Not all dogs can be trained to be hunting dogs.
Once an untrained dog is let loose in the mountains,
driven by hunger, it will inevitably rely on instinct to hunt small animals like wild rabbits, wild pheasants, and wild ducks to survive.
A rare few might even hunt roe deer.
But almost no dog knows to hunt wild boar the moment it enters the mountains. And hunting Black Bears or brown bears? That's even more out of the question.
This is because, to an untrained dog, it simply doesn't register that wild boars and bears are prey.
So, even if a dog smells the scent of a wild boar or Black Bear, it won't give chase.
This is perfectly normal. To train them into hunting dogs, one must rely on "towing."
"Towing" is easy to understand.
It means the owner "tows" the dog onto the path of hunting.
So, how is it done in practice?
It's simple. First, you make the dog recognize the scent of wild boars and Black Bears. Second, you make it understand the rewards of killing them.
Although these are two separate points, a single method can solve both: let them taste wild boar and Black Bear meat.
In those days, life was hard for people, and it was no easier for dogs.
Dog food was definitely out of the question.
Even ten or twenty years from then, owners of rural guard dogs would just feed them cornmeal scalded with boiling water.
Getting leftover vegetable broth mixed in was considered a treat. Usually, the dogs just got a sprinkle of salt for some flavor and to supplement their salt intake.
If things were like that twenty years in the future, there was no need to even mention the current state of affairs. Some people barely had enough to eat themselves. If a family didn't have enough cornmeal for themselves, how could they possibly spare any for a dog?
So, back then in the rural Northeast, dogs were usually fed boiled potatoes or squash, mashed up with a sprinkle of salt, and that was it.
Under such conditions, getting to eat a meal of meat was, without a doubt, the greatest happiness in a dog's life.
Once a dog had eaten its fill of delicious wild boar or Black Bear meat, the next time it went up the mountain and caught their scent, it would know to give chase and attack.
This was because the dog now knew that a creature with that scent was not only edible, but also incredibly tasty.
Of course, some dogs actively pursue prey, while others pursue it passively.
A dog that actively pursues prey is a "head dog."
The term "head dog" implies a lead dog. They pursue prey primarily by smell. In the hunting world, a dog's scenting ability has its own technical term: its "nose."
A dog's nose can be good or bad. Naturally, being able to catch a scent from a long distance is good.
But besides being good or bad, there's also a distinction between a "low nose" and a "high nose."
A "low nose" means the dog tracks prey by following the scent left in its footprints or on the grass and branches it brushes against.
A head dog like this is decent enough on snowy days or after it rains.
But now, in late autumn, the ground was covered with dry leaves. Prey left no footprints, so a "low nose" was ineffective.
This is when a dog with a "high nose" truly shines. It can lift its head, sniff the air, and catch the prey's scent carried on the wind, allowing it to give chase.
Clearly, in terms of scenting, a head dog with a "high nose" is far superior. But such dogs are extremely rare; most have a "low nose."
In the hunt, there's another type of dog. They know to attack prey but don't know how to find it.
These dogs are called "helper dogs."
Helper dogs must rely on a head dog to lead them in hunting. When the head dog catches up to the prey and barks at it, the helper dogs will then attack.
A dog's personality may not be as fickle as a cat's, but you can't deny that every group has its outliers.
Some helper dogs, for instance, just run around aimlessly in the mountains. Even if they run right into a wild boar and know it's prey, they still won't attack.
These dogs have to wait for their packmates to arrive. Only after one dog makes the first move will they follow.
Then there are the dogs that are just there for a free meal. When it's time to eat meat, they eat as much as any other dog. But during the hunt, they stay glued to their owner's heels, refusing to join the fray no matter how brutally their packmates are fighting the prey.
With dogs like these, beating or scolding is useless. It only makes them more timid.
There are only two ways to handle them: either give up or keep trying to train them. Of course, a dog like this might eventually be "towed" into shape, or it might be a lost cause.
Such are dogs—both simple and complex. What ultimately determines the kind of dog they become isn't the Hunter, but their own innate talent.
Zhao Jun could tell that Daqing had clearly never hunted before. A dog like this would require some extra effort.
But as for Daqing's talent, Zhao Jun could tell with a single glance that the dog had a great future ahead of it.
Having hunted for many years in his past life, Zhao Jun had his own criteria for judging a dog's potential.
First, he looked at its temperament. A hunting dog had to have a fiery temper; a docile one would never make the cut.
Second, among dogs of similar size and weight, those with disproportionately large paws had a better chance of being successfully "towed."
Finally, he looked at the dog's anus. A dog with a larger anus had a higher chance of being successfully "towed."
Daqing met all three of these criteria perfectly.
Besides, Qing Gou often produced head dogs. If this one could be successfully trained, it would be absolutely exceptional.
So, Zhao Jun decided to go all out. They had just killed a wild boar the day before. Even though Daqing hadn't helped, Zhao Jun would let it have a taste of the prize to speed up its development.
So why did he send Li Baoyu home to get the boar's ear?
It wasn't because Zhao Jun was stingy with his own family's meat, nor was it because he hadn't been able to find it after looking around.
He knew that if the boar meat wasn't in the house, Wang Meilan must have put it in the cellar.
There were no refrigerators in those days. Meat left out for too long would go bad. The cellar was cool, so storing it there would make it last a few more days.
But after thinking it over, Zhao Jun decided to ask for the boar's ear he had given to Li Baoyu and feed it to Daqing instead.
There was a specific reason for this.
When a hunting dog is on the mountain and bites its prey for the first time,
whatever spot on the prey it bites first, it will always target that same spot in future hunts, whenever possible.
This habit will only change if attacking that spot becomes inconvenient.
For instance, during yesterday's boar hunt, Da Hua—the dog that specialized in attacking a boar's rear—changed its point of attack after the boar sat down against a fallen log.
The spots where a hunting dog bites a wild boar are typically one of a few places.
Some bite the face or snout. This is extremely dangerous; an encounter with a male boar will almost certainly result in death or serious injury.
Others bite the boar's ears. In hunting, this is called "applying the pincers."
If a hunter has two dogs that can "apply the pincers," they can bite both of the boar's ears, one on each side. Then, the two dogs lean their bodies against the boar, plant their paws, and clamp down with all their might.
Once the rest of the pack swarms in, the boar has basically no chance of escape.
A wild boar attacks by charging and by thrashing its head. If its head is pinned, it can do neither.
Beyond that, there are dogs like Li Baoyu's Da Huang, which specializes in attacking the soft area behind the boar's front leg—its armpit.
That spot is all soft flesh, so a bite there is excruciatingly painful.
Of course, the attack that causes the most damage to a wild boar is, without a doubt, the kind that Zhao Jun's dog Da Hua specializes in: going for the rear.