I don't know in what corner of the garden his busy little life now takes
its everlasting rest. None of us had the courage to stand by, that
summer morning, when Morris, our old negro man, buried him, and we felt
sympathetic for Morris that the sad job should fall upon him, for Morris
loved him just as we did. Perhaps if we had loved him less, more
sentimentally than deeply, we should have indulged in some sort of
appropriate ceremonial, and marked his grave with a little stone. But,
as I have said, his grave, like that of the great prophet, is a secret
to this day. None of us has ever asked Morris about it, and his grief
has been as reticent as our own. I wondered the other night, as I walked
the garden in a veiled moonlight, whether it was near the lotus-tanks he
was lying--for I remembered how he would stand there, almost by the
hour, watching the goldfish that we had engaged to protect us against
mosquitoes, moving mysteriously under the shadows of the great flat
leaves. In his short life he grew to understand much of this strange
world, but he never got used to those goldfish; and often I have seen
him, after a long wistful contemplation of them, turn away with a sort
of half-frightened, puzzled bark, as though to say that he gave it up.
Or, does he lie, I wonder, somewhere among the long grass of the
salt-marsh, that borders our garden, and in perigee tides widens out
into a lake. There indeed would be his appropriate country, for there
was the happy hunting-ground through which in life he was never tired of
roaming, in the inextinguishable hope of mink, and with the occasional
certainty of a water-rat.
He had come to us almost as mysteriously as he went away; a fox-terrier
puppy wandered out of the Infinite to the neighbourhood of our ice-box,
one November morning, and now wandered back again. Technically, he was
just graduating out of puppyhood, though, like the most charming human
beings, he never really grew up, and remained, in behaviour and
imagination, a puppy to the end. He was a dog of good breed and good
manners, evidently with gentlemanly antecedents canine and human. There
were those more learned in canine aristocracy than ourselves who said
that his large leaf-like, but very becoming, ears meant a bar sinister
somewhere in his pedigree, but to our eyes those only made him
better-looking; and, for the rest of him, he was race--race nervous,
sensitive, refined, and courageous--from the point of his all-searching
nose to the end of his stub of a tail, which the conventional docking
had seemed but to make the more expressive. We had already one dog in
the family when he arrived, and two Maltese cats. With the cats he was
never able to make friends, in spite of persistent well-intentioned
efforts. It was evident to us that his advances were all made in the
spirit of play, and from a desire of comradeship, the two crowning needs
of his blithe sociable spirit. But the cats received them in an attitude
of invincible distrust, of which his poor nose frequently bore the sorry
signature. Yet they had become friendly enough with the other dog, an
elderly setter, by name Teddy, whose calm, lordly, slow-moving ways were
due to a combination of natural dignity, vast experience of life, and
some rheumatism. As Teddy would sit philosophizing by the hearth of an
evening, immovable and plunged in memories, yet alert on the instant to
a footfall a quarter of a mile away, they would rub their sinuous
smoke-grey bodies to and fro beneath his jaws, just as though he were a
piece of furniture; and he would take as little notice of them as though
he were the leg of the piano; though sometimes he would wag his tail
gently to and fro, or rap it softly on the floor, as though appreciating
the delicate attention.
* * * * *
Of Teddy's reception of the newcomer we had at first some slight
misgiving, for, amiable as we have just seen him with his Maltese
companions, and indeed as he is generally by nature, his is the
amiability that comes of conscious power, and is his, so to say, by
right of conquest; for of all neighbouring dogs he is the acknowledged
king. The reverse of quarrelsome, the peace of his declining years has
been won by much historical fighting, and his reputation among the dogs
of his acquaintance is such that it is seldom necessary for him to
assert his position. It is only some hapless stranger ignorant of his
standing that will occasionally provoke him to a display of those
fighting qualities he grows more and more reluctant to employ. Even with
such he is comparatively merciful; stern, but never brutal. Usually all
that is necessary is for him to look at them steadfastly for a few
moments in a peculiar way. This seems to convince them that, after all,
discretion is the better part, and slowly and sadly they turn around in
a curious cowed way, and walk off, apparently too scared to run, with
Teddy, like Fate, grimly at their heels, steadily "pointing" them off
the premises. We were a little anxious, therefore, as to how Teddy would
take our little terrier, with his fussy, youthful self-importance, and
eternal restless poking into other folks' affairs. But Teddy, as we
might have told ourselves, had had a long and varied experience of
terriers, and had nothing to learn from us. Yet I have no doubt that,
with his instinctive courtesy, he divined the wishes of the family in
regard to the newcomer, and was, therefore, predisposed in his favour.
This, however, did not save the evidently much overawed youngster from a
stern and searching examination, the most trying part of which seemed
to be that long, silent, hypnotizing contemplation of him, which is
Teddy's way of asserting his dignity. The little dog visibly trembled
beneath the great one's gaze, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and
his eyes wandering helplessly from side to side; and he seemed to be
saying, in his dog way: "O yes! I know you are a very great and
important personage--and I am only a poor little puppy of no importance.
Only please let me go on living--and you will see how well I will
behave." Teddy seemed to be satisfied that some such recognition and
submission had been tendered him; so presently he wagged his tail, that
had up till then been rigid as a ramrod, and not only the little
terrier, but all of us, breathed again. Yet it was some time before
Teddy would admit him into anything like what one might call intimacy,
and premature attempts at gamesome familiarity were checked by the
gathering thunder of a lazy growl that unmistakably bade the youngster
keep his place. But real friendship eventually grew between them,
on Teddy's side a sort of big-brother affectionate tutelage and
guardianship, and on Puppy's--for, though we tried many, we never found
any other satisfactory name for him but "Puppy"--a reverent admiration
and watchful worshipping imitation. No great man was ever more anxiously
copied by some slavish flatterer than that old sleepy carelessly-great
setter by that eager, ambitious little terrier. The occasions when to
bark and when not to bark, for example. One could actually see Puppy
studying the old dog's face on doubtful occasions of the kind. Boiling
over, as he visibly was, with the desire to bark his soul out, yet he
could be seen unmistakably restraining himself, till Teddy, after some
preliminary soliloquizing in deep undertones, had made up his mind that
the suspicious shuffling-by of probably some inoffensive Italian workman
demanded investigation, and lumberingly risen to his feet and made for
the door. Then, like a bunch of firecrackers, Puppy was at the heels,
all officious assistance, and the two would disappear like an old and a
young thunderbolt into the resounding distance.
* * * * *
Teddy's friendship had seemed to be definitely won on an occasion which
brought home to one the quaint resemblance between the codes and ways of
dogs and those of schoolboys. When the winter came on, a rather severe
one, it soon became evident that the little short-haired fellow suffered
considerably from the cold. Out on walks, he was visibly shivering,
though he made no fuss about it. So one of the angels in the house
knitted for him a sort of woollen sweater buttoned down his neck and
under his belly, and trimmed it with some white fur that gave it an
exceedingly smart appearance. Teddy did not happen to be there when it
was first tried on, and, for the moment, Puppy had to be content with
our admiration, and his own vast sense of importance. Certainly, a more
self-satisfied terrier never was than he who presently sped out, to air
his new finery before an astonished neighbourhood. But alas! you should
have seen him a few minutes afterwards. We had had the curiosity to
stroll out to see how he had got on, and presently, in a bit of rocky
woodland near by, we came upon a curious scene. In the midst of a clump
of red cedars, three great dogs, our Teddy, a wicked old black
retriever, and a bustling be-wigged and be-furred collie, stood in a
circle round Puppy, seated on his haunches, trembling with fear, tongue
lolling and eyes wandering, for all the world as though they were
holding a court-martial, or, at all events, a hazing-party. The offence
evidently lay with that dandified new sweater. One and another of the
dogs smelt at it, then tugged at it in evident disgust; and, as each
time Puppy made a move to get away, all girt him round with guttural
thunder of disapproval, as much as to say: "Do you call that a thing for
a manly dog to go around in? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you
miserable dandy."
We couldn't help reflecting that it was all very well for those great
comfortable long-haired dogs to talk, naturally protected as they were
from the cold. Yet that evidently cut no figure with them, and they went
on sniffing and tugging and growling, till we thought our poor Puppy's
eyes and tongue would drop out with fear. Yet, all the time, they
seemed to be enjoying his plight, seemed to be smiling grimly together,
wicked old experienced brutes as they were.
Presently the idea of the thing seemed to occur to Puppy, or out of his
extremity a new soul was born within him, for suddenly an infinite
disgust of his new foppery seemed to take possession of him too, and,
regaining his courage, he turned savagely upon it, ripping it this way
and that, and struggling with might and main to rid himself of the
accursed thing. Presently he stood free, and barks of approval at once
went up from his judges. He had come through his ordeal, and was once
more a dog among dogs. Great was the rejoicing among his friends, and
the occasion having been duly celebrated by joint destruction and
contumely of the offending garment, Teddy and he returned home, friends
for life.
* * * * *
It is to be feared that that friendship, deep and tender as it grew to
be on both sides, perhaps particularly on Teddy's, was the indirect
cause of Puppy's death. I have referred to Teddy's bark, and how he is
not wont to waste it on trivial occasions, or without due thought. On
the other hand, he is proud of it, and loves to practice it--just for
its own sake, particularly on early mornings, when, however fine a bark
it is, most of our neighbours would rather continue sleeping than wake
up to listen to it. There is no doubt at all, for those who understand
him, that it is a purely artistic bark. He means no harm to any one by
it. When the milkman, his private enemy, comes at seven, the bark is
quite different. This barking of Teddy's seems to be literally at
nothing. Around five o'clock on summer mornings, he plants himself on a
knob of rock overlooking the salt marsh and barks, possibly in honour of
the rising sun, but with no other perceptible purpose. So have I heard
men rise in the dawn to practice the cornet--but they were men, so they
ran no risk of their lives. Teddy's practicing, however, has now been
carried on for several years in the teeth of no little peril; and, had
it not been for much human influence employed on his behalf, he would
long since have antedated his little friend in Paradise. When that
little friend, however, came to assist and emulate him in those morning
recitals, adding to his bark an occasional--I am convinced purely
playful--bite, I am inclined to think that a sentiment grew in the
neighbourhood that one dog at a time was enough. At all events, Teddy
still barks at dawn as of old, but our little Puppy barks no more.
Before the final quietus came to him, there were several occasions on
which the Black dog, called Death, had almost caught him in his jaws.
One there was in especial. He had, I believe, no hatred for any living
thing save Italian workmen and automobiles. I have seen an Italian
workman throw his pick-axe at him, and then take to his heels in
grotesque flight. But the pick-axe missed him, as did many another
clumsily hurled missile.
* * * * *
An automobile, however, on one occasion, came nearer its mark. Like
every other dog that ever barked, particularly terriers, Puppy delighted
to harass the feet of fast trotting horses, mockingly running ahead of
them, barking with affected savagery, and by a miracle evading their
on-coming hoofs--which to him, tiny thing as he was, must have seemed
like trip-hammers pounding down from the sky. But horses understand such
gaiety in terriers. They understand that it is only their foolish fun.
Automobiles are different. They have no souls. They see nothing engaging
in having their tires snapped at, as they whirl swiftly by; and, one
day, after Puppy had flung himself in a fine fury at the tires of one of
these soulless things, he gave a sharp yelp--"not cowardly!"--and lay a
moment on the roadside. But only a moment; then he went limping off on
his three sound legs, and hid himself away from all sympathy, in some
unknown spot. It was in vain we called and sought him, and only after
two days was he discovered, in the remotest corner of a great rocky
cellar, determined apparently to die alone in an almost inaccessible
privacy of wood and coal. Yet, when at last we persuaded him that life
was still sweet and carried him upstairs into the great living-room, and
the beautiful grandmother, who knows the sorrows of animals almost as
the old Roman seer knew the languages of beasts and birds, had taken
him in charge and made a cosy nest of comforters for him by the fire,
and tempted his languid appetite--to which the very thought of bones
was, of course, an offence--with warm, savory-smelling soup; then, he
who had certainly been no coward--for his thigh was a cruel lump of pain
which no human being would have kept so patiently to himself--became
suddenly, like many human invalids, a perfect glutton of self-pity; and
when we smoothed and patted him and told him how sorry we were, it was
laughable, and almost uncanny, how he suddenly set up a sort of moaning
talk to us, as much as to say that he certainly had had a pretty bad
time, was really something of a hero, and deserved all the sympathy we
would give him. So far as one can be sure about anything so mysterious
as animals, I am sure that from then on he luxuriated in his little
hospital by the fireside, and played upon the feelings of his beautiful
nurse, and of his various solicitous visitors, with all the histrionic
skill of the spoiled and petted convalescent. Suddenly, however, one
day, he forgot his part. He heard some inspiring barking going on
nearby--and, in a flash, his comforters were thrust aside, and he was
off and away to join the fun. Then, of course, we knew that he was well
again; though he still went briskly about his various business on three
legs for several days.
His manner was quite different, however, the afternoon he had so
evidently come home to die. There was no pose about the little forlorn
figure, which, after a mysterious absence of two days, suddenly
appeared, as we were taking tea on the veranda, already the very ghost
of himself. Wearily he sought the cave of the beautiful grandmother's
skirts, where, whenever he had had a scolding, he was wont always to
take refuge--barking, fiercely, as from an inaccessible fortress, at his
enemies.
* * * * *
But, this afternoon, there was evidently no bark in him, poor little
fellow; everything about him said that he had just managed to crawl home
to die. His brisk white coat seemed dank with cold dews, and there was
something shadowy about him and strangely quiet. His eyes, always so
alert, were strangely heavy and indifferent, yet questioning and somehow
accusing. He seemed to be asking us why a little dog should suffer so,
and what was going to happen to him, and what did it all mean. Alas! We
could not tell him; and none of us dare say to each other that our
little comrade in the mystery of life was going to die. But a silence
fell over us all, and the beautiful grandmother took him into her care,
and so well did her great and wise heart nurse him through the night
that next morning it almost seemed as though we had been wrong; for a
flash of his old spirit was in him again, and, though his little legs
shook under him, it was plain that he wanted to try and be up at his
day's work on the veranda, warning off the passer-by, or in the garden
carrying on his eternal investigations, or farther afield in the
councils and expeditions of his fellows. So we let him have his way, and
for a while he seemed happier and stronger for the sunshine, and the old
familiar scents and sounds. But the one little tired husky bark he gave
at his old enemy, the Italian workman, passing by, would have broken
your heart; and the effort he made with a bone, as he visited the
well-remembered neighbourhood of the ice-box for the last time, was
piteous beyond telling. Those sharp, strong teeth that once could bite
and grind through anything could do nothing with it now. To lick it
sadly with tired lips, in a sort of hopeless way, was all that was left;
and there was really a look in his face as though he accepted this
mortal defeat, as he lay down, evidently exhausted with his exertions,
on a bank nearby. But once more his spirit seemed to revive, and he
scrambled to his legs again and wearily crawled to the back of the
house, where the beautiful grandmother loves to sit and look over the
glittering salt-marsh in the summer afternoons.
* * * * *
Of course, he knew that she was there. She had been his best friend in
this strange world. His last effort was naturally to be near her again.
Almost he reached that kind cave of her skirts. Only another yard or two
and he had been there. But the energy that had seemed irrepressible and
everlasting had come to its end, and the little body had to give in at
last, and lie down wearily once more with no life left but the love in
its fading eyes.
There are some, I suppose, who may wonder how one can write about the
death of a mere dog like this; and cannot understand how the death of a
little terrier can make the world seem a lonelier place. But there are
others, I know, who will scarce need telling, men and women with little
ghosts of their own haunting their moonlit gardens; strange, appealing,
faithful companions, kind little friendly beings that journeyed with
them awhile the pilgrimage of the soul.
I often wonder if Teddy misses his little busy playfellow and disciple
as we do; if, perhaps, as he barks over the marsh of a morning, he is
sending him a message. He goes about the place with nonchalant greatness
as of old, and the Maltese cats still rub their sinuous smoke-grey
bodies to and fro beneath his jaws at evening. There is no sign of
sorrow upon him. But he is old and very wise, and keeps strange
knowledge to himself. So, who can say?