Shooting Times & Country Magazine
The fantastic Mr Pots is a whizz of a whippet
Seeing this dog in action is to witness centuries of breeding distilled into grace, intelligence, speed and beauty, says Julian Schmechel
Companion to collier and countryman, poacher and peer of the realm, the English whippet is a remarkable sporting dog, with a lineage speckled by the soot and smoke of the Industrial Revolution.
Sometimes seen as frail and genteel, the whippet is anything but, having the heart of a lion in the chase and being remarkably hardy. This diminutive longdog is possessed of blistering acceleration, being capable of speeds of up to 35mph, and for its size and weight, is the fastest of all land mammals.
To see a whippet in full flight is an unforgettable experience.
Many are the theories concerning the whippet’s origin, but that small greyhounds existed in antiquity is beyond doubt. These dogs arguably formed the breed’s foundation, receiving an infusion of terrier blood during the 19th century to improve gameness. The title of ‘the poor man’s racehorse’ suits the whippet well, as the breed’s crucible was the industrial north of England and the
Midlands, where miners and millworkers held the breed in high esteem.
As an escape from the hardships of their daily lives, these working men took their whippets rabbiting, rabbit coursing and racing, with considerable bets being placed on the outcome of these contests. Coal mining and heavy industry may have faded into memory, but the whippet has lost none of its speed or spirit, and those dogs from proven working lines are rabbiters without equal.
My own association with the working whippet began purely by chance some years ago, after meeting a lady on a Norfolk beach who had coursed hares
the dog I was seeking in Devon, on the very edge of Exmoor. Bred by artist and potter Brian Andrew, this puppy was the last of the litter, as Brian had intended to keep the dog for himself. However, due to a change in circumstances, the puppy, named Mr Pots, had become available, and I jumped at the chance to buy him. It is a decision that I have never regretted.
For those intending to work their whippet with ferrets, it is vitally important to raise the two animals in close proximity and before the dog’s prey drive kicks in at approximately six months. The dog must come to view the ferret as a working partner and not prey, and to this end, ‘Pots’ and my team of polecats were fed together daily from the same bowl.
Taking to ferreting instinctively, Pots has an unerring knack of knowing which hole a rabbit will emerge from, and I have learned to watch his movements as a telegraph to what is going on underground. Whether by detecting sound or vibration, he is seldom wrong, with a raised front paw indicating that a bolt is imminent and that a rabbit will soon be held within his jaws. Gundog owners might be surprised to learn that a working whippet will retrieve a rabbit to hand, alive and quite unharmed.
In our corner of Aberdeenshire, the start of the ferreting season is usually signalled by the harvesting of local wheat and barley. As the combines cut the last of the standing corn, we busy ourselves checking over nets and replacing batteries in ferret-finders. Scouting out ferreting locations over the summer had revealed good numbers of rabbits, but what may seem like a boon to me is anything but for the hard-pressed farmer or gardener.
Ring-barked
Standing high above the river Don, the gardens of a rather grand house had suffered significant rabbit damage over the past 12 months, with dozens of rowan, oak, beech and willow trees having been ring-barked and killed. Following phone calls and introductions to the occupants of the property, a date was set to try to reduce the rabbit population.
So it was that on a soft September morning my ferreting partner, Georgie Bourner, and I with Mr Pots at heel and laden with shoulder spades,
“Pots focused on the rabbits; if he shivered, it was through sheer excitement not the cold”
net bags and ferret boxes, set out among burrowed lawns, paddocks and flower beds.
Electing to work the open ground first, we turned our attention to a pony paddock adjacent to the house and dotted with rabbit holes. Mr Pots immediately marked the first warren, standing pointer-like with paw raised, indicating that rabbits were at home. This ability to mark is so important in a rabbiting dog and saves the ferreter wasted time in working fruitless ground. With purse-nets now laid, and a long-net set to surround the bury, the first of the polecat jills was entered, as Pots moved silently about.
Stopping occasionally, he cocked his head to detect subterranean
sounds far beyond the range of human hearing. It is a joy to observe an animal engaged in the work for which it was bred, and I can think of no finer example of this than watching a whippet working.
It would be easy to imagine a day ferreting with a whippet is all about the pursuit of rabbits at high speed, but this is not strictly true. In his role as a ferreter’s dog, the whippet’s primary task is to reach the bolted rabbit quickly and hold it in the net until it can be despatched and removed. Rabbits are great escapologists, but with a whippet losses are rare. Before working with Mr Pots, I would commonly lose three or four rabbits a day. Now, I lose that number per season.
Adder’s strike
Responding to some trigger unknown, Pots darted across the warren and, with a blur of movement and adder’s strike, accounted for a surprised rabbit. As I relieved him of his quarry, two more rabbits struck the long-net.as Pots reached the first, Georgie fell upon the second to despatch it with practised hand. More bolts followed, with the jill playing her deadly game of subterranean hide and seek. Slowly, the action steadied, then the jill emerged blinking into the daylight, signalling that the bury had been cleared.
The second set of holes surrounded a lone Sitka spruce and was covered by clumps of knee-high nettles. These will be stripped by the first frosts, but as we placed purse-nets their potent stings made our fingers tingle. Pots cares nothing for nettles and was focused only on rabbits, for he had marked the bury well and with good cause. If he shivered, it was through sheer excitement and not the cold.
Once the holes were netted and ferrets entered, rabbits quickly began
“Flushing a rabbit from the stubble, Pots ran it down with pure speed and primal instinct”
to bolt. Each was being despatched, legged and had its belly ‘thumbed down’, to empty tainting urine from its bladder, before being laid on the grass to cool. Rabbits may be seen as a pest species, but their organic meat will feed me, my ferrets and the customers of local hotels and butchers.
The second bury cleared and dealt with, we gutted the rabbits into a hole dug at the bottom of the paddock, before carefully replacing its covering of turf, Pots watching the proceedings with a proprietorial eye. Shouldering our burden, we headed back toward the house, dropping off the gutted rabbits at our vehicle on the way.
What faced us next was a hedgerow at the bottom of the garden, the base of which was entirely riddled with rabbit holes. That anything grows in this garden at all amazes me. With his mind entirely on the job, Pots immediately began to mark holes, showing that rabbits were certainly at home. Working in complete silence, Georgie and I placed purse-nets over every hole we could find. As insurance, I went outside the garden with Pots and, on the neighbouring stubble field, erected a long-net running the full length of the hedge. In this way, any rabbits breaking out across the field would be caught.
With Georgie remaining in the garden in charge of the ferrets, Pots and I guarded the long-net on the stubble. And as the jills were entered into the bury, it wasn’t long before rabbits were coming our way. Judging by her movements viewed through the hedge, it was clear that Georgie was getting her share of rabbits too. Trotting up the long-net, Pots flushed a rabbit that had been crouching out on the stubble and, driving it away from the hedge, he ran it down with pure speed and primal instinct.
Had I needed an answer as to why I hunt with a working whippet, this was it. I do it because it allows me to witness hundreds of years of breeding distilled into grace, intelligence, speed and beauty. That and never having to suffer the indignity of an empty freezer.