o ride over him, and generally succeeds. It
is amusing to see how that knocks all the gas out of a puppy, and with
what a humble air he falls to the rear and glues himself to the horse's
heels, scarcely daring to look to the right or to the left, for fear of
committing some other breach of etiquette.

He has had his first lesson--to keep behind the horse until he is
wanted. Then he watches the old slut work, and is allowed to go with her
round the sheep; and if he shows any disposition to get out of hand
and frolic about, the old lady will bite him sharply to prevent his
interfering with her work.

By degrees, slowly, like any other professional, he learns his business.
He learns to bring sheep after a horse simply at a wave of the hand;
to force the mob up to a gate where they can be counted or drafted;
to follow the scent of lost sheep, and to drive sheep through a town
without any master, one dog going on ahead to block the sheep from
turning off into by-streets while the other drives them on from the
rear.

How do they learn all these things? Dogs for show work are taught
painstakingly by men who are skilled in handling them; but, after all,
they teach themselves more than the men teach them. It looks as if the
acquired knowledge of generations were transmitted from dog to dog.
The puppy, descended from a race of sheep-dogs, starts with all his
faculties directed towards the working of sheep; he is half-educated
as soon as he is born. He can no more help working sheep than a born
musician can help being musical, or a Hebrew can help gathering in
shekels. It is bred in him. If he can't get sheep to work, he will
work a fowl; often and often one can see a collie pup painstakingly and
carefully driving a bewildered old hen into a stable, or a stock-yard,
or any other enclosed space on which he has fixed his mind. How does he
learn to do that? He didn't learn it at all. The knowledge was born with
him.

When the dog has been educated, or has educated himself, he enjoys his
work; but very few dogs like work "in the yards". The sun is hot,
the dust rises in clouds, and there is nothing to do but bark, bark,
bark--which is all very well for learners and amateurs, but is beneath
the dignity of the true professional sheep-dog. When they are hoarse
with barking and nearly choked with dust, the men lose their tempers and
swear at them, and throw clods of earth at them, and sing out to them
"Speak up, blast you!"

Then t