Occasionally I am asked to act as a Gun at field trials and I always accept with enthusiasm, for these events are both interesting and — dare I say it — amusing. Last autumn I watched a poor soul who had abandoned any pretence that her dog was on the line of a runner, vainly whistling while her labrador indulged in the canine equivalent of a drunken spree, galloping through the sugar beet and raising birds in all directions.
To my left stood the headkeeper, his face, after years of self-discipline, quite expressionless, and to my right two judges erased the beast’s name from their sheets.
Even more rewarding to the keen student of human behaviour is the face of the man who has voluntarily resigned after his dog has run-in. In dead silence he walks from the line, head erect, features set, as if the firing squad waited behind the hedge.
The pleasure I gain from watching the intensity of emotion with which the experts view the minor errors of their stars should not be interpreted as a criticism of their desire for perfection. I both appreciate and applaud the patience and time required to make a good dog. What I do regret is the sight of the ordinary shooting man abusing his dog and marring his own day because it falls below the unreasonably high standard he has set.
Obviously it is desirable to train a dog to the best possible level, but busy men who have many other interests besides dog training must make a realistic appraisal of the standard they can hope to achieve and, equally important, maintain.
For better or worse
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