Free The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog by Robert Warr Page A

from the landlord that it marks the site of a plague village and it is said to be haunted.
    The other side of the river is more heavily wooded and is part of the estate of Lord Arnston. Apparently, the woods are maintained as his private shoot. The locals described Lord Arnston as a sportsman and he is apparently disliked because he employs several gamekeepers and a water bailiff to protect his sporting interests.
    It was a beautiful warm afternoon and I approached the river intending to do nothing more strenuous than sleeping in the sun. My master had decided to fish from one of those little gravel beaches. It was a wonderful spot with a bank to lie on and willow trees to shade us from the sun. Although the water looked inviting, I did not enter the river. Your uncle has made it perfectly clear that I must not swim in water that he is fishing, a rather silly prohibition since I am not scared of fish in the slightest.
    As soon as he had cast out his first line, your uncle took out his sketchbook and began to draw the scene. As you know, he will often draw or paint when he wishes to relax or think clearly about a problem.
    I spent the first part of the afternoon sleeping but there is only so much rest that an active young dog can stand. There I was by a river and I wanted to swim.  I decided, therefore, to go for a short walk downstream and find a place where I could enter the water without invoking my master’s wrath. For me, to think is to do, so I climbed the bank behind our beach and went exploring.
    The countryside is always exciting for a city dog, and always reminds me of my puppyhood spent at your family’s Hampshire seat. I forgot about my swim and enjoyed myself smelling scents and flowers. It was while I was engaged in this innocent activity that a rabbit broke cover almost immediately in front of my paws. I remember that chase well.  The rabbit was fast and could turn quickly but I almost caught it. As I stood panting with my nose to the rabbit hole, listening to my erstwhile prey jeering at me from safety, I caught the smell of blood. A deeper sniff and I suddenly felt cold; it was human blood.
    I listened carefully, but I could hear no sounds of a person in distress. Sniffing the wind, I started to follow the scent. It is a lot harder to follow a wind-blown smell than a proper spoor and, for the only time in my life, I found myself wishing that I had a bloodhound’s nose.  The scent gradually became mixed in with another less sharp smell, that of river mud. With that clue, I started running straight towards the river.
    When I reached the bank, the smell of blood became stronger and I found that I could follow it easily. I came to a small bay and there, caught in the branches of a low hanging willow, was the body of a man. He had thrown his left arm over a branch and hung suspended with his face barely out of the river. I could see that he was bleeding from a wound in the back of his head. The blood round the wound was caked and already covered in flies.  My police experience suggested that he had been injured some time ago and that he was obviously unconscious.
    I sprang down the bank and entered the river by the tree. Fortunately, the water was quite shallow at this point and I could see that most of the man’s body was resting on the riverbed.  As I reached him, I could see that he was in a very bad way: his breathing was shallow and I knew that soon he would slip from unconsciousness to death. Instinctively I licked his face and was rewarded with a faint groan. My second lick caused his eyes to flutter open. Although his eyes did not focus on me, his breathing seemed to steady.
    It was obvious that this man would not be able to get out of the water unassisted. He also appeared too heavy for me to drag him to safety. If I had been a collie, I would probably have run to the nearest farm and brought back several strong men to save him. However, I am a Spaniel so I did the sensible thing and started