I have already spoken; her oddities were endless. We had and still have
a dear friend,--"Cousin Susan" she is called by many who are not her
cousins--a perfect lady, and, though hopelessly deaf, as gentle and
contented as was ever Griselda with the full use of her ears; quite as
great a pet, in a word, of us all as Duchie was of ours. One day we
found her mourning the death of a cat, a great playfellow of the
Sputchard's, and her small Grace was with us when we were condoling with
her, and we saw that she looked very wistfully at Duchie. I wrote on the
slate, "Would you like her?" and she through her tears said, "You know
that would never do." But it did do. We left Duchie that very night, and
though she paid us frequent visits, she was Cousin Susan's for life. I
fear indulgence dulled her moral sense. She was an immense happiness to
her mistress, whose silent and lonely days she made glad with her oddity
and mirth. And yet the small creature, old, toothless, and blind,
domineered over her gentle friend--threatening her sometimes if she
presumed to remove the small Fury from the inside of her own bed, into
which it pleased her to creep. Indeed, I believe it is too true, though
it was inferred only, that her mistress and friend spent a great part of
a winter night in trying to coax her dear little ruffian out of the
centre of the bed. One day the cook asked what she would have for
dinner: "I would like a mutton chop, but then, you know, Duchie likes
minced veal better!" The faithful and happy little creature died at a
great age, of natural decay.
* * * * *
But time would fail me, and I fear patience would fail you, my reader,
were I to tell you of CRAB, of JOHN PYM, of PUCK, and of the rest. CRAB,
the Mugger's dog, grave, with deep-set, melancholy eyes, as of a
nobleman (say the Master of Ravenswood) in disguise, large visaged,
shaggy, indomitable, come of the pure Piper Allan's breed. This Piper
Allan, you must know, lived some two hundred years ago in Cocquet Water,
piping like Homer, from place to place, and famous not less for his dog
than for his music, his news and his songs. The Earl of Northumberland,
of his day, offered the piper a small farm for his dog, but after
deliberating for a day Allan said, "Na, na, ma Lord, keep yir ferum;
what wud a piper do wi' a ferum?" From this dog descended Davidson of
Hyndlee's breed, the original Dandie-Dinmont, and Crab could count his
kin up to him. He had a great look of the Right Honorable Edward Ellice,
and had much of his energy and _wecht_; had there been a dog House of
Commons, Crab would have spoken as seldom, and been as great a power in
the house, as the formidable and faithful time-out-of-mind member for
Coventry.
JOHN PYM was a smaller dog than Crab, of more fashionable blood, being a
son of Mr. Somner's famous SHEM, whose father and brother are said to
have been found dead in a drain into which the hounds had run a fox. It
had three entrances: the father was put in at one hole, the son at
another, and speedily the fox bolted out at the third, but no appearance
of the little terriers, and on digging, they were found dead, locked in
each other's jaws; they had met, and it being dark, and there being no
time for explanations, they had throttled each other. John was made of
the same sort of stuff, and was as combative and victorious as his great
namesake, and not unlike him in some of his not so creditable qualities.
He must, I think, have been related to a certain dog to whom "life was
full o' sairiousness," but in John's case the same cause produced an
opposite effect. John was gay and light-hearted, even when there was not
"enuff of fechtin," which, however, seldom happened, there being a
market every week in Melrose, and John appearing most punctually at the
cross to challenge all comers, and being short legged, he inveigled
every dog into an engagement by first attacking him, and then falling
down on his back, in which posture he latterly fought and won all his
battles.
What can I say of PUCK[6]--the thoroughbred--the simple-hearted--the
purloiner of eggs warm from the hen--the flutterer of all manner of
Volscians--the bandy-legged, dear, old, dilapidated buffer? I got him
from my brother, and only parted with him because William's stock was
gone. He had to the end of life a simplicity which was quite touching.
One summer day--a dog-day--when all dogs found straying were hauled away
to the police-office, and killed off in twenties with strychnine, I met
Puck trotting along Princes Street with a policeman, a rope round his
neck, he looking up in the fatal, official, but kindly countenance in
the most artless and cheerful manner, wagging his tail and trotting
along. In ten minutes he would have been in the next world; for I am one
of those who believe dogs _have_ a next world, and why not? Puck ended
his days as the best dog in Roxburghshire. _Placide quiescas!_
[6] In _The Dog_, by Stonehenge, an excellent book, there is a
woodcut of Puck, and "Dr. Wm. Brown's celebrated dog John
Pym" is mentioned. Their pedigrees are given--here is
Puck's, which shows his "strain" is of the pure azure
blood--"Got by John Pym, out of Tib; bred by Purves of
Leaderfoot; sire, Old Dandie, the famous dog of old John
Stoddart of Selkirk--dam, Whin." How Homeric all this
sounds! I cannot help quoting what follows--"Sometimes a
Dandie pup of a good strain may appear not to be game at an
early age; but he should not be parted with on this account,
because many of them do not show their courage till nearly
two years old, and then nothing can beat them; this apparent
softness arising, as I suspect, _from kindness of heart_"--a
suspicion, my dear "Stonehenge," which is true, and shows
your own "kindness of heart," as well as sense.