The great friend and playmate of Bruin, was Pincher a very accomplished, smooth terrier, capital dog to go with the hounds, and to kill all sorts of obnoxious animals. If the two appeared to be asleep, and we exclaimed "Cat!" or "Rat!" in one instant they were on their legs, seeking in every direction for their game. They hunted on their own account sometimes, and were often seen with a red spaniel, trotting through the fields, no doubt conspiring together to have a feast. Both Bruin and Pincher were perfectly aware when Sunday came round; and although on other days, when they saw us equipped for a walk, they were most vociferous in their entreaties to go also, on Sunday they hid themselves under the sofa, and never offered to accompany us. They knew where we went, and generally came to meet us on our return, sometimes venturing as far as the gate of the churchyard, which was a mile distant, but never went within the enclosure.
One of my brothers, who was more peculiarly Pincher's master, had a great fancy to be a doctor as he called it; and he chipped various flint stones into fancied instruments. With these he pretended to perform operations on Pincher, who would lie perfectly passive under his hands, to have his teeth drawn, his limbs set, his wounds bandaged, his veins opened. The grand finale used to be an entire cutting up, which the boy copied from the same process practised on pigs. The dog was laid upon a table, with his legs stuck out which he made as stiff as possible. His head was then cut off, and as soon as the flint was passed across his throat, the head fell on one side, and it might have been thought that the dog fancied it was really off, so entirely did he let it lie without motion. The flint was then passed round his legs, each of which fell down without further movement, as close to the body as he could pull them. At last, when all was ended, my brother said, "Jump up, good dog!" and Pincher bounding off the table shook himself to life again.
A favourite terrier was in the habit of accompanying his master, who was a clergyman, to church, where he was so perfectly quiet, that few persons knew of his presence. On one occasion, he went to a funeral, and when the procession left the church, accompanied his master to the side of the grave, where he mingled with the attendants. The parties remained for some little time looking at the coffin after it was lowered, and the clergyman slipped away, unobserved even by his dog. An hour after, as he sat at dinner with his friends, his sexton requested to speak with him. He was admitted into the room, when he said it was impossible to close the grave, and that he did not know what to do. "Why?" asked the gentleman, "Because Sir, your terrier stands there, and flies so fiercely at us whenever we attempt to throw a spade full in, that we dare not go on." One of the house servants was sent to the churchyard, and there saw the dog in a perfect fury, defending the grave; she refused to come to his call, so by main force he removed her, and carried her to the drawing-room. There, the moment she saw her master, her transport of joy equalled her former fury; and it is supposed that, not seeing her master go away, and missing him, she fancied he was in the grave, and thus strove to protect him from injury.