The red book of animal stories/How the Reindeer Live

HOW THE REINDEER LIVE

There is perhaps no animal in the world so useful to man as the reindeer, at least none that can be put to so many uses. The flesh of a sheep is eaten, and its wool is woven into cloth; but then we should never think of harnessing a sheep even to a baby-carriage. A camel serves, in the desert, the purpose of a van and of a riding horse in one, and his hair makes warm and light garments; but he would give us a very nasty dinner, and the same may be said of some other useful creatures. A reindeer, however, is good to eat, and makes an excellent steed; its milk is nourishing; the softer parts of its horns, when properly prepared, are considered a delicacy; the bones are turned to account as tools; the sinews are twisted into thread, and, all the long winter, the skin and hair keep the dwellers in the far north snug and warm. Take away the reindeer, and the inhabitants of every country north of latitude 60°—sometimes even south of it—would feel as helpless as we should in England if there were no more sheep or cows!

Reindeers live, by choice, on the slopes of mountains, and require no better food than the moss, or little Alpine plants, which they find growing in the crevices of the rock. Sometimes, in very cold places, or when the winter is particularly severe, they take shelter in the forests; but when spring is in the air once more, out they come in great herds, thin and sore from the bites of newly awakened insects, and wander away in search of fresher pasture. In August and September, when the sun has grown too strong for them, they seek the shade of the woods again.

In their wild state reindeer are great travellers, and as they are very strong, and excellent swimmers, they go immense distances, especially the reindeer of North America, who will cross the ice to Greenland in the early part of the year, and stay there till the end of October, when they come back to their old quarters. They are most sociable creatures, and are never happy unless they have three or four hundred companions, while herds of a thousand have sometimes been counted. The females and calves always are placed in front, and the big bucks bring up the rear, to see that nobody falls out of the ranks from weakness.

We are accustomed to think of a reindeer as having thick brownish hair, but this is only partly true of him. Like many animals that live in the north, the colour of the hair is different in winter from what it is in summer. Twice a year the reindeer changes his coat, and the immense thick covering which has been so comfortable all through the fierce cold, begins to fall in early spring and a short hair to take its place, so that by the time summer comes, he is nice and cool, and looks quite another creature from what he did in the winter. As the days shorten and grow frosty, the coat becomes longer and closer, and by the time the first snow falls the deer is quite prepared to meet it.

Though reindeer prefer mountain-sides when they can get them, their broad and wide-cleft hoofs are well adapted for the lowlands of the north of Europe and of America, which are a morass in summer and a snow-field in winter. Here are to be seen whole herds of them, either walking with a regular rapid step, or else going at a quick trot; but in either case always making a peculiar crackling noise with their feet. They have an extraordinarily acute sense of smell, and will detect a man at a distance of live or six hundred paces, and as their eyes are as good as their ears, the huntsman has much ado to get up to them. They are dainty in their food, choosing out only the most delicate of the Alpine plants, and their skins cannot be as tough as they look, for they are very sensitive to the bites of mosquitoes, gnats, and particularly of midges. Reindeer are very cautious, as many hunters have found to their cost, and mistrustful of men; but are ready to be friendly with any cows or horses they may come across, which must make the task of taming them a great deal easier. They have their regular hours for meals too, and early in the mornings and late in the evenings may be seen going out for their breakfasts and suppers, which, in summer, consist, in the highlands, of the leaves and flowers of the snow-ranunculus, reindeer sorrel, a favourite kind of grass, and, better than all, the young shoots of the dwarf birch. In the afternoons they lie down and rest, and choose for their place of repose a patch of snow, or a glacier if one is at hand.

In order to tame a reindeer, you must catch him when he is very young, and even then it is no use to expect him to become as friendly as a cow or a horse. He always has something half wild about him, which peeps out every now and then when you least expect it, and often when it is extremely inconvenient. The tame reindeer is his master’s pride and stay, his joy and his riches, and often his torment too! A Laplander who owns a herd of a few hundred reindeer thinks himself the happiest man on earth, and would not change lots with anybody. Yet, after all, it almost seems as if he belonged to the reindeer, and not that the reindeer belonged to him! Where they choose to go, he must follow, and neither marshy ground, nor seas, nor rivers, nor anything else, make any difference to them. For months he spends his life in the open air, bitten by insects all the summer, *and by frost all the winter, for he continually finds himself in places where no wood is to be got, so he cannot have even the comfort of a fire. Food and water are not always to be had either, and sometimes, in the end, he becomes almost as much a wild animal as the reindeer themselves. When he eats, he eats strange things; as for washing, he never thinks about that at all. His sole companion is his dog, with whom he shares whatever he has; but all his hardships seem light, for are they not suffered for his beloved herd?

In Norway and Lapland great herds of reindeer may be seen, during the summer, wandering along the banks of rivers, or making for the mountains, returning with the approach of winter to their old quarters. With the first snow-fall they are safe under shelter, for this is the time when wolves are most to be feared. In the spring they are let loose again, and are driven carefully to some spot which is freer from midges than the rest. And so life goes on from year to year.

Reindeer herding is by no means so easy as it looks, and it would be quite impossible, even to a Lapp, if it were not for the help of dogs, who are part of the family. They are small creatures, hardly so big as a Spitz, and very thin, with close compact hair all over their bodies. These dogs are very obedient, and understand every movement of their master’s eyelid. They will not only keep the herd together on land, but follow them into a river, or across an arm of the sea. It is they who rescue the weaklings in danger of drowning, after their winter’s fast, and in the autumn, when the reindeer have grown strong from good living, drive the herd back again through the bay.

A herd of reindeer on the march is a beautiful sight to see. They go quickly along, faster than any other domestic animal, and are kept together by the herdsman and his dogs, who are untiring in their efforts to bring up stragglers.

When a good stretch of pasture is found, the Lapps build a fold, into which the reindeer are driven every evening, so that the work of the milkers may be lightened. These folds are made of the stems of birches placed close together and strengthened with cross pieces and strong props. They are about seven feet high, and have two wide doors. At milking-time, which the dogs know as well as the men, the animals are driven inside by their faithful guardians, and milking begins busily. The young ones are generally left outside to graze or play, under the watchful eyes of the dogs, who see that they do not wander too far away. Inside the fold the noise is really deafening. The reindeer run to and fro, giving loud cries and throwing their heads about; which, as their horns are very big, is not pleasant for the milkers. Any one walking that way would be struck, first, with the sound of the movement and commotion going on in the enclosure, and this would most likely be followed in a few minutes by a crackling noise, as if a hundred electric batteries were at work at once.

In the middle of the fold are thick tree trunks to which the. reindeer which have to be milked are fastened, for without these they would not stand still one single instant. The milkers have a thong which can be thrown round the neck or over the horns of the animal, and this is drawn closer till it is tied by a slip noose over the creature’s mouth, so as to prevent it from biting. Then the ends are made secure to the milking block, and the milking begins at last—the animal all the while struggling hard to get free. But the Lapps know how to manage them, and only draw the cord tighter over the nose, so that the creatures are bound in self-defence to remain quiet. The milk flows into a sort of large bowl with handles, but the Lapps are both careless and dirty in their ways, and not only waste a great deal of the milk, but leave so many hairs in it that it is necessary to strain it through a cloth before it can be drunk. However, the milk itself is very good, and as thick as cream, and makes excellent cheese. The milking once over, the doors are opened, and the animals scamper out joyously.

Still, altogether, the life of the owner of a herd of reindeer cannot be said to be an idle one. He is always on the tramp, always on the watch; he suffers thirst and hunger, cold and fatigue, and it is very lucky he is in general so well satisfied with his lot, and thinks himself the most fortunate man in the world.