Post by The Smith on Sept 18, 2013 23:24:17 GMT -5
It had been a year since Theodore’s birth, and nearly two years since Amelia Baratheon had seen her husband. She often reflected on how strange it was that a single encounter on their wedding night had been enough to seed a Baratheon heir within her, and that this would be all she had to remind her of her husband until the war in the Stepstones was over.
These days, life in Casterly Rock was unusually peaceful and pleasant, far more so than it had ever been in her turbulent childhood. With her father dead, and all of her brothers away, along with her nephew Damon, the Rock had become the domain of the lionesses.
Lady Doreah reigned in her husband’s absence, and it seemed that finally Mother was beginning to accept her reduced role as Dowager. Teirney had come visiting, and her cheerful presence countered the cattiness of her sister Nymeria, and the yet unformed character of young Sansa. But Amelia was beginning to feel restless. She was not one to rest on silk cushions and idle about all day. She managed to make herself useful to Doreah in some ways, but it was not quite the same as having one’s own work to do. And raising Theodore was fairly easy, as all the women of the Rock, and the staff, helped her in it.
She got an idea of what to do when she saw Doreah teaching Teirney how to train her pet lion one day. Amelia did not allow the family lions anywhere near the nursery quarters, but she had an idea for a baby-friendly substitute. Her golden-haired dogs.
Since she was a child, Amelia had been fond of a westerland breed of dog called the hornhound, so named because they had they had originally been bred by the Braxes of Hornvale. The hornhounds were sleek, golden, and long-haired, beautiful hunting dogs suited to the hilly terrain of the westerlands. Amelia had always had at least two hornhounds following her around since she was six years old, when Lady Brax gave her a pair of puppies for her nameday.
Amelia usually used them to play and hunt with, but now that she had a family of her own, it came to her mind that guard dogs would be a very good thing to have. She would breed and train her hornhounds to be the best guard dogs possible.
She had two currently, a two year old male she had named Little Fool because of his silly capers, and a one year old female she had named Little Maid, because the female was sweet and gentle and seemed to love all small children. Their temperaments were so nice and affectionate that Amelia knew she had her work cut out for her.
Amelia enlisted the help of the Rock’s kennel-master, Garth, and together they led Little Fool and Little Maid out to a yard. The dogs gamboled around them playfully, tails wagging, eyes bright, tongues hanging out as they enjoyed the bright sunshine.
“I worry, Garth,” Amelia said, scratching Little Fool behind the ears as Little Maid vied jealously for attention. “They seem too sweet for this! If a man ever advanced towards me with a knife, they’d act like it was a game!”
“I wouldn’t despair, my lady,” old, grizzled Garth had worked with dogs for a long time. “The best protection dogs are friendly. You don’t want a bad-tempered brute of a dog guarding you. These two aren’t fearful, they’re just friendly. It makes all the difference. And they have energy, and hate lazing about, and love to play. All of these are good signs.”
They began working with the dogs. Both Amelia and Garth wore protective, thick gloves that covered their hands and arms. Little Fool and Little Maid had already been trained to obey basic commands when they were puppies. They started with Little Maid, who was more able to focus than Little Fool.
Garth tapped her nose with a gloved hand. She looked at him good-humoredly. He kept tapping her and moving away, tapping her and moving away, until she began to grow irritated. Amelia could see Little Maid’s impressive patience was being sorely tried, and felt bad for the dog. At Garth’s tenth tapping attempt, Little Maid gave a warning growl. He did it again, and she lunged forward to give the glove a warning nip.
“Attack!” Garth said loudly, at this precise moment. “Good girl, Little Maid! You’re a very good girl, aren’t you?” Confused, torn between irritation and cautious happiness at this praise (Little Maid loved being a good girl), the dog wagged her tail uncertainly.
“Give her a treat from the basket, my lady,” Garth said. Amelia turned around to a covered basket that had been kept on top of a few bales of hay, to prevent the dogs from getting to it. With her ungloved hand, she pulled out a strip of bacon from the basket, waved Little Fool away when he came for it, and gave it to Little Maid. “You’re the best girl, Little Maid,” she said, ruffling the dog’s ears.
Garth encouraged her to try the technique on Little Fool, while he continued to work with Little Maid. As the afternoon wore on and bacon steadily disappeared from the “reward basket”, the hornhounds began to gradually understand what the command “Attack!” meant. Eventually, Amelia and Garth stood at the distance from the hornhounds, and cried “Attack!” simultaneously. The golden hounds leaped up at them, snarling, and took the gloved hands firmly between their teeth.
Amelia felt satisfied. “Will my husband change our sigil from a stag to a hound, do you think Garth?”
Result
-Amelia begins to move towards Noteworthy in Hound training/breeding
These days, life in Casterly Rock was unusually peaceful and pleasant, far more so than it had ever been in her turbulent childhood. With her father dead, and all of her brothers away, along with her nephew Damon, the Rock had become the domain of the lionesses.
Lady Doreah reigned in her husband’s absence, and it seemed that finally Mother was beginning to accept her reduced role as Dowager. Teirney had come visiting, and her cheerful presence countered the cattiness of her sister Nymeria, and the yet unformed character of young Sansa. But Amelia was beginning to feel restless. She was not one to rest on silk cushions and idle about all day. She managed to make herself useful to Doreah in some ways, but it was not quite the same as having one’s own work to do. And raising Theodore was fairly easy, as all the women of the Rock, and the staff, helped her in it.
She got an idea of what to do when she saw Doreah teaching Teirney how to train her pet lion one day. Amelia did not allow the family lions anywhere near the nursery quarters, but she had an idea for a baby-friendly substitute. Her golden-haired dogs.
Since she was a child, Amelia had been fond of a westerland breed of dog called the hornhound, so named because they had they had originally been bred by the Braxes of Hornvale. The hornhounds were sleek, golden, and long-haired, beautiful hunting dogs suited to the hilly terrain of the westerlands. Amelia had always had at least two hornhounds following her around since she was six years old, when Lady Brax gave her a pair of puppies for her nameday.
Amelia usually used them to play and hunt with, but now that she had a family of her own, it came to her mind that guard dogs would be a very good thing to have. She would breed and train her hornhounds to be the best guard dogs possible.
She had two currently, a two year old male she had named Little Fool because of his silly capers, and a one year old female she had named Little Maid, because the female was sweet and gentle and seemed to love all small children. Their temperaments were so nice and affectionate that Amelia knew she had her work cut out for her.
Amelia enlisted the help of the Rock’s kennel-master, Garth, and together they led Little Fool and Little Maid out to a yard. The dogs gamboled around them playfully, tails wagging, eyes bright, tongues hanging out as they enjoyed the bright sunshine.
“I worry, Garth,” Amelia said, scratching Little Fool behind the ears as Little Maid vied jealously for attention. “They seem too sweet for this! If a man ever advanced towards me with a knife, they’d act like it was a game!”
“I wouldn’t despair, my lady,” old, grizzled Garth had worked with dogs for a long time. “The best protection dogs are friendly. You don’t want a bad-tempered brute of a dog guarding you. These two aren’t fearful, they’re just friendly. It makes all the difference. And they have energy, and hate lazing about, and love to play. All of these are good signs.”
They began working with the dogs. Both Amelia and Garth wore protective, thick gloves that covered their hands and arms. Little Fool and Little Maid had already been trained to obey basic commands when they were puppies. They started with Little Maid, who was more able to focus than Little Fool.
Garth tapped her nose with a gloved hand. She looked at him good-humoredly. He kept tapping her and moving away, tapping her and moving away, until she began to grow irritated. Amelia could see Little Maid’s impressive patience was being sorely tried, and felt bad for the dog. At Garth’s tenth tapping attempt, Little Maid gave a warning growl. He did it again, and she lunged forward to give the glove a warning nip.
“Attack!” Garth said loudly, at this precise moment. “Good girl, Little Maid! You’re a very good girl, aren’t you?” Confused, torn between irritation and cautious happiness at this praise (Little Maid loved being a good girl), the dog wagged her tail uncertainly.
“Give her a treat from the basket, my lady,” Garth said. Amelia turned around to a covered basket that had been kept on top of a few bales of hay, to prevent the dogs from getting to it. With her ungloved hand, she pulled out a strip of bacon from the basket, waved Little Fool away when he came for it, and gave it to Little Maid. “You’re the best girl, Little Maid,” she said, ruffling the dog’s ears.
Garth encouraged her to try the technique on Little Fool, while he continued to work with Little Maid. As the afternoon wore on and bacon steadily disappeared from the “reward basket”, the hornhounds began to gradually understand what the command “Attack!” meant. Eventually, Amelia and Garth stood at the distance from the hornhounds, and cried “Attack!” simultaneously. The golden hounds leaped up at them, snarling, and took the gloved hands firmly between their teeth.
Amelia felt satisfied. “Will my husband change our sigil from a stag to a hound, do you think Garth?”
Result
-Amelia begins to move towards Noteworthy in Hound training/breeding
Hope you all are well and happy.