THE NIGHT DOG... HIS STORY
By Pam McClintock
O
n tough, tight feet and well-developed legs, he treads softly across the marshy ground. He is lighter framed and leaner at
spectre emerges several yards further along the pathway, his inspection of the immedi- ate area seemingly complete. At the edge of the trail he stands motionless, watchfully casting glances to right and left, drop ears folded haphazardly and lifted, easily distinguishing the allur- ing smells of the roaming wildlife from the other presence. Th at pungent smell, when it comes, will permeate his nostrils and deep within his brain an unforgettable memory will emerge. For the moment, the gentle winds hovering over the manor land are harmless, carrying a mixture of ani- mal odors, rotting vegetation, and newly leafed stately trees soaring upwards to the available light. Twisting his body slightly, he surveys another sector, peering into the underbrush. Th en, with practiced deft- ness, he steps soundlessly into the thick invasive growth, to examine the region on the opposite side of the path. Only the slightest crack of a twig belies his location and never does he give voice to indicate his position. He is strong, determined and self assured, independently able to scrutinize the vastness of this land. When he materializes once again far down the path, an enormous body shake causes ears to flap crazily, scattered water
droplets glistening briefly in the wan- ing rays of the sun, that streak earthward through the heavy overhead canopy. Scan- ning the track, he breaks into an even light footed trot, retracing his steps along the well worn path, intent on the familiar fig- ure walking towards him. Th e gamekeeper too, honors the distinctive trait of steady but muted footfall. High topped leather boots and somewhat thread bare breeches are testimony to his ever vigilant guardian- ship of the master’s forest. A long barreled rifle is carried easily, slung over one arm and safely pointed downward. A coarse, woolen, jacket and protective cap, com- pletes his durable but less than fashionable appearance. Th is man in his hunting garb might well be a saint, so delighted is the dog to be in his presence. Th e two exchange the pleasantries of friends that are acutely tuned to one another. A scratch, a special pat, the battering of a tail gone wild, a few murmured good boys joining the raspy low growls of contentment and the joyous moment is over. As day slips easily into night and in a synchronized instant, gamekeeper and Night Dog return to the task at hand. Pro- tecting the vast arboreal forests from the unscrupulous poachers who would kill
ninety pounds than his descendants will be in the years to come. Large, vigorous, blocky headed and powerful, he is an intimidating fierce adversary to those who would invade his domain and challenge him. Th e blood of many dubious ances- tors flows in his veins, but soon, this one they call the Night Dog, will be unique, an historically significant breed, taking his place amongst the finest in the world. For now, he is a capable hunter and tracker. He inhales deeply, thoughtfully filtering the scents that drift on the breeze as it rustles through the trees and bushes. He is tense and alert. Th ese grounds are his realm and he has established a complete authority to wander freely and without restraint. Well used muscles surge as he slinks between trees, leaping e ff ortlessly over windfalls and quietly dipping into shallow creeks and boggy lowlands. His short dark coat, intriguingly stripped, fades easily into the shadows as late day turns gently into twilight. Th en, quite suddenly, the silent
“The blood of many dubious ancestors flows in his veins, but soon, this one they call the Night Dog, will be unique, an historically significant breed, TAKING HIS PLACE AMONGST THE FINEST IN THE WORLD.”
198 • S HOW S IGHT M AGAZINE , A UGUST 2014
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