"Dawson," I said, "what have you done with her?"
"She's outside in the carriage," replied Dawson.
I jumped up to ring the bell, saying, "Why, Dawson, pray have the young
lady in. It is cruel to leave her by herself."
Dawson jumped up too, and placing his hand on my arm, prevented me from
touching the bell-rope.
"Nay, nay!" he cried, almost wildly, I thought; "pray do not think of
it. She would bite you, tear you, rend you. Oh, she is a _vixen_!"
This last word he pronounced with great emphasis, and sinking once more
into the chair, and gazing abstractedly at the fire, he added, "And
still I love her, good little thing!"
I now felt quite sorry for Dawson. A moment ago I merely _thought_ he
was out of his mind, now I felt perfectly sure of it.
There was a few minutes' silence; and then suddenly my friend rushed to
the window, exclaiming--
"There, there! She's at it again! She has got the cabby by the
coat-tails, and she'll eat her way through him in five minutes, if I
don't go."
And out he ran; and I followed, more mystified than ever; and there in
the carriage was no young lady at all, but only the dear little Dandie
whose story I am writing. She was most earnestly engaged in tearing the
driver's blue coat into the narrowest strips, and growling all the while
most vigorously.
She quieted down, however, immediately on perceiving her master, jumped
into his arms, and began to lick his face.
So the mystery was cleared up; and half an hour afterwards I was
persuaded to become the owner of that savage Dandie, and Dawson had
kissed her, and left lighter in heart than when he had come.
I set aside one of the best barrel kennels for her, had a quantity of
nice dry straw placed therein, and gave her two dishes, one to be filled
daily with pure clean water--without which, remember, no dog can be
healthy--and the other to hold her food.
Now, I am not afraid of any dog. I have owned many scores in my time,
and by treating them gently and firmly, I always managed to subdue even
the most vicious among them, and get them to love me. But I must
confess that this Dandie was the most savage animal that I had ever yet
met.
When I went to take her dish away next morning, to wash and replenish
it, only my own celerity in beating a retreat prevented my legs from
being viciously bitten. I then endeavoured to remove the dish with the
stable besom. Alas for the besom! Howling and growling with passion,
with scintillating eyes and flashing teeth, she tore that broom to
atoms, and then attacked the handle. But I succeeded in feeding her,
after which she was quieter.
Now, dogs, to keep them in health, need daily exercise, and I determined
Dandie should not want that, wild though she seemed to be. There was
another scene when I went to unloose her; and I found the only chance of
doing so was to treat her as they do wild bulls in some parts of the
country. I got a hook and attached it to the end of a pole the same
length as the chain. I could then keep her at a safe distance. And
thus for a whole week I had to lead her out for exercise. I lost no
opportunity of making friends with her, and in about a fortnight's time
I could both take her dish away without a broom and lead her out without
the pole.
She was still the vixen, however, which her former master had called
her. When she was presented with a biscuit, she wouldn't think of
eating it, before she had had her own peculiar game with it. She would
lay it first against the back of the barrel, and for a time pretend not
to see it, then suddenly she would look round, next fly at it, growling
and yelping with rage, and shake it as she would a rat. Into such a
perfect fury and frenzy did she work herself during her battle with the
biscuit, that sometimes on hearing her chain rattle she would turn round
and seize and shake it viciously. I have often, too, at these times
seen her bite her tail because it dared to wag--bite it till the blood
sprang, then with a howl of pain bite and bite it again and again. At
last I made up my mind to feed her only on soil food, and that
resolution I have since stuck to.
Poor Dandie had now been with us many months, and upon the whole her
life, being almost constantly on the chain, was by no means a very happy
one. Her hair, too, got matted, and she looked altogether morose and
dirty, and it was then that the thought occurred to my wife and me that
she would be much better _dead_. I considered the matter in all its
bearings for fully half an hour, and it was then I suddenly jumped up
from my chair.
"What _are_ you going to do?" asked my wife.
"I'm going to wash Dandie; wash her, comb out all her mats, dry her, and
brush her, for, do you know, I feel quite guilty in having neglected
her."
My wife, in terror of the consequences of washing so vicious a dog,
tried to dissuade me. But my mind was made up, and shortly after so was
Dandie's bed--of clean dry straw in a warm loft above the stable.
"Firmly and kindly does it," I had said to myself, as I seized the vixen
by the nape of the neck, and in spite of her efforts to rend any part of
my person she could lay hold of, I popped her into the tub.
Vixen, did I say? She was popped into the tub a vixen, sure enough, but
I soon found out I had "tamed the shrew," and after she was rinsed in
cold water, well dried, combed, and brushed, the poor little thing
jumped on my knee and kissed me. Then I took her for a run--a thing one
ought never to neglect after washing a dog. And you wouldn't have known
Dandie now, so beautiful did she look.
Dandie is still alive, and lies at my feet as I write, a living example
of the power of kindness. She loves us all, and will let my sister,
wife, or little niece do anything with her, but she is still most
viciously savage to nearly all strangers. She is the best guard-dog
that I ever possessed, and a terror to tramps. She is very wise too,
this Dandie of mine, for when out walking with any one of my relations,
she is as gentle as a lamb, and will let anybody fondle her. She may
thus be taken along with us with impunity when making calls upon
friends, but very few indeed of those friends dare go near her when in
her own garden or kennel. We have been well rewarded for our kindness
to Dandie, for although her usual residence by day is her own barrel,
and by night she has a share of the straw with the other dogs, she is
often taken into the house, and in spite of our residence being in a
somewhat lonely situation, whenever I go from home for the night she
becomes a parlour boarder, and I feel quite easy in my mind because
_Dandie is in the house_.
"Well," said Frank, when I had finished, "if that little story proves
anything, it proves, I think, that almost any dog can be won by
kindness."
"Or any animal of almost any kind," I added.
"Ah!" cried Frank, laughing, "but you failed with your hyaena. Didn't
you?"
"Gratitude," I replied, smiling, "does not occupy a very large corner in
a hyaena's heart, Frank."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note. Since writing the above, poor Dandie has gone to her little grave
in the orchard.