Concerning a Dog Fight

I came across this today & found it to be a very interesting read:

Concerning A Dog Fight

Dog fighting as a sport is not much in vogue nowadays. To begin with, it is illegal. Not that that matters much, for Sunday drinking is also illegal, yet flourishes exceedingly. But dog fighting is one of the cruel sports which the united sense of the community has decided to put down with all the force of public opinion. Nevertheless, a certain amount of dog fighting is still carried on around Sydney, and very neatly and scientifically carried on, too — principally by gentlemen who follow the occupation of slaughterers, and who live out Botany way and do not care for public opinion.
The grey dawn was just breaking over Botany when we got to the meeting place. It was Sunday morning, and all the respectable, non-dog fighting population of that stinking suburb were sleeping the heavy, Sunday morning sleep. Away to the east the stars were paling at the faint flush of the coming dawn and over the sandhills came the boom of the breakers. An intense stillness was over everything, and the white walled cottages of Botany were shrouded in a faint mist. Some few people, however, were astir. In the dim light, hurried pedestrians might be seen plodding their way over the heavy road towards the sandhills. Now and then a van, laden with about ten or eleven of “the talent”, and drawn by a horse that cost fifteen shillings at auction, rolled softly along in the same direction. These were dog fighters who had got “the office”, and knew exactly were the chewing match was to take place.

The “meet” was on a main road, about half a mile from town, and here some two hundred people had assembled, and hung up their horses and vehicles to the fence without the slightest concealment. They said the police would not interfere with them, and, in truth, they did not seem a nice crowd to interfere with. One dog was on the ground when we arrived. He had come out in a hansom cab with his trainer, and was a white bull terrier, weighing about forty pounds, “trained to the hour”, with the muscles standing out all over him. He waited in the cab, and licked his trainer’s face at intervals to reassure that individual of his protection and support. The rest of the time he glowered out the cab and eyed the public scornfully. He knew as well as any human being that there was sport afoot, and he looked about eagerly and wickedly to see what he could get his teeth into.

Then a messenger came running up to the cab and demanded to know, with a variety of expletives, whether they meant to sit in the cab till the police came: also, he said that the other dog had arrived and was ready. The trainer and the dog got out of the cab, and we followed through a fence and over a rise, and there, about two hundred yards from the main road, was a neatly pitched enclosure like a prize ring—I.e. a thirty-foot-square enclosure formed with stakes and ropes. About a hundred people were at the ringside, and in the far corner, in the arms of his trainer, was the other dog, a brindle.
It was wonderful to see the two dogs when they caught sight of each other. The white dog came up to the ring straining at his leash, nearly dragging his trainer off his feet in his efforts to get at the enemy. At intervals he emitted a hoarse roar of challenge and defiance. The brindled dog never uttered a sound. He fixed his eyes on his adversary with a look of intense hunger, of absolute yearning for combat. He never for an instant shifted his unwinking gaze. He seemed like an animal who saw the hopes of years about to be realized. With painful earnestness he watched every detail of the other dog’s toilet; and, while the white dog was making fierce efforts to get at him, he stood Napoleonic, grand in his courage, waiting for the fray.

All details were carefully attended to, and all rules strictly observed. Most people think a dog fight is a go-as-you-please outbreak of lawlessness, but there are rules and regulations-simple, but effective. There are two umpires, a referee, a timekeeper and two seconds for each dog. The stakes were said to be ten pounds a side. After some talk, the dogs were carried to the center of the ring by their seconds and put on the ground. Like a flash of lightning they dashed at each other, and the fight began.

Nearly everyone has seen dogs fight “It is their nature to.”, as Dr. Watts puts it. But an ordinary worry between (say) a retriever and a collie, terminating as soon as one or the other gets his ear bitten, gives a very faint idea of a real dog fight. These bull terriers are the gladiators of the canine race. Bred and trained to fight, carefully exercised and dieted for weeks beforehand, they come to the fray exulting in their strength and each determined to win.

Each is trained to fight for certain holds, a grip of the ear or the back of the neck being of very slight importance. The foot is a favorable hold; the throat is, of course, fashionable – if they can get it. These dogs sparred and wrestled and gripped and threw each other, fighting grimly, and disdaining to utter a sound under the most severe punishment.

Their seconds dodged round them unceasingly, giving them encouragement and advise. “That’s the style, Boxer, fight the foot.” “Draw your foot back, old man”, and so on. Now and again one dog got a grip of the other’s foot and chewed savagely, and the spectators danced with excitement. The moment the dogs released hold of each other they were snatched up by their seconds and carried to their corners, and a minute’s time was allowed, in which their mouths were washed out and a cloth rubbed over their bodies.

Then came the ceremony of “coming to scratch”. After the first round, on time being called, the brindled dog was let loose in his own corner of the ring, and he was required by the rules to go across the ring (some thirty feet) of his own free will and attack the other dog. If he failed to do this, he would lose the fight. The white dog, meanwhile, was held in his corner waiting the attack. After the next round it was the white dog’s turn to make the attack, and so on alternately. It, therefore, became evident that the animal need not fight a moment longer than they chose, as either dog could abandon the fight by failing to go across the ring and attack his enemy. While their condition lasted they used to dash across the ring at full run, but, after a while, when the punishment got severe and their “fitness” began to fail, it became a very exciting question whether or not a dog would “come to scratch”.

The brindled dog’s condition was not so good as the other’s, and he used to lie on his stomach between the rounds to rest himself, and it several times looked as if he would not cross the ring when his turn came. But as soon as time was called, he would start to his feet and come limping slowly across glaring steadily at the other dog; then, as he got nearer, he would quicken his pace and at last make a savage rush, and in a moment they would be locked in combat. So they battled for fifty-six minutes till the white dog (who apparently was having all the best of it), on being called on to cross the ring, only went half way across and stood there growling savagely till a minute had elapsed, and so he lost the fight.

No doubt it was a brutal exhibition. But it was not cruel to the animals in the same sense that pigeon shooting or hare hunting is cruel. The dogs are born fighters, anxious and eager to fight, desiring nothing better. Whatever limited intelligence they have is all directed to this one consuming passion. They could stop when they liked, but anyone looking on could see that they gloried in the combat. Fighting is like breath to them — they must have it.

Nature has implanted in all animals a fighting instinct for the weeding out of the physically unfit, and these dogs have an extra share of that fighting instinct. Of course, now that the world is going to be so good, and we all have to be teetotal and only fight in debating societies, and the women are to wear the breeches, these nasty, savage animals are out of date, and we will not be allowed to have anything more quarrelsome than a poodle about the house — though even poodles will fight like demons when they feel like it.

And the gamecock and the steeplechase horse and all animals with sporting or fighting instincts must be done away with. Guinea pigs will, perhaps, be safe to keep, though even they have a go-in at one another occasionally. And the man of the future, the New Man, whose fighting instincts are not quite bred out of him, will, perhaps, be found at grey dawn of a Sunday morning with a crowd of other unregenerates in some backyard frantically cheering on two determined buck guinea pigs to mortal combat."

Author: "Banjo" Paterson
Published May 18th, 1895

 

Great post! Where did you find it?

 

Nice read. Hard to believe it was written a hundred and eleven years ago or publised I should say I am sure he wrote it some time before that date.

 

I really enjoyed that article. Great Post!

 

Great post, funny how they had the same views/worries over a hundred years ago, as we do. Had a few words like "pounds" been changed to "dollars" and "carriages" were substituted with "trucks", it could of been written yesterday by a fancier of the breed. I found it extremely amusing when I came to mentioning that all we will be able to own is a poodle, I laugh trying to think how many times that has been said just in the past year on this forum.

Enjoy the reps! I too am curious, where is this story from ?

 

Great Article!

 

impressive read. thank you.

 

i ejoyed it very mutch were did you get it from.

 

Thanks guysd I thought it was a great read too. I got it from an online issue of The Registrar.

 

Well, that was interesting to say the least. I wish something similar would be written now by a regular journalist.

 

WOW! nice read. like it was just written yesterday.

 

Good read there!

 

one of the best stories i have read

 

Great story, I loved it from the beginning to the end. Out of interest, the author, "Banjo Patterson" is a legend in Australia. His poems "The Man From Snowy River" and "Waltzing Matilda" are a huge part of Australia's historical national identity. So it was great to read something written by such a well respected public figure on the subject of bull dogs! Cool Post.

 

Great read!!

 

sunday drinking illegal:eek:........erm.......glad i dont live there.....lol....id be in for life sentance....:p

 

Good read, loved the bit about the guinee pigs at the end lol

 

Exerllent read that, thanks for posting :cool:

 

That was beautiful.

 

^^^^^thank you button!!!^^^^^