Books

If thats the sort of reading material that floats your boat skeets...and you've not already read them...Ian Hurley's books on Tom Cribb and Tom Spring are worth a read...tells a good story of Cribb taking toff's for a night out at the westminister pit...and last but not least '50 years a fighter' by Jem Mace is a classic!...i'll shut up now as stedz said only 3 books!

 

No mate i didnt mean restrict it to just 3 books sorry,it just happened i started it with just 3.sorry if i gave wrong impression ,keep it going.

 

"Whatever it is you say I am, I am not. Whatever it is you want from me, I will give. Whatever it is you take from me, you can take. What is it you can do to me? The worst thing you can do is kill me, after that I won't care, I am still free

 

Yeah we all have plenty of time to read some books…

For mystery/crime type books, any by Jeffery Deaver or Robert Crais. The Jack Taylor series of books by Ken Bruen are good, start at the first one, they go in order. And they are nothing like the watered down TV series, the books are raw, rough and far more interesting. For entertainment Carl Hiassen writes well and has a nice sense of humor.

Old science fiction favorites are Ray Bradbury and Harlan Ellison. For the swords and sorcery type reads, try the old Robert Howard Conan stories, Michael Moorcock's Elric novels, and Fritz Lieber's Fafherd and the Grey Mouser stories. Good old fashioned horror, how about H P Lovecraft and M R James.

There are plenty of gamedog books out there. If you've not read Frederic Maffei's books, they are now available in one big book. Amazon even has it in Kindle --

https://www.amazon.com/Once-Upon-Bulldog-Fredric-Maffei/dp/1482384612/

And for a look back at the good ole days, the reprints of Pete Sparks' Your Friend & Mine are excellent, a year's worth of reading in each reprint --

http://www.apbtbooks.com/magazines.html

Scroll down for the Your Friend & Mine mags, there are other magazines too and of course books and such.

 

http://sportingdognews.blogspot.com/?view=timeslide

 

by the way that was a quote from Cahill

 

@stedz i no your a true book man...
Stedz i have no books to read.
can you pm me something mate???please???
Wymens Great Game perhaps???

Ill do ya a deal...
you type some of that book,and ill type you some of onea these books..either the Colby book(both/any,the 1935 one or the 1997)
Fitz Barnad fighting sports...crazy book mate,wrote in 1920.
any Plummer books apart form Cottege at the end of the world and North and North again.or Artisan hunter.
Sttattons Truth of the APBT.
Hancocks mastiff book...

Any of them..they all i got around me at this time.

I only ask coz im in need of the great game book.
chapters on all kinds of extict hunting/poaching skills what will come in handy in these bad times..

Its ok if you cant be arsed.
lol.

All the best Stedz....
look after ya self mate,and please take care man.

 

Great quote man.....
true words as any ever spoken....

All the best mate.
please take care in these bad times.

 

Mate fighting Sports book speaks of these guys!!!

Mate come on!please print some of the books you speak of!!
please mate..

Were did you find this stuff??????

I wanna read it!!!!!

 

Take Care And Enjoy.

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/27050


https://www.gutenberg.org/files/53088/53088-h/53088-h.htm​

 

Best dog books I have read are by far the Dr Ian Billinghurst ones & they are affordable. A great starting point to feeding........

 

THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE
“Here’s fine sport, my masters!”

JACK, who belonged to the old breed of fighting dogs, had all the characteristics that marked the better class of those worthies of a bygone age who were known as soldiers of fortune. Brave as a lion, he would fight to the death, but he was gentle and courteous to those in distress, loyal to his friends, and an open enemy. It was strange, indeed, that with his early training he had not learned to love fighting for fighting’s sake. But as he never began an attack, and never lost his head even in the most heated moments of a deadly struggle, he had the advantage of a soldier trained to warfare over less well disciplined opponents. Jack’s enormous strength of jaw and his size—for in fighting condition he was said to weigh fifty pounds—made him a formidable antagonist. But in spite of this, and of his truly ferocious appearance, he was gentle and affectionate in disposition, was on the most friendly terms with every one in the house, where he found a home after the stormy days of his youth, and was never known to start a quarrel with one of his own kind.

His meeting with his future mistress was sufficiently dramatic. This lady was calling at a vicarage in the neighbourhood of her home when, as she reached the front door, she found herself confronted by a remarkable looking object. Seated on the doorstep was a large, grey, brindled bull terrier, with the square massive head of the bulldog, and in general appearance resembling the pictures of Crib and Rosa and other old-world celebrities. To add to his attractions he had lost half an ear on one side of his face and half of his upper lip on the other. His head was covered with wounds not yet healed, and his neck had been severely mauled recently.

The visitor stood still in astonishment, while she examined him attentively, and Jack on his side kept his place in the middle of the doorway, and returned her gaze, while he slowly turned his head from side to side. Happily the lady does not know what fear is where a dog is concerned, and as soon as she had recovered from her surprise she spoke to the dog in a gentle voice. Jack then rose and came towards her, and after walking round her and sniffing at her skirt he looked up at her and allowed her to pat his head. From that moment his friendship with the stranger began, though there were still some vicissitudes of his strange career to be gone through before he came into her possession.


The Soldier of Fortune
JACK

Inside the house the visitor heard something of his story. Jack had been brought home by the son of the house, who was an undergraduate of Cambridge, and he had become possessed of him under peculiar and, we may hope, unusual circumstances. A fellow undergraduate had purchased Jack from a man who had brought him down from the Staffordshire Potteries, where the bull terrier had a great reputation as a fighting dog. Many were the tales told of his prowess in deadly combats, in which he had come off with the honours of war. These brutal exhibitions though contrary to law are not yet done away with in mining districts, and that other parts of the country are not free from suspicion in this respect Jack’s history will make clear. It would be well if the authorities showed more vigour in putting them down, as they are a disgrace to our boasted humanity and refinement of feeling. It is hard to see how the gruesome sight of dogs deliberately set to maul one another until the life of one is forfeited, lacks any of the brutal elements that have made cock fighting happily a thing of the past.

Unfortunately for poor Jack the hands into which he fell at Cambridge were no more humane than those of his former owners. At a “wine” his new master produced him, and challenged his friends present to find a dog that could “lick” him. Another wild spirit took up the challenge, declaring that his Newfoundland, an unusually large and strong specimen of his breed, could easily give the Staffordshire hero a licking. Bets were made freely, and the furniture was cleared, while the Newfoundland was being fetched. Then the wretched animals were set on, and for a time their struggle was watched by the inhuman men. But the fight grew so savage that the infuriated animals became a danger to the onlookers, and the party put the crowning point to their cowardly proceeding by clearing out of the room and shutting the door on the combatants. It was not till the sounds of fighting had died away that they ventured back to see what had happened to their victims. The Newfoundland had been killed, and Jack was lying half dead beside him.

Fear of the consequences of their exploit to themselves now entered the young men’s minds. If Jack was kept, the Dons would be sure to hear of the affair, and as one of the party was going down the following day, he was persuaded to take the dog with him. The suffering creature was consequently put into a basket and carried down to the Dorset Vicarage, where he was by no means a welcome guest. The Vicar not unnaturally thought that he was not a reputable addition to his household. But the dog could not be turned away till his wounds were healed, and Jack found a home in an outhouse, from which he had made his escape on the day of my friend’s visit.

The lady had no sooner heard his history than she expressed a wish to have him. But the Vicar refused point blank to allow him to go to her, and his son told her privately that he meant to keep the dog. On returning from a short absence from home the would-be owner made inquiries about Jack, and what she then heard determined her to make every effort to get possession of the dog, and thus put an end to his fighting career.

Jack’s presence at the Vicarage had not been pleasing to an old retriever, who was used to ruling supreme on the premises. Before long a fight ensued between the rivals, and the Vicar, hearing sounds of warfare, rushed out to find matters looking serious. Seizing the retriever by the tail he called loudly for assistance. This brought Jack’s master on the scene, and with considerable difficulty he succeeded in getting his dog by the collar and choking him off. From the fiat of banishment that now went forth there was no appeal, the somewhat undignified part played by the master of the house perhaps adding fuel to his wrath. Anyway, Jack was made over to a travelling pedlar, who passed through the village the following day.

This man had a large white bull terrier of his own, which, he said, he kept to guard his cart. With the same brutal instincts displayed by Jack’s former owners the pedlar determined on a fight between the dogs. For the benefit of himself and his friends the entertainment was brought off in a back yard. So desperately did the dogs fight that to save their lives the men at last separated them. Too late, however, to save the life of the white dog, which died of its wounds, while Jack was in a dreadful condition, and it seemed doubtful if he would recover.

My friend found out where the dog was, and sent the Vicar’s son, who had brought him into the neighbourhood, to buy the poor suffering creature for her. The embassy was successful, and Jack, the most miserable remnant of a dog that ever was seen, and with his neck in such a state that it was months before he could bear a collar, came to the home that sheltered him for the remainder of his days.

Jack’s adventures were by no means over, but he was too intelligent ever to enter on a struggle lightly. He knew what fighting meant, and did not run into danger needlessly. What to others was a mere incident in their quarrelsome lives was for him a matter in which the science of war and the risks of battle had to be considered. These fighting dogs are trained never to let go of their opponent till they have a firm grip of the head, and then, from the working of their terrible jaws, there is little hope for the victim. The dog that fastens on to the leg of his opponent is not accounted much good, as, though he may break the bone and cause terrible agony, he is not likely to succeed in killing the other. The brutalising effect of such contests as those in which Jack had taken part seems to be shown more clearly on the men who organise them than on the animals they train. This is, at least, as it should be, for it is man’s superior intelligence that is perverted to provide the so-called sport, while the dogs are but the puppets made to dance at his orders.

Jack’s appearance always remained sufficiently alarming to terrify weak nerves. In his new home he used to spend long hours lying on a mat in the front hall, and always did so of an afternoon unless he was out driving with his mistress. He was in his usual place when two ladies arrived to tea. One of the visitors stepped out of the carriage to ring the bell, and this, being almost over Jack’s head, awoke him with a start. The dog sprang to his feet with a growl, and his unexpected appearance struck such terror into the heart of the visitor that she fled back to the brougham for protection. Her companion, an older lady, just then in the act of stepping out, received her friend’s onslaught with no hope of withstanding the shock. She was knocked backwards on to the floor of the brougham, where the fugitive tumbled on the top of her, Jack meanwhile watching the unwonted proceedings with interest, but without showing the least sign of wishing to join in the fray. When the visitors had been safely escorted into the house, and the elder lady understood the cause of her friend’s fright, her anger was great. How could any one suppose that a dangerous dog would be allowed to lie at the front door? she inquired. But the other who could not be persuaded to allow Jack to come near her, or indeed to be in the same room with her, asserted that his look was enough to frighten any one, and if he came near her she should do the same again.

But Jack behaved with exemplary courtesy to all visitors to the house, and to his mistress he was devotedly attached. This love he only extended in anything like the same degree to one person, and that was his mistress’s mother. He always had a special welcome for her when she made one of her occasional visits to the house, and constituted himself her guardian, seeming to understand perfectly that as she had nearly lost her sight she needed protection. Whenever his mistress was out, if Jack did not go with her, he would go straight up to her mother’s room and sit by her side, and no one could induce him to move till his mistress returned. His affection and care were much appreciated, and Jack and the elder lady became the firmest friends. She was in the habit of taking a little stroll in the afternoon alon the carriage drive, and with Jack for a companion she said she felt perfectly safe. He always walked close by her side, and to give her warning when any one was coming, he would look up at her and give a little friendly growl.

To his mistress he was the most vigilant of guards, and his encounter with a tramp was talked of far and wide in the county. For some time the cottagers in the neighbourhood had been troubled by the visits of this man. It was his custom to watch the men off to work, and then go and bully the women until he got money from them. One spring morning, when Jack’s owner was sitting in the drawing room with the window open, a shadow cast across her book caused her to look up. She saw a short, sturdily built man of the dirtiest possible appearance in the act of stepping into the room from the verandah. She realised at once that it was the tramp, from the descriptions she had heard from some of his former victims. She knew, too, that he must have watched the house and chosen his time as usual when the men were absent. Probably from the shelter of the shrubbery he had seen the two gentlemen of the household drive away in the dog-cart, and had waited until the outside men had gone home for their dinner. The only man left about the place was the butler, who was on the far side of the house.

Starting from her chair the lady asked the intruder what he wanted. “I want some money,” was the surly response. “I have nothing for you;” and as she spoke she made a step towards the bell. But the man was too quick for her. Flinging himself before her, and thus cutting her off from the power of summoning assistance, he said threateningly, “I means to have some before I goes.” His startled victim looked round hastily for a weapon of defence, as her doubtful visitor held a short thick stick in his hand, which he looked quite capable of making use of to achieve his object. Her eye fell upon Jack asleep under a chair in the back room. Clapping her hands to rouse him, she called, “Go for him, Jack,” and the dog sprang to his feet, and with a savage growl made straight for the man. In an instant the intruder was back on the verandah, striking blindly at the dog with his stick. Jack was not to be caught, and cleverly dodging the blows aimed at him he danced round with every bristle up and his eyes glaring.

The man backed away along the verandah shouting at the top of his voice, Jack after him, and his mistress following and encouraging the dog. In this way the procession worked round the house till it reached the garden gate. Here the man turned and tried to bolt through, but Jack was on the watch, and instantly making his spring, he fastened on to the man’s thigh and hung like grim death. Never was there a more abject picture of fright than the tramp presented. He roared with pain and fear combined, and throwing away his stick made frantic efforts to get his hand into his pocket. Seeing the movement, and fearing that a knife might be brought into play against Jack, his mistress caught the dog by the collar, exclaiming as she did so, “I will try and get him off, if you will be quiet.” This was no easy matter, for Jack’s blood was up, but luckily there was a wrench, and with a piece of dirty, rotten cloth in his mouth the dog fell back. It was the work of a moment for the tramp to bang to the gate between him and his assailant. By the time the household came hurrying up to see what was the matter the man was making best pace down the drive, and was never heard of in that neighbourhood again.

It is to be noted that even in his angriest moments Jack never resented his mistress’s efforts to check him. Neither now nor at any period of his life, however great the provocation, did he turn upon her. As he understood and was ready to respond to her call for aid, so he respected her restraining hand, even though, like an angry child, he could not give in to the restraint at once.
On one evening in the week my friend was in the habit of walking across the fields to the village in order to play the organ for the choir practice. Jack always accompanied her, and as long as it was light he followed close at her heels. Directly it grew dark Jack invariably changed his position and trotted along in front of her. He then gave notice of any one approaching by a warning growl, and if the passer by ceded the path to him all went well, and he took no further notice. If, however, the intruder kept to the path, things were not made so pleasant for him. One very dark night Jack’s mistress heard the warning growl, and then a quick rush, and a man’s voice raised in alarm. Hurrying to the rescue she saw, as well as the darkness would allow,what appeared to be a man on the ground and a dog on the top of him. Seizing Jack by the collar she found it an unexpectedly easy task to pull him off, as whatever it was that he had firmly in his teeth came away with him. The man struggled to his feet and fled for dear life, and it then turned out that Jack’s trophy was a large bundle done up in a red handkerchief, and with a stick through it, which the man had evidently been carrying over his shoulder. Holding Jack firmly his mistress called to the fugitive that he might come back safely and secure his property. But he would have none of it, and continued his headlong course, while Jack and his mistress reached home without further adventure.

Another of Jack’s exploits was in saving her from the attack of a savage cow. A farmer in the parish had put a cow and her calf in a field, through which ran a path that led into the village. Through this field the Vicar’s daughter had come one afternoon to see Jack’s
owner, bringing her old retriever with her. On her return she was charged by the cow, and in her efforts to escape fell into a deep ditch. The retriever meantime flew at the cow, but finding himself hard pressed, jumped after his mistress, who in her fright thought her infuriated assailant had come after her. She and her dog eventually managed to scramble through the hedge into the next field, and found their way home. Knowing that the lady on whom she had been calling would be coming down later to the practice, she sent a note to warn her of the danger. But the messenger wisely referred to go the longer way by the road, and he thus missed the lady, who with Jack had already started across the fields. On getting over a stile she found herself face to face with a large half-bred Hereford cow, which without the slightest warning rushed straight at her. Springing to one side she left the way open to Jack, who proved quite equal to the encounter. Jumping at the cow’s head, he caught her firmly by the nose and there hung. It was now the cow’s turn to try and get away, and she rushed round and round in a circle, swinging the clinging dog completely off the ground. All her efforts being of no avail, she sank at last on her knees and laid groaning on the ground. Just then the farmer appeared, and with his help the cow was released, and Jack was then hurried away. The cow recovered from her fright, and was none the worse for her adventure, but she was promptly removed to a quieter grazing ground.

One of Jack’s pleasures was to accompany his mistress in her drives. He always ran under the dog-cart, and if pursued by other dogs would never take any notice of them for fear of losing the cart. His mistress therefore always drove on when any assailant appeared, as she knew Jack would not leave her. This proof of attachment sometimes cost him dear, as his enemies were wont to think that his flying figure meant fear, and that they could bully him as they pleased. This was specially the case with a large collie who lived in a
neighbouring town to which Jack and his mistress often went. The collie had a habit of rushing after any dog following a carriage, and his great speed generally allowing him to come up with them, he would then roll them over and, after shaking and biting them, run back to his master as if sure of approval. This was indeed more or less true, for the master, whenever he was remonstrated with on the behaviour of his dog, always replied that he meant no harm and only acted in play.

After a time the owner of the collie set up a second, a younger dog, who, of course, speedily followed in the steps of his elder. The two dogs once rushed on Jack, as he was passing in his usual place under the cart, and gave him a severe mauling. After that his mistress always took him up when they were likely to meet his enemies, and one day when she went into a shop she fastened a piece of string to Jack’s collar and led him. She had just reached the shop door when she saw the older collie rushing towards them. Turning in hastily to avoid him, Jack lay down quietly beside her chair, but the collie rushed in and fell upon Jack, and with a snap of the string from the latter’s collar, the two were fighting in the street. For the first few minutes the collie seemed to have the best of it, for he pinned Jack and was tearing at him with all his strength. The lady and gentleman, in whose charge the collie was at the time, seemed rather amused at the adventure, and did not offer to interfere, while Jack’s mistress, knowing that his turn would come, and thinking the attacker deserved a lesson, remained passive.

Presently the collie, who thought he was going to have things entirely his own way, recklessly put his foreleg across Jack’s open mouth. The powerful jaws closed on it, and the collie, releasing his hold of Jack’s throat, howled loudly, while he tried in vain to pull his leg away.

Jack, however, was no leg fighter, and struggling to his feet he released the leg, and, catching the collie by the side of the head, turned him over on his back. The collie’s guardians now wished to interfere, the lady calling out to her companion to save her dog. The man raised his walking stick and was in the act of bringing it down on Jack’s head, when the latter’s mistress interfered. Fortunately she had brought a walking stick in her hand when she left the dog-cart, and striking up the threatening stick of the other, she exclaimed, “He shall not be touched.” But seeing that the collie would soon suffer the extreme penalty of the law unless rescued, she seized Jack by the collar and told him to leave go. His mistress always says she can never forget the look of reproach her dog turned on her. Lowering his bristles and wagging his tail Jack fixed his eyes on her face with an expression that was almost human. His look said as plainly as words, “What a shame to baulk me of my vengeance, now that I have at last got my chance.” Nevertheless, he let go his hold, and the tattered collie was led away. After this the collie was always put on a lead when he was taken into the town. Jack once met him when he was being led, and the way in which he showed that a dog who was not free was not worthy of his notice was very funny. Jack raised his head and stared at the collie for a moment and then passed on with contempt written in his bearing, while the other, with lowered tail and scared look, showed relief at getting by unnoticed.

At home Jack had a rival in the form of a black, curly coated retriever, named Bob. This dog showed his jealousy by falling on Jack whenever he found an opportunity, and their contests were endless. Bob, however, was not a fighting dog, and as soon as the struggle reached a certain point he stopped. Jack, who looked on Bob as an amateur unworthy of his serious attention, always stopped as soon as the other did, and never offered to renew the fight. The two dogs often went with their mistress when she was riding, as Bob had no time for quarrelling when he was following the horse. But when the rider was opening a gate on a river bank, in order to cross by the ford, the gate swung back on Jack, who always followed close at her horse’s heels. While he was struggling to force his way through, Bob took the opportunity of falling on him. Their mistress jumped from her horse to separate them, and as they were now fighting on the top of the bank she rolled them over into the water. With a great splash they disappeared, but Bob, who was first to come to the surface, was none the worse for his ducking, and swimming a little way down stream soon found an easy landing place. Jack was not so fortunate, for being a much heavier dog he had a deeper fall, and when he came up he was covered with mud. He seemed, too, slightly dazed, and instead of following Bob’s example he tried to scramble up the high bank close to him. Time after time he fell back, and his mistress, fearing lest he should be drowned, lay down on the bank and, reaching over, tried to get hold of his collar.

Bob, meantime, sat and watched the proceeding, and seeing his mistress’s ineffectual efforts he jumped into the water and, seizing Jack by the collar, towed him down to the landing place and then, scrambling up backwards, tried to drag Jack after him. His owner rushed to his assistance, and by their united efforts Jack was pulled up, and in a few minutes the two dogs were trotting on amicably together.

Their last encounter was a bad one for their mistress. It was a hot summer day, and she had taken a book into the garden and settled herself under the shade of a tree with Jack by her side. After a time she fell asleep, and was awakened by a weight on her chest that threatened to suffocate her. A loud worrying saluted her ears, and to her horror she found that Bob and Jack were having a scrimmage on the top of her prostrate form. Struggling hard to release herself, she at last slipped from under them, and the dogs continued their combat on the ground. It was one of the worst fights they ever had, for Jack meant business, so that Bob was glad at last to be carried away. After this Bob found another home, but he neither forgot nor forgave his old enemy and was always ready for a row whenever they met.
One of Jack’s great amusements was boxing with his mistress’s brother. The latter, putting on his boxing gloves, used to go down on his knee, while Jack stood opposite him, all attention for the signal to begin.[ Jack’s aim was to get a hold of one of the gloves, while his opponent tried to keep him out by bowling him over. Jack was often rolled head over heels by a well directed blow, but in the end he always got a grip of one of the gloves, which he was allowed to carry off in triumph. Though he used to get wildly excited over the performance he was not savage. He wagged his tail the whole time as a sign of good fellowship, and quite understood that it was only a pastime, and not to be considered as one of the serious duties of life.

In his older days Jack was very fond of lying in front of the kitchen fire. This place he shared with a large white cat named Muff, and very funny it was to see the two strangely assorted creatures lying curled up side by side. Nothing would move Jack from his place. If the fire became too hot he would stay till his coat was actually scorched, only showing his discomfort by an angry growl. This always upset Muff, who on hearing the noise would fall on him, and was of course punished for his insolence, till the cook, whose pet he was, rushed to his rescue. In one of these scrimmages Muff got such a sharp squeeze from his powerful enemy that in terror he made a spring at a high window, trying to escape. Instead, however, of getting through he came against the blind which was partly down. To this he clung, and his weight being twelve pounds brought down the roller, which with the cat still clinging to his perch, fell with a clatter into the midst of plates and dishes, making a noise that raised the whole household. Jack and Muff being equally startled with the unexpected resul] of their conflict, fled for their lives, leaving the cook a sadder and a wiser woman.

It was in front of the kitchen fire that Jack’s adventurous life came to an end. We may fancy what dreams of past exploits came to soothe the days of failing powers, when the worn-out warrior knew that his work was done. With the scars of many conflicts and the respectful sympathy of friend and foe alike, Jack found his last resting-place in the shrubbery of his home, facing the door near which he used to lie.

 

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/52934/52934-h/5293​

 

Nice stuff FWK...
kept me bussy for a small while..
i aint read the War dog one yet,but look forward to reading it.

Jack...ive never read that story,but i have read about Jack before,and he was most defintly real.
there a hunting book wrote in the 1890s that mentions him.says he came from the Potteries and most defintly fought that Newfie dog.
hound and terrier in the feild the books called by Alles Serrel..arrr i did the book but cant fucking find it.
hes mentiond in a few books of the time Jack mate...

the Canis books fucking nuts mate,there a few verions on it.
one of the first books.extreamly old..
extreamly crazy aswell FWK..lol.haha.must of been one confuseing comunication between the two partys for sure..
imagine how hard that would of been.
they both never understood each others lanuges,so corosponded in Latin?..haha must of been confusing lol.
im lost every time i read the book.
no doubt both partys were on the right path to some degree,but no doubt they were way way of the path to some level.
still,its intesting all the same as he dose list real dog breeds what were common back then...
i think the conologist(i hate that word)should read it over and over and make his/her mind up as to there own theorys.or prosumtions.

The Landseer book is nice..the pictures as always are pretty good at capturing the scean or moment..
i like the story of are friend the Bull Terrier..and of the big Mastiff and little Terrier in Scotland.
the book also hints at the diffrent times back then.and the diffrent dogs what diffrent charictars had.some dogs suit certian people so to speak.
i was un awear that book even existed to be honest..

Kept me quiet for a while lol.
ill look forward to reading the war dog book later on or tomorrow.

All the best and thanks FWK.

 

@Soze the killer good ro hear you like the books, the internet is a treasure room for someone who like to read..
Found another curious book for ya'll to read.


https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18214

 

Anybody ever read any charles Bukowski?

 

Yes I did.

 

Back To The Machine Gun
I awaken about noon and go out to get the mail
in my old torn bathrobe.
I'm hung over
hair down in my eyes
barefoot
gingerly walking on the small sharp rocks
in my path
still afraid of pain behind my four-day beard.

the young housewife next door shakes a rug
out of her window and sees me:
"hello, Hank!"

god damn! it's almost like being shot in the ass
with a .22

"hello," I say
gathering up my Visa card bill, my Penny saver coupons,
a Dept. of Water and Power past-due notice,
a letter from the mortgage people
plus a demand from the Weed Abatement Department
giving me 30 days to clean up my act.

I mince back again over the small sharp rocks
thinking, maybe I'd better write something tonight,
they all seem
to be closing in.

there's only one way to handle those motherfuckers.

the night harness races will have to wait.

Charles Bukowski

Saw also the movie Barfly about him a really long time ago.

 

did you read any of his novels fink? if so where should i start ?

 

https://www.goodreads.com/list/show/20622.The_Best_of_Charles_Bukowski

''Ham on Rye'' is by many considered as one of his best books.