pains where I just seemed to want dogs, any dogs. At one time, I believe I owned simultaneously nine different breeds. I never owned but two terriers, a Kerry Blue and an Airedale. The latter was supposed to be a wonderful silent trailing "coon dog." I took him out the first night of the season and the only time he got ten feet away from me was when the hounds were treed and we went up a hill to them too rapidiy for his dignified pace. Needless to say, he was someone's else dog next morning During this period, in addition to the breeds mentioned, I had pointers, English setters, Irish setters, springer spaniels, cocker spaniels, an American brown water spaniel, beagles, a basset hound, and foxhounds.

In 1922 a number of my friends formed a pointer and setter field trial association and a couple of years later got me interested, with the result that I have been secretary for the past several years. It might be interesting to note here that although I have placed dogs in other trials, I ran my entries year after year in the stakes of our own club, the West Virginia Amateur Field Trial Association, and it was not until the fall of 1934 when my English setter, Gates' Jim, culminated a series of four places in six starts by winning our Open Amateur All Age Stake, that I ever had a winner in our own trial. Needless to say I felt as if someone had handed me the moon and it was made of my favorite Stilton cheese.

With my earlier hunting and field trial background I had an idea that bench shows were rather "sissy." I happened to be in Cincinnati on business in either 1925 or 1926 when the Cincinnati Kennel Club Show was on, so decided to drop in. I was fascinated and made up my mind to be there with an entry the following year. I mulled over what I had and selected three, a basset hound, a cocker, and a springer. In true novice fashion I entered all in several classes. I had no competition on the basset hound, no class competition on the cocker, and won novice and second American bred with the springer. I came home elated, with a grand collection of ribbons that meant nothing but fortunately a desire, having seen some, to own a real springer.

This, I expect, was the turning point. Field trials and bench shows have sold me on quality rather than quantity, and a lot of people got free dogs, some that weren't too terrible. With great self-control I cut down to four breeds, pointers, English setters, cocker spaniels, and springer spaniels, although I did breed and exhibit a few Irish setters after that and have had and still have a few foxhounds and "coon" hounds farmed out in partnership where they are available to me for hunting.

Purchased to Retrieve Ducks Kim, one of Ed Knight's first springer spaniels, shown with the author and son, Edward D. Jr.