Britain’s top dog
A shooting acquaintance once bought himself a black labrador — a field trials champion, no less. He spent a lot of time abroad and used to lodge the dog with a keeper friend until he returned and needed to take it shooting.
On one occasion, after a very good drive, with slain pheasants littering the woodland pond in front of his peg, he happily directed his lab left and right, with one bird after another brought flawlessly to hand.
Cheerily commenting to the neighbouring Gun, who had sauntered over to watch proceedings, he said, proudly: “Good my dog, isn’t it?” To which his companion replied, “It may well be, but that is my dog. Yours buggered off halfway through the drive.”
Few British shooting days are complete without the appearance of a labrador retriever; either a barely controllable peg dog
