If there was nothing else to do he would go to the stone quarry and keep the quarrymen company, sharing their dinner and hunting away the cows and donkeys that came too near.

Then at six o'clock he would turn up at the cricket-field, where a few young enthusiasts would always attend to practise after working hours.
Living this way Jack was, of course, known to everybody--as well known as the burly parson, the tall policeman, and the lazy girl who acted as postman and strolled about the parish once a day delivering the letters.
When Jack trotted down the village street he received as many greetings as any human inhabitant--"Hullo, Jack!" or "Morning, Jack," or "Where be going, Jack ?" But all this variety, and all he could do to fit himself into and be a part of the village life and fill up his time, did not satisfy him.
Happiness for Jack was out on the moor--its lonely wet thorny places, pregnant with fascinating scents, not of flowers and odorous herbs, but of alert, warm-blooded, and swift-footed creatures.

And I was going there--would I, could I, be so heartless as to refuse to take him?
You see that Jack, being a dog, could not go there alone.

He was a social being by instinct as well as training, dependent on others, or on the one who was his head and master.

His human master, or the man who took him out and spoke to him in a tone of authority, represented the head of the pack--the leading dog for the time being, albeit a dog that walked on his hind legs and spoke a bow-wow dialect of his own.
I thought of all this and of many things besides.