Well, I certainly did not think so; but he said he was quite certain some dogs have a sense of humour; and he had had proof of it. The river at this point was broken into several sluices by islands formed of piles of rocks on which there were a few stunted trees and dense growths of tall reeds, and here and there little spits and fringes of white sand were visible. When I woke up in the morning, my first thought was of the odd puppy—how he looked to me as his only friend, and what he would feel like if, after looking on me as really belonging to him and as the one person that he was going to take care of all his life, he knew he was to be left behind or given away to any one who would take him. The silence seemed worse than before: the birds had gone to roost; even the flies had disappeared; there was no sound at all but the beat of my own heart and Jock’s panting breath. With Jocelyn Broderick, Michael Brunner, Wilson Dunster, Umfubu. Leave him, let him fight. He don’t get shook up—jus’ keeps on thinkin’ out his job right along, while the other feller’s worryin’ about his hide! For the better part of an hour the struggle went on, but there was not the least sign of yielding on Bantom’s part, and the string of waiting waggons grew longer, and many others, white men and black, gathered round watching, helping or suggesting. As he got older, he also learned that there are only certain things which concerned him and which it was necessary for him to know. But it was not always possible to satisfy him in that way; meat was expensive in the towns and often we had none at all at the waggons. They had crossed the stream and were walking—very slowly and abreast—near the water’s edge. You may be tempted, under cover of darkness, to find a translation for ‘watch it’ and ‘stick to it!’ more befitting your dignity and aspirations: ‘observation and reasoning,’ ‘patience and purpose,’ will seem better; but probably you will not say so to any one else, for fear of being laughed at. In the last struggle, while I was busy with the rifle, the koodoo had moved, and it was then lying against one of the fallen trunks. The poor little friendless Rat! Those were the things I used to think of sometimes when feeding the little outcast. One day, after we had got a new lot of hens, a stranger happened to witness the performance. He went alone and came away alone, leaving his trap behind, knowing that they were watching his every movement, but knowing also that their intense curiosity would draw them to it the moment it seemed safe. At the fourth or fifth attempt by Jock a spurt from the koodoo brought him cannoning against its shoulder, and he was sent rolling unnoticed yards away. However that may be, the movements of a mamba, even on open ground, are, as the writer has several times observed, so incredibly swift as to leave no other impression on the mind than that of having witnessed a magical disappearance. Whatever the reason was, it was a mistake; for, as he turned his head away, Jock flew at him, got a good mouthful of ear, and in no time they were rolling and struggling in the dust—Jock’s little grunts barely-audible in the noise made by the other one. I had had a lot of trouble with Jim that day, and this annoyed me; but my angry call to stop was unavailing. When he could not keep them it seemed time to go! Jock, the runt of the littler, the smallest of puppies, lived to enjoy a full and adventurous life at the side of his master. The troop of baboons had evidently been quite close to us—hidden from us only by the little line of rocks—and on getting warning from their sentry on the mountain had stolen quietly away and were then disappearing into the timbered depth of the ravine. DASSIE (pronounced daas-ey) (d), rock-rabbit; coney (Procavia (Hyrax) capensis) (literally. The rock was a long sloping one, polished smooth by the floods and very slippery to walk on. He was a man. At sunset, passing down the long rough gorge, he came upon one battling with the flood to save his all—the white man struggling with the frightened beasts; the kaffir swept from off his feet; the mad bewildered oxen yielding to the stream and heading downwards towards the falls—and in their utmost need the Boy swam in and helped! BILLY, a small tin utensil with lid and handle, used for boiling water. Tom would end up with—“Niggers said I was ‘takati’: asked for some of my medicine! I must kill you, your wife, your mother, your children, your horses, your oxen, your dog, the fowls that run with the waggons—all that lives I kill. The day was so still, the ground so dry, and the bush so thick that the chances were the game would hear us before we could get near enough to see them. No doubt they have another name, but in the Bushveld they were known as Go ’way birds, because of this cry and because they are supposed to warn the game when an enemy is coming. Forgetting the last night’s experience, forgetting everything except how we had twice chased and twice lost them, seeing only another and the grandest prize slipping away, I sent Jock on and followed as fast as I could. We crossed the Komati with three spans—forty-four oxen—to a waggon, for the drift was deep in two places and the weakened cattle could not keep their feet. I must have scrambled out like an unwilling participant in a dog fight. I fell asleep that night thinking of the two puppies—the best and the worst in the litter. Now, every one knows what a fowl is like: it is impudent, inquisitive, selfish, always looking for something to eat, and has no principles. Something—an instinct or sympathy quickened by the day’s experience, that I had never quite known before—taught me to understand, and I jumped up, thinking, “He sees something that he knows: he is pleased.” As I walked over to him, he looked back at me with his mouth open and tongue out, his ears still down and tail wagging—he was smiling all over, in his own way. Not one stood still. As we gathered round the fallen tree to finish the cleaning and slip it down to the track Jim remarked irrelevantly that tigers were ‘schelms,’ and it was his conviction that there were a great many in the kloofs round about. Fitzpatrick is an Irishman who goes to the South African bush to seek his fortune. Tom stood in the doorway of his store as we walked up—five feet one in his boots, but every inch of it a man—with his hands resting idly on his hips and a queer smile on his face as he nodded welcome. I picked him up and talked to him; and when his wizened little face was close to mine, he opened his mouth as if laughing, and shooting out his red tongue dabbed me right on the tip of my nose in pure friendliness. Jim—dissolute, turbulent and savage—could yield a lesson too; not a warning only, sometimes a crude but clear example! I followed this one down for a couple of miles without any definite purpose until the sight of some greener and denser wild figs suggested that there might be water, and perhaps a rietbuck or a duiker near by. Animated-family adventure based on a true story that tells the heart-warming, coming-of-age story of a man and his best-friend, a lovable and fearless dog named, Jock. For a year or so he lived something of the old veld life, trekking and hunting; from time to time I heard of him from Ted and others: stories seemed to gather easily about him as they do about certain people, and many knew Jock and were glad to bring news of him. The owner may have thought it wise to make no claim on me; Sam, if he remembered it, would have seen the Shangaans and all their belongings burned in a pile rather than raise so delicate a question with Jim; I had forgotten all about it—being anxious only to end the trouble and get the Shangaans off; and that villain Jim ‘lay low.’ At the first outspan from Barberton next day I saw him carving his mark on the handle, unabashed, under my very nose. “He wasn’t hurt: just sank a little like a pointer when you check him; but before he steadied up again I took for the nose and got him. The Boy woke up shivering, dazed, bewildered: the mountain of his dreams had vanished; and his dog was not there! Questo video è continua in Bhutan il 18 giugno 1956 da Nectar Animation di sue tipo "Go", riparato verso fase teatro impressionante al 58º parte di Athens. He was buried under a big fig tree where another and more honoured grave was made later on. Jock disliked kaffirs: so did Jim. Jock of the Bushveld – The Musical has been two years in the making and faithfully tells the beloved South African story of the dog with the heart of a lion. It was all too beautiful for words: and so it should be in the spring-time of youth. It has a most chilling effect, and the feeling of loneliness becomes acute as the echoes die away and still no answer comes. When they could disappear with an easy bound, it was not accident. They can fight it out now,” and I took the sjambok from Jim’s hand and cut it from the white man’s wrist. And outside there was the muffled puff and patter in the dust; the rustle as the drops struck dead leaves and grass and sticks; the blend of many notes that made one great sound, always growing, changing and moving on—full of weird significance—until there came the steady swish and hiss of water upon water, when the earth had ceased to stand up against the rain and was swamped. Once in Mashonaland, when lions broke into a kraal and killed and ate two donkeys out of a mixed lot, the mules were found next day twenty miles away; some of the oxen ran for several miles, and some stopped within a few hundred yards; two men who had been roused by the uproar saw in the moonlight one old bullock stroll out through the gap in the kraal and stop to scratch his back with his horn; and three others were contentedly dozing within ten yards of the half-eaten donkeys when we went to the kraal in the early morning and found out what had happened. “Boys is like pups—you got ter help ’em some; but not too much, an’ not too soon. There was no more hunting for us: our feet had ‘gone in,’ and we were well content to sleep and rest. TOCK-TOCKIE, a slow-moving beetle, incapable of flight. The crossing of the legs brought the wounded animal down immediately and Jock had it by the throat before it could rise again. Come back with me, and all will be made easy.” And answer, in reason, there was none; for the little truth was all too plain, and the greater not yet seen. When the meat was there I gave it, and he would sit by the fire for hours eating incredible quantities—cutting it off in slabs and devouring it when not much more than warmed. There was only the one dog in our camp; and she was not an attractive one. I gave him a tap with the switch, and without an instant hesitation he dashed off to the right making a half circle through the veld and coming into the road again fifty yards ahead, and galloped away leaving a rising column of dust behind him. It was there, lying between two rocks in the shade of a marula tree, that I got one of those chances to see game at close quarters of which most men only hear or dream. “Come on, man, before they get their dogs, or we’ll never see him again.”. Even when the sport was good and the bag satisfactory there was usually nothing new to tell about it. He had stepped on the back of a sleeping crocodile; no doubt it was every bit as frightened as he was. But in the darkness—in the night or mist—the slow, the weak, the helpless, and the mothers with their young—for them is little hope. By nine o’clock the boys were on their way back, and leaving them to take the direct route I struck away eastwards along the line of the pools, not expecting much and least of all dreaming that fate had one of the worst days in store for us: “From cloudless heavens her lightnings glance” did not occur to my mind as we moved silently along in the bright sunshine. The first bad experience I had of Snarley was on one of the little hunting trips which we sometimes made in those days, away from the waggons. With me it made differences both ways: something lost, and something gained. (Gamble and Yates 2008) I believe this is true literature at its best, children will be intrigued by the story of a man and his best friend. For a long time he had been unable to hear a sound, but he could feel sounds: that is to say, he was quick to notice anything that caused a vibration. The first was that as long as the ox lay there it was impossible to move the waggon, and there was no way for the others to pass it; the second, that the ox was free, strong and perfectly well, and all he had to do was to get up and walk. The splendid horns of the Koodoo and Sable, and a score of others only less beautiful, could be seen nailed up in crude adornment of the roughest walls; nailed up, and then unnoticed and forgotten! We outspanned in order to re-pack the loads, and Rooiland, who as front ox was the last to be released, stood for a few moments alone while the rest of the cattle moved away; then turning his back on them he gave a couple of low moaning bellows and walked down the road back to the drift again. The Man With The Black Dog: A True Modern-Day Jock Of The Bushveld (English Edition) eBook: Cesare, Mario: Amazon.nl: Kindle Store It's a very beautiful book, in a lot of ways, but it has this way of putting two opposite views so closely together. Since the night with the lions, when he had been ignominiously cooped up, there had been nothing to stir his blood and make life worth living; and this morning as he saw me rise from breakfast and proceed to potter about the waggons in the way he had come to regard as inevitable, he looked on indifferently for a few minutes and then stretched out full length in the sun and went to sleep. Reviewed in the United States on January 26, 2010. One’s born better ’n another—more brains, more heart; but I ain’t yet heard o’ the man born with knowledge or experience; that’s what they got ter learn—men an’ dawgs! We had one round of drinks which was ‘called’ by one of the horsemen, and then, to return the compliment, another round called by one of us. We fired some shots into the river to scare the crocodiles, and started to cross; but to our surprise Tsetse, the strong-nerved and reliable, who always had the post of honour in front, absolutely refused to enter. The bush was not close enough to save him, however, in spite of his start, and through the thin veil of smoke I saw him plunge and stumble, and then dash off again; and Jock seeing me give chase, went ahead and in half a minute I was left well behind, but still in sight of the hunt. The burnt stubbly ends of the grass had pierced the baked leather of our boots many times; and Jock, too, had suffered badly and could hardly bear to set foot to the ground next day. NEK-STROP (d), the neck-strap, or reim, which, attached to the yokeskeys, keeps the yoke in place. SJAMBOK (pronounced in English shambok, in Dutch saam-bok) (d), tapering raw-hide whip made from rhinoceros, hippopotamus, or giraffe skin. It was the same old scene, the same old performance, that I had watched scores of times; but it never grew stale or failed to draw a laugh, a word of cheer, and pat of affection; and from him there came always the same response, the friendly wagging of that stumpy tail, a splashy lick, a soft upward look, and a wider split of the mouth that was a laugh as plain as if one heard it. A couple of times he stopped entirely and stood in the road, facing straight back and growling; and I followed suit. There it stood within fifty yards, the soft grey-and-white looking still softer in the shadow of the thorns, but as clear to me—and as still—as a figure carved in stone. I have seen all that, but not, alas, the successful ending, when trying to imitate Jantje’s methods. I sat down with my back against the rock and a funny choky feeling in my throat. Simeon Hamman Foefie Met 'N Fluitjie ℗ 1999 BMG Africa (Pty) Ltd South Africa Released on: 1999-03 … The doctoring of Jess had delayed us considerably, and while we were still busy at it the old chief came up to say that his scouts had returned and reported that there was no tiger to be seen, but that they thought the trap had been sprung. It was shot through the heart, and down the ribs on each side were the scraped marks of the trap. Being an animal-lover, these were difficult to take. It is well enough known in South Africa, and similar stories are to be found in the folklore of other countries, but it had a special interest for us in that Jantje gave it as having come to him from his own people. Agreement in the throat before it could rise again irony in Jim ’ s the horse was! His ragged coat over the fallen body and had fastened on the watch believe he watched lips. Flat rock—my dressing table evil and cruel repute got hold of him he been! 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