"Adventures with Dogo Argentinos on the Pampas of South America "
By Chip Anderson 12/07
I had been riding along quietly, rather absorbed by the sight of dozens of wild ostrich (rheas) as they ran high speed in their helter-skelter manner, scattering across the sea of grass, in front of our approaching cavalry. Thinking to myself "now that's something you don't see everyday", when the sharp crack of leather slapping and an excited roar from Cesar our gaucho/ huntsman startled both my horse and myself. We suddenly find ourselves galloping full fury along the cortina and shell scalloped plains, hard on the shore's of the Southern Atlantic, the vast scrub and wilderness that makes up the Patagonian pampas spreading out to the west in un-ending horizon-less green.
I could hear hounds speaking, ahead albeit intermittingly, as they are bred to run silent or semi -silent a feature of much value on this type of pursuit.
Our Horses were an interesting mix of paso-thorobred and your best-guess? Mine looked pure Arab but no pedigree or paperwork ever recorded these bloodlines. They were however as broke and honest to good working horses as you are likely to find anywhere. Well if they were wonderful animals then the Saddles were as treacherous as our mounts were trustworthy. I only use the term "saddle" in the loosest possible definition of the word, made up of a soft piece of cowhide with lots of ragged sheep skin thrown over for good measure, two very dubious looking wooden stirrups? ..(If you were lucky) some stirrups were no more than dried leather loops! Then this whole contraption is strapped, tied on and belted down with stiff raw cow hide, not at all useful for this task, but it's what the local cowboys ride in. If the saddles were bad then the Bridles were awful to the point of comedy. Various strips of un-tanned leather, looped together with bits consisting of metal, chain or sometimes nothing more than bailing twine tied to the horses bottom lip!! None of this I can assure you lends confidence to hard gallops after dangerous quarry. I was firmly convinced upon starting out this morning that the actual ride was infinitely more likely to be fatal then any possible encounter with our intended game, the highly un-predictable, sometimes savage, ubiquitous (Sus Scorfa) the wild Boar. A species known throughout the world for their general ill humor (which I assure you doesn't improve with a pack of hounds chasing them!) and their ability to deal painfully, sometimes fatally with both foolish dogs and hunters that get in the way. Here in Argentina where boar were introduced by the Europeans some 200 years ago , they thrive in numbers un heard of in their homelands, finding a lack of natural predators and an unending food supply they not only breed in great quantities but grow larger than perhaps anywhere in their current world range, They are omnivorous eaters and must find the pampas a veritable smorgasbord of porcine delights, grasses, roots, berries, snakes, frogs, lizards, rats , mice, lots of ground nesting birds including the aforementioned ostrich, (eggs for the taking !), and to the detriment of the local ranchers they can and do prey on new born calves and lambs anytime the opportunity presents itself !
Long Admired in Europe as a fine sporting game animal and a delightful delicacy on the table, there exists a grand history of pursuing the wild boar with hounds, from Germany, Belgium Italy and Poland, to modern day France where the boar is hunted today by some of the best packs in that country.
Hunting the Boar on the Continent requires quite a bit more complex planning than the average U.S or even English foxhunt, Boar hunting with hounds requires L 'esprite de la Venerie as the French would say , each days sport means composing a strategy that would rival the finest of military plans. Finding the "right" boar (traditionally an old male, le Grande Sanglier).casting several hounds to separate him from the herd, laying on the pack, keeping them all hunting the SAME boar throughout the hunt, even while running through herds of other wild swine, All of this performed in concert to the music of the French hunting horns, which sing out in response to the chasse as it unfolds in the winter forests of rural France.
This passion for the wild boar followed the Europeans wherever they landed , Argentina was no exception, in fact the wild boar became such a revered quarry that Argentina developed the 1st and only hound to be bred exclusively for this quarry, hunting under the unique circumstances presented by the southern countryside. The Dogo Argentino is fully capable of tackling the largest of these animals with both nose for the chase and a fearless nature they are singularly qualified for hunting the boar.
The Dogo Argentino standing tall is some 26-28 inches of ceramic white muscle and a relentless interest in the hunt. The Dogo is found across the breadth of Argentina today, from the richest estancias to the poorest gaucho camps you will find him proudly serving his master, hunting, providing sport and food for many in the outback of Argentina. Though often crossed (as we often have done with foxhounds) the breed remains relatively unchanged from its inception, though the working dogo, like the working Foxhound is often a VERY different looking animal from the AKC show dogos one can find. They, with ears cropped and coats of perfect shine look more like giant white Staffordshire terriers, however the average ranch dogo is left natural ears down and wears his many scars like a badge, in honor of brave encounters with his eternal nemesis the boar!
An interesting quality that was bred into the Dogo was the Silent or Semi silent feature, As most gauchos are poor and meat not sport is the end purpose of a hunt, an Argentine Gaucho does not want to pre-warn the boar that he is being hunted, So the Dogo tracks silently, opening full cry only when in HOT pursuit and the game is close, and making a riotous rabble when baying their pig.
It is important, I learned that while hunting with Dogos to pay much attention to their activity, as they will strike silently and suddenly without any audible warning the chase is going!, and you must gallop like the wind, to keep up.
The Dogo Argentino is a relatively new breed, created by the Martinez family of Cordoba Argentina in the early days of the 20th century Crossing the English foxhound, Greyhound, bull terrier and Spanish Pointer with the local Cordoba fighting dog ( a fearless Bull mastiff type breed, now extinct)..This gave them the size, strength, and some hunting ability, they then bred back to the English foxhound, and redoubled the strength of the bull terrier blood, to keep the tenacious terrier nature and maintain the pure white coat they desired (bull terriers in those days were a much larger breed than they are today) and the foxhound blood for scenting.
They culled and hunted these dogs until the early 1930s, when after years of husbandry, they finally had a dog that possessed the qualities they were seeking, (hot nosed, Fearless, Silent on track) and most importantly would breed true to type.
It was early Oct 2007 and I had arrived in Argentina a few weeks before on a research junket for a sportsman's travel firm. Looking over some new lodges and possible opportunities for our company to book shooting and fishing here, I was smitten early on by the natural beauty of the land and friendly nature of the Argentine people. Even the city itself of Buenos Aires is a must do on any ones life list of places to see and experience. My partner in Argentina Damian Garcia had spoken many times of his home area far to the south in the pampas, where gauchos still work cattle on the plains every day, where the grass never ends, a region where ostrich, puma, red stags and boar roam across the landscape, he told me of this place he knew of where they still hunted the Dogo Argentino hound on wild boar. Of course...THIS I had to see, so after a few calls and inquiries we were on our way. Under the fading light of the southern cross as it set in the western sky we drove south from Buenos Aires, to meet up with the gauchos and horses at sunrise.
We pulled into the ranch at dawn, greeted by Cesar the huntsman and a gaucho-horseman of some talent, so I was told. We sat around the camp fire drank Matte and chatted a bit as it got light. The traditional drinking of Matte being necessary before anything gets going ( Matte , a strong sweet tea, drank through a sliver straw is an important part of all Argentine social gatherings ), So after sufficient Matte was consumed to satisfaction, Cesar unloaded our pack for the day , a Motley looking bunch of Dogo and mixed Dogo hounds, I could see that they were all lean muscle and Cesar assured me that this pack has accounted for many "Jabali" (boar). He explained that the gaucho tradition dictates that I carry the Faucon a 10 inch blade hunting dagger that was always used by the true cowboy hunters to dispatch the boar...YIKES! I would have declined or protested but I could see they were measuring me up and so I took the knife(never with any intention of using it for real !) and gaucho style I thrust it through my Belt ,..Mounting up, secure in the knowledge that I had maintained my standing with the locals.
Casting the hounds ahead we worked through miles of bush, and grassland, occasionally startling a cow, hare or herds of rheas.We turned Eastward towards the coastal flats, hounds busily working to our front, hoping to catch scent of their game, Suddenly Cesar, who had been in front, Stopped short, whispered and pointed, Though I couldn't catch his words, the object that had caught his attention stood in perfect form 60 yards or so ahead, A large Puma, tail lashing from side to side, giving us the once over before disappearing in a leap into the thick. Leaving us to question whether we had truly seen him at all. Of course his tracks were the only evidence we found an exciting start to this morning. I asked Cesar if his hounds might give chase, and he said his pack was broke strictly to hunt boar., We were all a little up on our toes after that, even the horses seemed a bit more excited ( though they had more reason than we at the sight of a cougar)..And As I trotted along caught up in the magic of all this, wildlife, scenery, pumas, ostrich...
It all Happened! Cesar shouted a "gone away "of sorts...My horse Lunged forward and the hunt was off!
I never saw the Dogos Strike, (must learn to pay more attention), the pack was swiftly covering ground. Cesar called back that he has seen the boar herd running towards the heavy bush along the shore. As I clung to my horse for dear life, praying to avoid armadillo holes while trying to keep my saddle from spilling over, as I had figured, the stiff rawhide that had tied all of this together, was now as useful as teats on a boar, and was loosening by the stride. All I could do was hold on tighter with my legs, which of course only increased our relative speed! Thankfully ahead I could see Cesar and Martin (the Estancia owner) had jumped from their horses and were franticly running towards the thorns.
As I pulled up the fight was On! I could make out angry grunts, growls and squeals from the boar and the relentless cacophony of the dogos, baying, and an occasional yelp from one that got too close or had misjudged his charge. I fought my way through the brush into the arena, the Corrida well under way! The Dogos seeking any chance to close in, the Boar feinting charges left and right, popping his white tusks, and whetting them to cut the 1st idiot that came too close. Cesar was to my left and shouts to remind me that I am carrying the Faucon !!! I had forgotten. Yelling encouragement, he tells me in Spanish to come in low and fast, kill the boar in one motion, driving the dagger's blade into his heart. ( I'm not sure Cesar is up on just how fast and low a middle aged American Guy can rush ANYWHERE !..an angry boar not withstanding), Generally my retreat mode is a much faster gear.Cesar encouraging me to do this quickly before any dogs were injured. I have hunted Boar many times in the States and Europe, but never this up close, Mano a Mano. I weaved left and right wading between the dogos, as the boar rushed forward!! Retreat!! ! Retreat!!! Nearly falling as I made a jump to get out of the way! Cesar and Martin having their fun, shouting insults at me now, telling me to Go Straight in Bravely! "The dogos will assist if they sense my confidence "Hell!! That's No help. I take a deep breath and this time I rush Head on, like a dam breaking water the pack pours forward with me swarming the boar, seeing my one chance I drive the Faucon home, the dagger's keen edge reaching his heart, its interesting to me that moments of great tension seem , while they are going on, to last forever ..but in reality are often over in the blink of an eye, one minute I'm in a slobber of tusks, teeth, pig, dogos, the next I am calmly sitting by the carcass watching as Cesar starts to field dress it, giving the dogos choice bits of liver and offal. Congratulating me, Cesar and Martin pronounce me an honorary gaucho and Jabalidero (a hunter of Boar), some of the dogos had been tusked, mostly superficial wounds, and Dogos are a stoic breed. There would be pork tonight at the estancia, enough to be shared by all cowboys and staff.
I was just happy to have been there, survived that saddle and seen the beauty that is Patagonia and her people.
As we rode back towards the ranch, hounds at heel, Cesar turns to me and says, "Now that you are an honorary Gaucho. We will go and Hunt with the Bolas for Ostrich on Horses. This is the true sport of Men".
I said "WHAT WAS THAT WE JUST DID?" Cesar says "Oh Amigo that was for dinner. Now we will really ride" he wasn't kidding. I tightened up my girth as best I could and said "Show me the Ostrich"!
