Other editions of book Jock of the Bushveld

“Sonny, you kin reckon it dead sure, thar’s something wrong ’bout a thing that don’t explain itself.” That was Old Rocky’s advice, given three-and-twenty years ago—not forgotten yet, but, in this instance, respectfully ignored.It happened some years ago, and this was the way of it: the Fox of Ballybotherem having served three generations—in his native Tipperary, in Kaffraria, and in the Transvaal—seemed entitled to a rest; and when, in the half-hour before ‘lights out,’ which is the Little People’s particular own, the demand came from certain Autocrats of the Nightgown: “Now, tell us something else!” it occurred to the Puzzled One to tell of Jock’s fight with the table leg. And that is how the trouble began. Those with experience will know what followed; and, for those less fortunate, the modest demand of one, comfortably tucked up tailorwise, and emphasising his points by excited hand-shakes with his toes, will convey the idea: “It must be all true! and don’t leave out anything!”

I began to notice little things about him that no one else noticed, and got to be quite fond of the little beggar ... perhaps it was because he was always cheerful and plucky and it seemed as if there might be some good stuff in him after all.' Before the turn of the twentieth century, when the lure of gold was bringing men from all corners of the earth to the Transvaal, a young man from Cape Town goes to the Lydenburg goldfields to seek his fortune. On realising that a good hunting dog would be a great advantage in the Bushveld, he decides to find himself a puppy - but to all his companions' astonishment, it's not the prettiest or the strongest puppy that catches his eye. Instead, he chooses an ugly little bull-terrier called Jock, the runt of the litter, who eventually surprises everyone by growing up to become one of the most famous hunting dogs in South African history. With his master, Jock shares the excitement of a transport rider's life; they become close companions and all Jock's skill and intelligence are needed in many thrilling and dangerous encounters with big game. Through the story of Jock and his master, a vivid picture of the Bushveld unfolds, as together they discover its birds and beasts and men. Now regarded as a classic, Jock of the Bushveld is still as fresh and exciting as it was when it was first told.

“Sonny, you kin reckon it dead sure, thar’s something wrong ’bout a thing that don’t explain itself.” That was Old Rocky’s advice, given three-and-twenty years ago—not forgotten yet, but, in this instance, respectfully ignored. It happened some years ago, and this was the way of it: the Fox of Ballybotherem having served three generations—in his native Tipperary, in Kaffraria, and in the Transvaal—seemed entitled to a rest; and when, in the half-hour before ‘lights out,’ which is the Little People’s particular own, the demand came from certain Autocrats of the Nightgown: “Now, tell us something else!” it occurred to the Puzzled One to tell of Jock’s fight with the table leg. And that is how the trouble began.

Jock’s mother Jess was the only dog in their camp. FitzPatrick describes her as “an unattractive bull-terrier with a dull brindled coat–black and grey in shadowy stripes. She had small cross-looking eyes and uncertain always-moving ears; she was bad tempered and most unsociable", but everybody respected her.[3] Jock’s father is only described as an imported dog in the book and there’s an ongoing debate on whether he was an American Staffordshire Terrier or of a breed like the bull and terrier.

Jock of the Bushveld is a true story by South African author Sir James Percy Fitzpatrick. The book tells of Fitzpatrick's travels with his dog, Jock, a Staffordshire Bull Terrier, during the 1880s, when he worked as a storeman, prospector's assistant, journalist and ox-wagon transport-rider in the Bushveld region of the Transvaal (then the South African Republic).

Excerpt from Jock of the BushveldThere was a Boy who went to seek his fortune. Call him boy or man: the years proved nothing either way! Some will be boyish always; others were never young: a few - most richly dowered few - are man and boy together. He went to seek his fortune, as boys will and should; no pressure on him from about; no promise from beyond. For life was easy there, and all was pleasant, as it may be in a cage. 'To-day' is sure and happy; and there is no to-morrow in a cage.There were friends enough - all kind and true - and in their wisdom they said: "Here it is safe: yonder all is chance, where many indeed are called, but few - so few - are chosen. Many have gone forth; some to return, beaten, hopeless, and despised; some to fall in sight outside; others are lost, we know not where; and ah! so few are free and well. But the fate of numbers is unheeded still; for the few are those who count, and lead; and those who follow do not think 'How few,' but cry 'How strong! How free!' Be wise and do not venture. Here it is safe: there is no fortune!"About the PublisherForgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.comThis book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

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