Ch. 24: Living in the Past - Page 2

of it out
of one of his hedges after leafing-time he would be very much put out;
he would shout at him, "Just you leave my Devil's guts alone or I'll not
keep you on the farm." And the shepherds in revenge gave him the
unpleasant nickname of "Old Devil's Guts," by which he was known in that
part of the country.

As a rule, talk about sheep, or any subject connected with sheep, would
suggest something about sheepdogs individual dogs he had known or
possessed, and who always had their own character and peculiarities,
like human beings. They were good and bad and indifferent; a really bad
dog was a rarity; but a fairly good dog might have some trick or vice or
weakness. There was Sally, for example, a stump-tail bitch, as good a
dog with sheep as he ever possessed, but you had to consider her
feelings. She would keenly resent any injustice from her master. If he
spoke too sharply to her, or rebuked her unnecessarily for going a
little out of her way just to smell at a rabbit burrow, she would nurse
her anger until an opportunity came of inflicting a bite on some erring
sheep. Punishing her would have made matters worse: the only way was to
treat her as a reasonable being and never to speak to her as a dog--a
mere slave.

Dyke was another dog he remembered well. He belonged to old Shepherd
Matthew Titt, who was head-shepherd at a farm near Warminster, adjacent
to the one where Caleb worked. Old Mat and his wife lived alone in their
cottage out of the village, all their children having long grown up and
gone away to a distance from home, and being so lonely "by their two
selves" they loved their dog just as others love their relations. But
Dyke deserved it, for he was a very good dog. One year Mat was sent by
his master with lambs to Weyhill, the little village near Andover, where
a great sheep-fair is held in October every year. It was distant over
thirty miles, but Mat though old was a strong man still and greatly
trusted by his master. From this journey he returned with a sad heart,
for he had lost Dyke. He had disappeared one night while they were at
Weyhill. Old Mrs. Titt cried for him as she would have cried for a lost
son, and for many a long day they went about with heavy hearts.

Just a year had gone by when one night the old woman was roused from
sleep by loud knocks on the window-pane of the living-room below. "Mat!
Mat!" she cried, shaking him vigorously, "wake up--old Dyke has come
back to us!" "What be you talking about?" growled the old shepherd. "Lie
down and go to sleep--you've been dreaming." "'Tain't no dream; 'tis
Dyke--I know his knock," she cried, and getting up she opened the window
and put her head