THE DOG FAMILY.--THE DOMESTIC DOG.[91]
Section _Cynoidea_--Geographical Distribution--Skull of
Dog--Teeth--Legs--Walk--Claws--Internal Anatomy--The Cæcum, or “Cul
de sac” of the Intestine--Size--THE DOMESTIC DOG--Its Fidelity and
Love--Differences between the Domesticated and Natural Species of
the Family--Barking a Civilised Habit--Antiquity of the Dog--The
Dog among the Hebrews and Egyptians--The Dog in the Bible--“Dog”
as a Term of Reproach--Venerated by many Ancient Nations--The Dog
among the Greeks and Romans--Pre-historic Dogs--Dogs in the New
World--Peruvian Dogs--Superstitions about the Dog--The Dog as an
article of Diet--Origin of the Dog--Identity of Structure of Wild and
Domestic Dogs--The independent Training of Wild _Canidæ_ by Savages
in many parts of the World--Voice--Results of the whole question
as to Origin--Anecdotes about Instinct, Reason, Docility--Muscles
of Dog’s Head--Consociation of Dogs--Anecdotes of Sense of Right,
Wrong, Duty, Conscience, Sensitiveness, Honesty, Theft, Cunning,
Quarrelsomeness, Magnanimity, the reverse, Revenge, Hatred--Conjugal
Affection--Devotion to Man--Fickleness--Despair--Rabies and
Hydrophobia--Wonderful Variety of Breed.
We now come to the first and only family of the section _Cynoidea_,
the most compact of the three divisions of split-footed flesh-eaters,
and the one which contains the smallest number of forms. Only four
genera, in fact, are contained in the group, namely, the Dogs, Wolves,
and Foxes (_Canis_), the Long-eared Fox (_Megalotis_), the Racoon-dog
(_Nyctereutes_), and the curious Hyæna-like _Lycaon_.
But the group is none the less interesting for the small number of
forms included in it; for containing, as it does, the Dog, the animal
of all others entitled to the name domestic, it yields in importance
to neither of the larger groups, notwithstanding the varied series
of creatures enclosed within their pale. Members of the Dog family
are found in nearly all parts of the world, being absent only in the
West Indian Islands, Madagascar, the eastern islands of the Malayan
Archipelago, New Zealand, and the Polynesian Islands. When we say that
the Dog is absent from those places, we mean, of course, _as a true
native_. Wherever civilised man has penetrated, there his four-footed
friend is sure to be found; but in the places just mentioned no Dog,
Wolf, or Fox occurs as a true aboriginal. Very probably, the gigantic
island of Australia should be added to the above list, as it is by no
means certain that the Dingo, or wild Dog found there, has not been
introduced by man.
The Dogs form a sort of connecting link between the Cat-like species on
the one hand, and the Bear-like group on the other. In the matter of
being digitigrade, they agree with the Cats; the number of their teeth
agrees with that of the Bears; in the character of the skull they come
just half-way between the two.
[Illustration: SIDE-VIEW OF WOLF’S SKULL.
The letters have the same significance as in the figure of the Lion’s
skull on p. 11.]
On the under surface of the Dog’s skull there is found, in a
corresponding position to the ear-drum swelling of the Cat (see p. 11),
a similar rounded swelling, which, however, is smaller in proportion
to the size of the skull, rougher in texture, and not so regular in
shape, but sloping towards its outer aperture. Moreover, the margins
of its outer aperture, round which the external ear is fixed, are
produced outwards into a short tube or spout, thus making a small bony
ear-passage beyond or external to the rim to which the drum membrane
is attached. In the Cat, it will be remembered, there was no bony tube
of this sort, but the drum parchment was flush with the margins of the
opening of the drum cavity. Then the partition, which was so large in
the Cat, dividing the cavity into two compartments, is here reduced to
quite a low wall. Lastly, the bony clamp, which we mentioned in the
Cat as being fixed quite closely against the hinder face of the bulla,
is here separated from it by a small valley. These skull characters
are very characteristic of the Cynoidea, and are therefore of great
importance in the grouping of the Carnivora.
The great arches of bone beneath the eye are, in the Dog, nothing
like so large as in the Cat, owing to the smaller size of the jaw
muscles which pass under them. The snout, however, is much longer, in
correspondence with the increased number of the teeth.
There will be no difficulty in making out the teeth of the Dog now we
have studied those of the Cat. We shall find, as before, that there are
in the small front bones of the upper jaw three teeth on each side,
and the same number in the corresponding part of the lower jaw: these
are, of course, the incisors. They are followed by the canines, or
great eye teeth, of which, as in the Cat, there is one on each side of
each jaw. After the canines, however, come no less than six teeth on
each side of the upper jaw, and seven on each side of the lower. It
is found that the first four of these are represented in the jaw of
the young Dog by milk molars; therefore, as we explained in treating
of the teeth in the Cat, these four are premolars, and the remaining
three, molars. A likeness to what we find in the Cat exists in the fact
that the last premolar of the upper jaw and the first molar of the
lower jaw are very large teeth, and bite against one another. These
are the _carnassials_ of the respective jaws. Thus the dental formula
of the Dog is--incisors, (3-3)/(3-3), canines, (1-1)/(1-1), premolars,
(4-4)/(4-4), molars, (2-2)/(3-3) = 42.
[Illustration: UPPER VIEW OF WOLF’S SKULL.]
[Illustration: UNDER VIEW OF WOLF’S SKULL.]
The form of the teeth, as well as their number, comes much nearer to
that of an ordinary Mammal, or is much less specially carnivorous than
in the Cats. The incisors are proportionally larger than in our first
section; their crowns are distinctly divided into three cusps--a large
central and two small lateral ones; and the outermost incisors of the
upper jaw approach tolerably nearly in shape and size to the canines,
being nearly half as long as the latter, and having almost lost their
lateral cusps. The canines have much about the same form and relative
size as in the Cat, as also have the premolars, except that the first
of these, though smaller than its successor, is not so markedly so as
in the Cats, while, on the other hand, the last (the carnassial) is
proportionally larger.
[Illustration: TEETH OF WOLF.
The letters have the same significance as in the figure of the Lion’s
teeth on p. 13, except _h_, the “heel” of the lower carnassial.]
But in the molars, or at least in all but the lower carnassial, we find
something quite different, namely, an interesting approximation to
the semi-herbivorous type of dentition of the Bears. Both molars in
the upper jaw, and the two last in the lower, have become _bonâ fide_
“grinders.” The scissor-like cutting edge has disappeared, and in place
of it we have a hard crushing surface, raised into four cusps--two
large external and two smaller internal ones. This has relation, of
course, to the mixed character of the Dog’s food. The sectorial molar
of the lower jaw still, however, retains its distinctive characters;
its crown has much the same shape as in the Cat, but in addition
possesses an extra lobe, in the shape of a large heel-like process
projecting from its hinder border, and formed by a modification of its
posterior cusp.
[Illustration: SKELETON OF WOLF.]
The Dog family have, as a rule, longish legs. They walk on the tip of
their toes, like the Cats; but unlike the latter, their claws are not
retractile. Curious to relate, however, the elastic ligament by which
the drawing back of the feline claw is effected is present, but in so
feeble a condition as to be quite incapable of antagonising the great
flexor muscles.
In consequence of this, the paw of a Dog is by no means such a perfect
weapon as that of a Cat; and, as a matter of fact, the Dogs are
distinguished from the Cats by their habit of always attacking the prey
at once with their teeth, and never beginning the attack with a blow of
the paw.
In the matter of internal anatomy, the Dog family differ from all other
Carnivores in possessing a large “blind gut,” or cæcum. The intestines,
which are proportionally longer than a Cat’s, are, as usual, divided
into large and small, and, at the place where the large and small
intestines join one another, there goes off a folded sac, communicating
with the intestine at one end, but quite closed at the other, forming,
in fact, a small _cul-de-sac_. The use of this curious appendage is not
properly understood, nor why it should be so well developed in the Dog
family, while it is very small indeed in Cats, and wholly absent in
Bears.
No member of this family attains the size reached by some of the
_Felidæ_, such as the Lion and Tiger, or some of the _Ursidæ_, such as
the Grizzly or Polar Bear; the Mastiff is the largest of the tribe, no
wild species of which is larger than an ordinary Shepherd’s Dog.
THE DOMESTIC DOG.[92]
We have now to consider an animal which has more interest for us than
any member of the animal kingdom, with the single exception of _Homo
sapiens_; indeed, many people, if asked to name the creature which
feels for them the most disinterested friendship, the most devoted
love, and which shows the most constant and untiring kindness and
attention, would without hesitation name the humble Carnivore rather
than the arrogant and self-asserting Primate. It was not his servants
who recognised Ulysses on his return from his long voyage; it was not
even his faithful Penelope; it was the old Dog Argus, who
“---- ---- soon as he perceived
Long-lost Ulysses nigh, down fell his ears
Clapp’d close, and with his tail glad sign he gave
Of gratulation, impotent to rise
And to approach his master as of old.”
Where shall we find an instance of human devotion, unaltered and
unalterable by death, greater than that recorded by our great Lake poet
of the Dog whose ill-fated master was killed in passing Helvellyn?--
“The Dog, which still was hovering nigh,
Repeating the same timid cry,
This Dog had been through three months’ space,
A dweller in that savage place.
Yes, proof was plain, that since the day
On which the traveller thus had died,
The Dog had watched about the spot,
Or by his master’s side.
How nourished here through such long time,
He knows who gave that love sublime,
And gave that strength of feeling, great
Above all human estimate.”
No animal has been so universally or so thoroughly domesticated as the
Dog; in none have the moral and intellectual faculties been so largely
developed; and there is certainly none which the human race could so
ill spare. We might possibly, with a proper amount of practice, become
vegetarians, and so do without our sheep and cattle, our pigs and
poultry. The Cat we might easily dispense with, for she is, after all,
a very passive sort of creature, and rarely condescends to express
either emotion or affection, whatever her feelings may be; but to lose
the Dog would be to lose a friend, and a friend so faithful and true
that his loss would be a veritable plucking out of the right eye and a
cutting off of the right hand. As Mr. Darwin observes: “It is scarcely
possible to doubt that the love of man has become instinctive in the
dog,” which it can hardly be said to have done, as yet, in man!
Wherever man of any degree of civilisation is found, there the Dog
is to be found too--everywhere invaluable, though often grossly
and brutally ill-treated. In all probability, too, Dogs occur as
true natives in all parts of the world, except in the Australian
region--Australia, New Zealand, and the surrounding islands; in these
places he has, in all probability, been introduced by man.
The likeness of the domestic Dog to his more immediate relatives is
very close. Except in the want of obliquity in the eyes, and in the
curling of the tail, so different to the straight “brush” of a Wolf
or wild Dog, there is really no definite character which can be given
as separating _Canis familiaris_ from the wild species of the genus.
Moreover, the difference between the varieties of the Dog itself is so
great, that it is impossible to frame anything like a good definition
which will include the Bulldog, the Greyhound, the Newfoundland, and
the Terrier, and, at the same time, exclude the Dingo and the Búansú.
The one constant difference is the habit of barking, “which is almost
universal with domesticated Dogs, and which does not characterise a
single natural species of the family.”
The Dog certainly took its origin at a very remote period, for we find
undoubted evidence of his existence and regular domestication in the
very earliest records. Among the early Hebrews, he seems to have been
unknown, or rather, despised; and it strikes one as a most remarkable
circumstance that this astute nation of shepherds should never have
domesticated so useful an assistant. Possibly this is partly owing to
the prejudice the grand old Theists of Palestine must have felt against
an animal held in great veneration as an emblem of the Divine Being by
the idolatrous Egyptians; and yet this objection can hardly have had
much weight, as the Hebrews kept Oxen, animals which were regularly
worshipped by the Egyptians. Throughout the Old and New Testaments the
Dog is spoken of with scorn and contempt as “an unclean beast,” so that
probably the Israelites had the misfortune only to know this friend
of man in the character in which he now appears in Constantinople--as
the common scavenger of the neighbourhood. The only instance in the
Bible in which the Dog is mentioned as a domesticated animal is in
that magnificent drama, the Book of Job, a poem of great antiquity,
and very possibly not of Hebrew origin. The suffering patriarch, after
recounting to his “friends” the greatness of his former prosperity,
says: “But now they that are younger than I have me in derision, whose
fathers I would have disdained to have set with the dogs of my flock.”
This passage is extremely remarkable, as showing at what an early
period of the world’s history the Dog was sufficiently domesticated to
be capable of the arduous task of guarding Sheep--a task, the proper
performance of which necessitates the total suspension of the true
canine instinct, which is not to guard and protect the Sheep, but to
worry and devour them.
The prejudice of the Jews against the Dog is shown at the present
day by the Hindoos and by the Mahometans, with whom “Dog” is the
greatest possible term of reproach, and who never think of the animal
as anything but a semi-useful, degraded beast, good for nothing but
to clear off the offal of the streets. Among many ancient nations,
however, the Dog was held in great veneration, and was even worshipped
as a god. In the passage--“Howbeit every nation made gods of their own
... and the Avites made Nibhaz,”[93] the word _Nibhaz_ is supposed to
signify a _barker_, and it is thought that this idol had the form of
a Dog. “The Egyptians had several breeds of Dogs, some solely used
for the chase, others admitted into the parlour, or selected as the
companions of their walks; and some, as at the present day, selected
for their peculiar ugliness. All were looked upon with veneration,
and the death of a Dog was not only lamented as a misfortune, but was
mourned by every member of the house in which it occurred.”
It is certain that the Egyptians selected their Dogs in such a manner
as to produce well-marked varieties, for, as Mr. Youatt states,
“there are to be seen on the Egyptian temples representations of Dogs
with long ears and broad muzzle, not unlike the old Talbot Hound.”
This is extremely interesting as showing at what an early period
the Dog had been completely differentiated from other _Canidæ_, by
acquiring definite characters, quite distinct from those of his wild
relations. The Assyrians, too, had advanced considerably in the art of
seizing upon important varieties in the structure of their Dogs, and
perpetuating them as Hounds. Mr. Darwin informs us that an undoubted
Mastiff of enormous size is figured on the tomb of Esar Haddon, about
640 B.C., and he goes on to say, “I have looked through the magnificent
works of Lepsius and Rosellini, and on the monuments from the fourth
to the twelfth dynasties (_i.e._, from about 3400 B.C. to 2101 B.C.)
several varieties of the Dog are represented; most of them are allied
to Greyhounds. At the later of these periods a Dog resembling a Hound
is figured, with drooping ears, but with a large back, and more pointed
head than in our Hounds. There is, also, a Turnspit, with short and
crooked legs, closely resembling the existing variety.”[94]
[Illustration: GREYHOUNDS. (_From an Egyptian Monument._)]
Both the Greeks and Romans made much of the Dog, and among the latter,
Greyhounds, Hounds, House Dogs, and Lap Dogs existed. Some of them
are preserved in sculpture. The Greeks had a Dog closely resembling
our Newfoundland, as is made certain from a piece of sculpture, “said
to have been the favourite Dog of Alcibiades, and to have been the
production of Myron, one of the most skilful artists of ancient times.”
Dogs “were sacrificed at certain periods by the Greeks and Romans to
almost all their deities, and particularly to Mars, Pluto, and Pan, to
Minerva, Proserpine, and Lucina, and also to the moon, because the Dog
by his barking disturbed all charms and spells, and frightened away
all spectres and apparitions. The Greeks immolated many Dogs in honour
of Hecate, because by their baying the phantoms of the lower world were
disturbed. A great number of Dogs were also destroyed in Samothrace
in honour of the same goddess. Dogs were periodically sacrificed in
February, and also in April and in May; also to the goddess Rubigo,
who presided over the corn, and the Bona Dea, whose mysterious rites
were performed on Mount Aventine. The Dog Cerberus was supposed to be
watching at the feet of Pluto, and a Dog and a youth were periodically
sacrificed to that deity. The night when the capital had nearly been
destroyed was annually celebrated by the cruel scourging of a Dog in
the principal public places, even to the death of the animal.”[95]
Homer, like the modern English, frequently uses the word “Dog” as an
epithet of contempt--“thou Dog in forehead;” but the Dog was man’s
companion everywhere amongst those old Greeks. When the “God of the
silver bow” strikes beasts and men with pestilence, it is said--
“Mules first and Dogs he struck, but at themselves,
Dispatching soon his bitter arrows keen,
Smote them.”
Yet, mixed with these friendly Dogs there were evidently Pariah Dogs;
cowards are threatened thus:--
“The Vulture’s maw
Shall have his carcase, and the Dogs his bones.”
Two nobler breeds are also indicated, viz., Shepherd Dogs and Hounds:--
“As Dogs that careful watch the fold by night,
Hearing some wild beast in the woods, which Hounds
And hunters with tumultuous clamour drive
Down from the mountain-top, all sleep forego.”
Homer also makes indubitable reference to another breed, viz., the
Boarhound:--
“As when Dogs and swains
In prime of manhood, from all quarters rush
Around a Boar, he from his thicket bolts,
The bright tusk whetting in his crooked jaws;
They press him on all sides, and from beneath
Loud gnashings hear, yet firm, his threats defy.”
But more ancient than any of these records are the evidences which
prove the existence of the domestic Dog among the pre-historic savages
of Northern Europe. In the Danish “kitchen-middens,” or heaps of
household refuse, piled up by the men of the newer stone period--a
time when our Scandinavian forefathers used chipped or polished flints
instead of metal for their weapons--are found bone-cuttings belonging
to some species of the genus _Canis_. Along with these remains are
some of the long bones of birds, all the other bones of the said birds
being absent. Now it is known that the bird-bones here found are the
very ones which Dogs cannot devour, while the absent ones are such as
they can bolt with ease, and it has been ingeniously argued from this
that the remains in question did really belong to a domestic Dog, as,
if the animals to which they appertained had been Wolves, they would
have made short work of the long bones as well as of the others. Other
Dog-bones are found in Denmark in later periods. At the time when the
flint knives were succeeded by bronze a large Dog existed, and at the
time when iron was used one larger still. In Switzerland, during the
newer stone period, a Dog existed, which is probably the oldest of
which we have any record. It “partook of the character of our Hounds
and Setters or Spaniels,” and, in the matter of its skull, “was about
equally remote from the Wolf and Jackal.” This Dog, too, like its
Danish contemporary, was succeeded in the bronze period by a larger
variety. Thus we see that, at a time when our ancestors were living “in
dens and caves of the earth,” in a state of civilisation about equal to
that of the African or Australian aborigines of the present day, the
Dog was already systematically kept, and “selected,” that is, any good
varieties which appeared were taken note of, and kept up.
We have mentioned above the common practice amongst the Greeks and
Romans of offering Dogs as sacrifices to the numerous deities. The
same custom was prevalent in early times in Scandinavia, where the
Dog was often used as a sacrificial victim. Mr. Youatt says:--“Before
Christianity was established among the Danes, on every ninth year, at
the winter solstice, a monstrous sacrifice of ninety-nine Dogs was
effected. In Sweden the sacrifice was still worse. On each of nine
successive days ninety-nine Dogs were destroyed. This sacrifice of the
Dog, however, gave way to one as numerous and as horrible. On every
ninth year ninety-nine human victims were immolated, and the sons of
the reigning tyrant among the rest, in order that the life of the
monarch might be prolonged.
“On the other hand, the Dog was frequently the executioner; and,
from an early period, whether in the course of war, or the mock
administration of justice, thousands of poor wretches were torn to
pieces by animals trained to that horrible purpose.
“As a counterpart to much of this, the ancient Hyrcanians may be
mentioned, who lived near the Caspian sea, and who deemed it one of the
strongest expressions of respect to leave the corpse of their deceased
friends to be torn and devoured by Dogs. Every man was provided with a
certain number of these animals, as a living tomb for himself at some
future period, and these Dogs were remarkable for their fierceness.”
In the New World, the Dog is, or was, held as an object of adoration
by many of the natives; and dog-worship seems to have been a more
ancient _culte_ than the sun-worship practised by the Mexicans.
Humboldt informs us that “when the Inca Pachacutec, in his religious
wars, conquered the Indians of Xanxa and Huanca (the present valley
of Huancayo and Juuja), and compelled them by force to submit to the
worship of the sun, he found that Dogs were made the objects of their
adoration, and that the priests used the skulls of these animals as
wind instruments. It would also appear that the flesh of this canine
divinity was eaten by the believers. The veneration of Dogs in the
valley of the Huancaya is probably the reason why the skulls, and even
whole mummies, of these animals are sometimes found in the Huacas, or
Peruvian graves of the most ancient period. Von Tschudi, the author
of an admirable treatise on the _Fauna Peruana_, has examined these
skulls, and believes them to belong to a peculiar species, which he
calls _Canis ingæ_, and which is different from the European Dog. The
Huancas are still, in derision, called ‘dog-eaters’ by the inhabitants
of other provinces.” Humboldt also tells us that “the Peruvian Dogs
were made to play a singular part during eclipses of the moon, being
beaten as long as the darkness continued.” But he says nothing about
the origin of so curious a custom.
An animal of such intelligence as the Dog, one so necessary to the
welfare of man, and devoted to him by so many ties, is certain to have
a number of curious superstitions current regarding him. An excellent
account of some of the most curious of them is given by the Rev. J.
Gardner.
“Among the Hyperborean tribes, with whom the Dog is reckoned a very
valuable animal, it occupies a conspicuous place in their traditions,
being considered--as, for instance, among the Eskimo, according to the
accounts given by Franklin and Parry, and other Arctic navigators--as
the father of the human family. The Chippewayan Indians had a tradition
that they were sprung from a Dog; and hence they neither ate the flesh
of that animal themselves, nor could they look with any other feeling
than horror upon those nations who fed upon it. In all these cases,
probably, the Dog is the symbol of the sun. A strange notion prevails
among the Greenlanders that an eclipse is caused by the sun being
pursued by his brother the moon. Accordingly, when this phenomenon
takes place, the women take the Dogs by the ears, believing that, as
these animals existed before man was created, they must have a more
certain presentiment of the future than he has; and therefore, if they
do not cry when their ears are pulled, it is an infallible sign that
the world is about to be destroyed.
“The inhabitants of Japan have a superstitious regard for Dogs. Thus,
we learn from Picart, in his ‘Religious Ceremonies of all Nations,’
‘The emperor who sat on the throne when Kaempfer resided in Japan was
so extravagantly fond of them, that there has been a greater number
of them in that kingdom ever since his reign (if we may depend on the
veracity of this traveller) than in any other nation in the whole
world. Every street is obliged to maintain a fixed and determinate
number of them. They are quartered upon the inhabitants, and in case
of sickness they are obliged to nurse and attend them. When they die,
they are obliged to inter them in a decent manner in the mountains
and hills peculiarly appropriated for the interment of the people. It
is looked upon as a capital crime not only to kill them, but barely
to insult and treat them ill; and no one but the legal proprietor is
allowed so much as to correct any of them. All this reverence and
respect are owing to a celestial constellation which the Japanese call
the Dog, under the influence whereof the aforesaid Emperor of Japan was
born.’”
By most people the Dog is valued only during his life; his skin is not
particularly valuable, and his flesh is little esteemed. This is by no
means, however, the case everywhere. It is well known that the Chinese
use the Dog as a regular article of food. Many of the North American
tribes look upon an _entrée_ of Dog as the greatest possible _bonne
bouche_ they can set before a stranger. Sir Leopold McClintock relates
that, in the Sandwich Islands, he had most profuse apologies offered
to him because there was no puppy to be had for a feast to which he
was invited. The Eskimo, too, look upon a dish of young Dog as a great
treat; and it is related that a Danish captain provided his friends
with a feast of this kind, and when they _praised his mutton_, sent for
the skin of the beast, and exhibited it to them! The Greeks and Romans
also used the Dog as an article of diet, and many ancient writers, such
as Galen and Hippocrates, represent Dog-meat as a highly desirable dish.
[Illustration: SKULL OF DOMESTIC DOG.]
It is a remarkable circumstance, when we come to consider the probable
origin of the Dog, that there is evidence of his domestication at such
early periods, and by so many savage tribes in different parts of the
world. As we have already seen, tame Dogs were possessed by savages
in the neolithic, or newer stone period, by the Assyrians, Egyptians,
Greeks, Romans, and the ancient inhabitants of North and South America,
to say nothing of the numerous savage tribes at the present day, such
as the Australians and the inhabitants of Guiana. Now the important
question arises, had all these Dogs a common origin? Did the great
neolithic Dog, the Sheep-dog of Job’s time, the Greyhounds, Turnspits,
and Hounds of the Assyrians and Greeks, the divinely-honoured animals
of Peru, and the supposed ancestors of the Eskimo and the Chippeways,
spring from a single pair? or have various wild species of _Canidæ_
been tamed and converted into true domestic Dogs, by different people
in different parts of the world, these various species having since
been crossed and re-crossed with one another and with their parent
forms, until a species has been produced as complex in its origin as
the English nation, which has flowing in its veins the blood of ancient
Briton, Roman, Anglo-Saxon, Dane, Norman, and Fleming?
Until recently it was thought that all the evidence which could be
brought to bear on the matter pointed to a separate origin of the Dog.
It was argued, for instance, that as we have evidences of distinct
breeds existing in far-back periods of the world’s history, there was
actually no time, prior to those periods, for him to have diverged from
a savage ancestor, such as a Wolf or a Jackal. It was also thought
highly unlikely that a number of primitive races of man should have
separately tamed different wild _Canidæ_. Mr. Youatt, one of our best
authorities on the Dog, writing in 1845, says: “This power of tracing
back the Dog to the very earliest periods of history, and the fact
that he then seemed to be as sagacious, as faithful and as valuable
as at the present day, strongly favours the opinion that he descended
from no inferior and comparatively worthless animal; that he was not
the progeny of the Wolf, the Jackal, or the Fox; but he was originally
created, somewhat as we now find him, the associate and friend of man.”
[Illustration: SKULL OF YOUNG DOG.]
A few years ago there was no gainsaying arguments such as these, for
then nearly everybody believed that the world was literally only six
thousand years old, and that species were absolutely unchangeable.
But Sir Charles Lyell and Mr. Darwin have “_changé tout cela_.” The
argument from time fails utterly, and other facts have to be taken into
consideration.
There is, first of all, the fact of identity of structure. There is
absolutely no definition framable which will include all the varieties
of the domestic Dog, and exclude all the wild species--none even which
will include all the Dogs properly so called, both wild and tame, and
at the same time exclude the Wolf and Jackal. It is the same as regards
habits, instincts, mental endowments, &c. Wolves and Jackals can be
and have been tamed. Domestic Dogs can become, and have again and
again become, wild, and in no way better than true aborigines; and to
assert that the Dog is not descended from a Jackal because his manners
and customs are better, his tail more curly, and his voice a bark
instead of a howl, is about as just as to assert that Englishmen cannot
possibly be descended from ancient Britons, because they wear clothes
instead of a coating of blue paint.
[Illustration: HARE INDIAN DOG.]
With regard to the opinion that many races of men are not likely
independently to have tamed wild _Canidæ_, there are certain facts
which show that the exact contrary is the case. Savages in all parts
of the world are fond of making pets of various kinds, and would have
been certain to come across Wolf or Jackal pups in their wanderings
through the woods. Then, again, as Mr. Darwin remarks, “At an extremely
ancient period, when man first entered any country, the animals living
there would have felt no instinctive or inherited fear of him, and
would consequently have been tamed far more easily than at present.
For instance, when the Falkland Islands were first visited by man,
the large Wolf-like Dog (_Canis antarcticus_) fearlessly came to meet
Byron’s sailors, who, mistaking this ignorant curiosity for ferocity,
ran into the water to avoid them. Even recently a man, by holding a
piece of meat in one hand and a knife in the other, could sometimes
stick them at night.” Another important point is the readiness with
which many wild species of _Canidæ_ breed in confinement, so that the
difficulty of perpetuating the newly-acquired characteristics of the
tamed animal is, in this case, obviated. Furthermore, it is perfectly
well known that savages at the present day do actually tame, and make
useful to themselves, the wild Dogs of their particular countries: “the
savages of Guiana catch, and partially tame and use the whelps of the
wild species of _Canis_, as do the savages of Australia those of the
Dingo.”
[Illustration: ESKIMO DOGS.]
These statements certainly tend to show that there is no actual
improbability in supposing that many wild species of _Canidæ_ have at
different times, and by different nations, been tamed and gradually
modified into true domestic Dogs. But the most significant fact
bearing upon the multiple origin of the Dog is the often-occurring
close resemblance between the domestic Dog of a savage tribe and the
wild species of _Canis_ inhabiting the same district. Of this most
important circumstance there are far too many instances to allow
of its being looked upon as a mere coincidence. Sir John Richardson
says: “The resemblance between the Wolves and the Dogs of those Indian
nations who still preserve their ancient mode of life continues to
be very remarkable, and it is nowhere more so than at the northern
extremities of the Continent, the Eskimo Dogs being not only extremely
like the Grey Wolves of the Arctic circle in form and colour, but also
nearly equalling them in size. The Dog has generally a shorter tail
than the Wolf, and carries it more frequently curled over the hip, but
the latter practice is not totally unknown to the Wolf, although that
animal, when under the observation of man, being generally apprehensive
of danger or on the watch, seldom displays this mark of satisfaction.”
And again, “The resemblance between the northern Wolves and the
domestic Dog of the Indians is so great, that the size and strength of
the Wolf seem to be the only difference. I have more than once mistaken
a band of Wolves for the Dogs of a party of Indians; and the howl of
the animals of both species is prolonged so exactly in the same key,
that even the practised ear of an Indian fails at times to discriminate
them.”
As the Eskimo and Indian Dogs resemble the North American Wolf (_C.
lupus_), so the Dog of the Hare Indians, a very distinct breed (see
below), resembles the Prairie Wolf (_C. latrans_). So great is this
resemblance that Richardson says, “I could detect no marked difference
in form except the smallness of its [the Dog’s] cranium, nor in the
fineness of its fur, and arrangement of its spots of colour. The length
of the fur on the neck, back part of the cheeks, and top of the head,
was the same in both species. It, in fact, bears the same resemblance
to the Prairie Wolf that the Eskimo Dog does to the great Grey Wolf.”
Another observer remarks that, except in the matter of barking, there
is no difference whatever between the black Wolf-dog of the Indians of
Florida and the Wolves of the same country. The Dogs also breed readily
with the wild animals they so closely resemble. The Indians often cross
their Dogs with Wolves to improve the breed, and in South America the
same process is resorted to between the domesticated and the wild Dogs.
The same phenomenon is seen in many kinds of Dog in the Old World. The
Shepherd Dog of the plains of Hungary is white or reddish-brown, has a
sharp nose, short erect ears, shaggy coat, and bushy tail, and so much
resembles a Wolf, that Mr. Paget, who gives the description, says he
has known a Hungarian mistake a Wolf for one of his own Dogs. There is
also a close resemblance between some of the Indian Pariah Dogs and the
Indian Wolf. Some of the domestic Dogs of Egypt, both at the present
day and in the condition of mummies, closely resemble the Wolf of that
country; “whereas the domestic Dogs of Nubia, and certain other mummied
Dogs, have the closest relation to a wild species of the same country
... which is only a form of the common Jackal.” Dogs have, moreover,
been known to cross with Jackals as well as with Wolves. Lastly, in
Africa, some of the natives assert that their half-tamed Dogs are
derived from Foxes; and the Dogs of the Bosjesman have a striking
resemblance to the black-backed Jackal (_C. mesomelas_), which, as we
shall see, is a South African variety.
These facts are so significant and so important that they in reality
leave only one difficulty to be settled, and that is the question of
voice. As we stated above, all domestic Dogs bark, while all wild
_Canidæ_ express their feelings only by howls. But the difficulty here
is not so great as it seems. Some domestic Dogs left on the island
of Juan Fernandez entirely lost the habit of barking in thirty-three
years, and a few individuals removed after that period only re-acquired
it very slowly; thus, domestic Dogs allowed to run wild forget how to
bark. On the other hand, Jackals, wild Dogs, and Wolf-pups reared by
bitches, readily acquire the habit. Thus the last stumbling-block in
the argument disappears, and we are forced to agree with Mr. Darwin,
from whom many of the above facts are taken,[96] that “it is highly
probable that the domestic Dogs of the world have descended from two
good species of Wolf (_C. lupus_ and _C. latrans_), and from two or
three other doubtful species of Wolves (namely, the European, Indian,
and North African forms); from at least one or two South American
Canine species; from several races or species of the Jackal; and
perhaps from one or more extinct species;” and that the blood of these,
“in some cases mingled together, flows in the veins of our domestic
breeds.”
There is no animal so interesting as the Dog for the study of the
relation between man and the lower animals in the matter of instinct,
reason, conscience, and the like. As no animal has been so thoroughly
domesticated, and so systematically trained and educated, so none has
developed in the same degree those higher endowments which are often
considered as the exclusive attributes of humanity, such as reasoning
power, a sense of right and wrong, of property, and of number.
For the study of instinct, it is impossible to find an animal in any
way approaching to him for interest, for not only does he exhibit, to a
wonderful degree, the instincts common to all the higher animals, but
almost every kind of Dog possesses some special instinct, imparted from
a remote ancestor, and absent, or nearly so, in other varieties. We
may instance the mode of “pointing” game peculiar to the Pointer, the
marvellous power of following scent of the Bloodhound or Foxhound, and
the acute generalship of the Shepherd’s Dog, who, with comparatively
little teaching, guards, drives, and keeps together a whole flock
of foolish animals, which, to the Dog mind, must seem intended by
Providence to be worried and eaten. These special instincts we shall
consider when we come to speak of the various breeds; but we must
now say a few words on those instincts which are common to the whole
species.
Unlike the Lion and Tiger, the male Dog takes no interest whatever
in his offspring, who are taken care of during the weeks of their
helplessness entirely by the mother. She, however, quite makes up for
paternal neglect by the assiduity with which she tends and cares for
her feeble offspring. It is one of the most touching, and, at the same
time, almost amusing sights, to see a bitch with her first litter;
how jealously she watches the blind, fat, slug-like little creatures.
At first she will growl and snap even at her beloved master, if he
approaches too near her treasures. When they have grown a little,
how fussy she becomes when they are noticed; she will even drag them
by the leg, one by one, upstairs, to exhibit their perfections! For
several weeks this care continues, but by the time the pups have grown
half as big as their mother, and can see and run about, her solicitude
diminishes. She begins to quarrel with them over bones and other
titbits, and, before long, takes no more notice of them than if they
were the commonest stray Dogs in the street. It is this evaporation of
mother-love which so distinguishes a Dog-parent from, at any rate, a
great number of human parents.
Like most animals, the female Dog, if deprived of the natural objects
of her affection, will lavish her care on almost any young and helpless
thing with which she may be brought in contact.
Dr. Sclater,[97] whilst visiting the Zoological Gardens at Antwerp, in
1875, noticed a curious instance of the blindness of maternal love in
a Dog. Among other objects of attraction were “three young Tiger-cubs,
born in the Gardens on the 14th of October, 1873,” that had been “most
successfully foster-mothered by a large bitch.”
We have stated that the male Dog is perfectly oblivious of his paternal
duties; we have, however, met with one instance of a Dog, who, whatever
may have been his qualities as a parent, discharged with great fidelity
the part of guardian, and that, too, not to one of his own species, but
to one of an alien and hostile race. This curious instance of canine
affection was exhibited by a small male pet Spaniel, belonging to some
friends of ours, who brought up a kitten. The _food_, certainly, was
supplied by the family, but the brooding and tendance were done most
faithfully. On warm days, the Dog would carry the kitten and lay it
in the sun, choosing some snug place out of the wind, in the garden.
The kitten, a female, lived to become a very beautiful Cat; but her
unsuspecting innocence led to her death. Not fearing any of the
Dog-kind, she made no attempts to escape from them, and was worried to
death by a strange stray Dog.
One of the most striking circumstances with regard both to the general
and the special instincts of the Dog, namely, those instincts common to
the whole species, and those possessed by particular breeds, is the way
in which they are transmitted from parent to child. The Pointer points
the first time he is taken out; the Shepherd’s Dog learns his duties
with astonishingly little teaching. Not only are instincts transmitted
in pure breeds, but in cross-breeds the special characteristics of
both parents come out with the most marvellous accuracy. “... It is
known that a cross with a Bull-dog has affected for many generations
the courage and obstinacy of Greyhounds; and a cross with a Greyhound
has given a whole family of Shepherd-dogs a tendency to hunt Hares. Le
Roy describes a Dog, whose great grandfather was a Wolf, and this Dog
showed a trace of its wild parentage only in one way--by not coming
in a straight line to his master when called.” The tendency to attack
Poultry, Sheep, &c., “has been found incurable in Dogs which have
been brought home as puppies from countries, such as Tierra del Fuego
and Australia, where the savages do not keep these domestic animals.
How rarely, on the other hand, do our civilised Dogs, even when quite
young, require to be taught not to attack Poultry, Sheep, and Pigs!”[98]
A most astonishing account of an inherited mental peculiarity--an
instinctive dislike--is related by Dr. Huggins, to whose researches the
science of astronomy owes so much. He writes:--
“I possess an English Mastiff, by name Kepler, a son of the celebrated
Turk, out of Venus. I brought the Dog, when six weeks old, from the
stable in which he was born. The first time I took him out, he started
back in alarm at the first butcher’s shop he had ever seen. I soon
found that he had a violent antipathy to butchers and butchers’ shops.
When six months old, a servant took him with her on an errand. At a
short distance before coming to the house she had to pass a butcher’s
shop. The Dog threw himself down (being led with a string), and neither
coaxing nor threats would make him pass the shop. The Dog was too heavy
to be carried; and as a crowd collected, the servant had to return
with the Dog more than a mile, and then go without him. This occurred
about two years ago. The antipathy still continues, but the Dog will
pass nearer to a shop than he formerly would. About two months ago, in
a little book on Dogs published by Dean, I discovered that the same
strange antipathy was shown by his father, Turk. I then wrote to Mr.
Nicholls, the former owner of Turk, to ask him for any information he
may have on the point. He replied--‘I can say that the same antipathy
exists in King (the sire of Turk), in Punch (son of Turk, out of
Meg), and in Paris (son of Turk, out of Juno). Paris has the greatest
antipathy, as he would hardly go into a street where a butcher’s
shop was, and would run away after passing it. When a cart with a
butcher’s man came into the place where the Dogs were kept, although
they could not see him, they all were ready to break their chains. A
master-butcher, dressed privately, called one evening on Paris’s master
to see the Dog. He had hardly entered the house before the Dog (though
shut in) was so excited that he had to be put into a shed, and the
butcher was forced to leave without seeing the Dog. The same Dog, at
Hastings, made a spring at a gentleman who came into the hotel. The
owner caught the Dog and apologised, and said he never knew him to do
so before, except when a butcher came to his house. The gentleman at
once said that was his business. So you see that they inherit these
antipathies, and show a great deal of breed.’”[99]
A gentleman on reading this account of Dr. Huggins’s Dog, wrote to
say that he possessed a son of Sybil, daughter of Turk, who possessed
the family antipathy in a marked degree, and another stated that he
also possessed a grandson of the redoubted Mastiff, in whom the same
peculiarity was developed. Thus we see that this most remarkable
instinctive dread, arising no one knows how, existed not only in Dr.
Huggins’s Dog, but in his father, grandfather, brothers, and nephews!
It was suggested, and it seems highly probable, that the feeling in
this case first arose from the fact of some ancestor of the Turk family
being ill-treated by a butcher; but it is quite possible that it may
have arisen spontaneously. Boswell, in his life of Johnson, quotes the
“Great Lexicographer” as attributing a similar dislike to butchers
noticed in the Dogs of some savage countries, where the animal was used
for food, not to horror at the butcher’s cruelty, but merely to the
smell of carnage.
A very remarkable _trait_ in the Dog’s character, which has undoubtedly
become instinctive, and is consequently transmitted from generation to
generation, is his love of human society. A well cared-for Dog will
always prefer his master’s company to that of his own kind, and will
take any amount of trouble, and give up any amount of personal ease,
that he may not be parted from him.
[Illustration: MASTIFF.]
But, undoubtedly, the most wonderful canine instinct is the sense of
direction, the power possessed by so many Dogs of finding their way
back to an old and well-loved home, after being forcibly removed from
it to a new place of abode. Instances are numerous in which Dogs, taken
from their usual habitation, shut up in a basket, or by night, or in
a swift railway train, have unerringly found their way back, greatly
to the surprise of both their new and their old masters. Mr. Wallace
has suggested that this was not a true case of instinct, but that the
Dog, in all probability, found his way back by smell; that he, as it
were, takes a note of every smell he passes--a stagnant pool here, a
haystack there, a wayside inn, a stable, &c. &c.--and, remembering not
only the smells, but the order in which he smelt them, he follows
the scent until he arrives at his destination. There is no doubt that
the Dog’s olfactory sense is wonderfully acute, but this is certainly
carrying it too far. Moreover, as has been remarked, the direction of
the wind was quite likely to change between the Dog’s two journeys,
and if one of his odoriferous landmarks happened to be movable, like a
flock of Sheep, where would he be? But the one fact which completely
disposes of the smell theory of the phenomenon is, that there is no
evidence of a Dog’s ever returning to his old home by the way he was
taken from it; he invariably takes a different route, usually a short
cut. For instance: “A Hound was sent by Charles Cobbe, Esq., from
Newbridge, county Dublin, to Maynalty, county Meath, and thence, long
afterwards, conveyed to Dublin. The Hound broke loose in Dublin, and
the same morning made his way back to his old kennel at Newbridge,
thus completing the third side of a triangle by a road he had never
travelled in his life.” Again, Mr. Romanes narrates the case of a
Dog who, when taken by his master from Oban to Greenock, by sea, was
grievously sea-sick. The next time the journey had to be made, the Dog,
remembering his former trouble, jumped off the boat and disappeared.
His master continued his voyage, and was greatly surprised, when he
arrived at Greenock, to find the Dog waiting for him on the wharf!
The distance from Oban to Greenock is fifty miles in a straight line,
and this straight course the Dog is not likely to have taken, as his
way would then have lain across mountains, a lake, and an arm of the
sea. Thus it would seem that the Dog must have some sort of notion of
direction, must possess, as it were, a special sense of the nature of
a mariner’s compass, and that, so far from his sense of locality being
due in any way to power of smell, it is perhaps the most striking
example of a pure instinct which it is possible to conceive.
We have not given many instances of instinct in the Dog, for it is a
faculty of which no one denies the existence, but of reasoning power it
is necessary to treat more fully, as many persons are disposed wholly
to deny the presence of that faculty in all the lower animals, and to
make it the exclusive prerogative of man. Every one who has kept a
Dog must have seen it perform actions which, in a human being, would
unhesitatingly be put down to reason; every one must have heard of
cases in which a choice of two or more courses was presented to a Dog,
and in which he has, after due reflection, chosen the best.
We are indebted to Mr. Hugh Miller, F.G.S., for a good instance of
reasoning power in a Dog belonging to his brother, Captain Miller.
This Dog, “Tara” by name, a Greyhound with a dash of Pointer, was one
day taken out with a carriage for a run of forty miles. Now, it is
estimated that a Dog, by his uncontrollable habit of “meandering,”
usually goes over about three times, the ground of the horse or man he
accompanies, so that on this occasion Tara must have run considerably
over a hundred miles, and was in consequence rather done up when she
reached home. She usually slept in the dining-room, whence she was
always ejected at 7 A.M. by the housemaid who cleaned the
room. On this occasion, however, no amount of persuasion could induce
Tara to occupy her accustomed sleeping-place; she positively insisted
upon following her master upstairs to his bedroom, where she evidently
expected she could remain undisturbed for a good long rest, and where
she did actually remain till 2 P.M. on the following day.
Another and more striking instance of the exercise of reasoning power
is given in the _Quarterly Journal of Science_ for April, 1876. It
is there stated that a Newfoundland Dog was “sent across a stream to
fetch a couple of hats, whilst his master and friend had gone on some
distance. The Dog went after them, and the gentlemen saw him attempt to
carry both hats, and fail, for the two were too much for him. Presently
he paused in his endeavour, took a careful survey of the hats,
discovered that one was larger than the other, put the small one in the
larger, and took the latter in his teeth by the brim!”
In the face of facts such as these, the question as to whether Dogs
possess the power of reasoning becomes merely one of words. No one
would say that a human being who did as this Dog did acted from
blind instinct. One can easily call to mind several persons of one’s
acquaintance, to whom it would be the height of presumption to deny
the possession of reason, and who yet would never have thought of
putting the hats one inside the other. It is related that the great
Newton made, in his study door, a big hole for his Cat and a little one
for the kitten. In doing this he showed far less exercise of reason
than the Dog; and it is quite conceivable that if he had been sent to
fetch the hats he would have brought them over separately! We shall
give other instances of reason in the Dog when we come to speak of
conscience, cunning, revenge, &c., as exhibited by him. Any book of
Dog-anecdotes will furnish the reader with many more, so that, on the
whole, one is forced to the conclusion that, to prove the absence of
reason in the Dog, one must argue something after this fashion:--Dogs
often perform actions which, in man, would undoubtedly be attributed
to reason. But man is the only member of the animal creation which
possesses the reasoning faculty. Therefore, all actions in the
Dog which simulate reason are, in reality, due to blind instinct.
Therefore, Dogs do not possess the reasoning faculty. Which was to be
demonstrated.
One of the most interesting points in the Dog’s character, and one in
which many of his human masters would do well to imitate him, is his
teachableness. A good Dog may be taught almost anything, no matter how
difficult or distasteful, or how foreign to his nature. And not only
will he learn to do anything, but to understand anything, for there
can be no doubt whatever that Dogs actually do understand what is said
to them, in many cases, quite irrespectively of tone or gesture. Of
course, with an ordinary Dog who has received no special and systematic
training, it is the tone of his master’s voice or his gestures which
convey meanings to him, far more than the actual words; but with
many Dogs, whose intelligence is great, and whose education has been
thorough, this _acme_ of culture is attained, and the animal does,
undoubtedly, understand the actual words said to him. As an instance,
we may mention the well-known case of “Sirrah,” the Ettrick Shepherd’s
Dog, who wanted only the words “Sirrah, my man, they’re a’ awa’!” to
proceed immediately in search of the missing flock. It is a matter
of the commonest observation how soon even ordinary Dogs learn to
understand certain words or phrases, such as “Rats!” “Cats!” “Set them
off!” “Beg!” “Trust!” and so forth; and, although certainly in many of
these cases tone and gesture have a great deal to do with the animal’s
comprehension, yet there can be no sort of doubt that a Dog of fair
intelligence learns, after a time, to recognise the words, if spoken
in the most ordinary tone of voice. The following account--a truly
marvellous one--illustrates not only the most perfect understanding of
words, but capacity for a high degree of education, great intelligence,
extensive memory, and reasoning faculties of no mean order:--
“Two fine Dogs, of the Spanish breed, were introduced by M. Léonard,
with the customary French _politesse_, the largest by the name of M.
Philax, the other as M. Brac (or Spot). The former had been in training
three, the latter two, years. They were in vigorous health, and having
bowed very gracefully, seated themselves on the hearth-rug side by
side. M. Léonard then gave a lively description of the means he had
employed to develop the cerebral system in these animals--how, from
having been fond of the chase, and ambitious of possessing the best
trained Dogs, he had employed the usual course of training--how the
conviction had been impressed on his mind that by gentle usage, and
steady perseverance in inducing the animal to repeat again and again
what was required, not only would the Dog be capable of performing
that specific act, but that part of the brain which was brought into
activity by the mental effort would become more largely developed, and
hence a permanent increase of mental power be obtained.
“After this introduction, M. Léonard spoke to his Dogs in French, in
his usual tone, and ordered one of them to walk, the other to lie down,
to run, to gallop, halt, crouch, &c., which they performed as promptly
and correctly as the most docile children. Then he directed them to go
through the usual exercises of the _manège_, which they performed as
well as the best trained ponies at Astley’s.
“He next placed six cards of different colours on the floor, and,
sitting with his back to the Dogs, directed one to pick up the blue
card, and the other the white, &c., varying his orders rapidly, and
speaking in such a manner that it was impossible the Dogs could have
executed his commands if they had not had a perfect knowledge of the
words. For instance, M. Léonard said, ‘Philax, take the red card and
give it to Brac, and, Brac, take the white card and give it to Philax.’
The Dogs instantly did this, and exchanged cards with each other. He
then said, ‘Philax, put your card on the green, and Brac, put yours
on the blue;’ and this was instantly performed. Pieces of bread and
meat were placed on the floor, with figured cards, and a variety of
directions were given to the Dogs, so as to put their intelligence and
obedience to a severe test. They brought the meat, bread, or cards,
as commanded, but did not attempt to eat or to touch unless ordered.
Philax was then ordered to bring a piece of meat and give it to Brac,
and then Brac was told to give it back to Philax, who was to return it
to its place. Philax was next told he might bring a piece of bread
and eat it; but, before he had time to swallow it, his master forbade
him, and directed him to show that he had not disobeyed, and the Dog
instantly protruded the crust between his lips.
“While many of the feats were being performed, M. Léonard snapped a
whip violently, to prove that the animals were so completely under
discipline, that they would not heed any interruption. After many
other performances, M. Léonard invited a gentleman to play a game of
dominoes with one of them. The younger and slighter Dog then seated
himself on a chair at the table, and the writer and M. Léonard seated
themselves opposite. Six dominoes were placed on their edges in the
usual manner before the Dog, and a like number before the writer. The
Dog, having a double number, took one up in his mouth, and put it in
the middle of the table; the writer placed a corresponding piece on one
side; the Dog immediately played another correctly, and so on until all
the pieces were engaged. Other six dominoes were then given to each,
and the writer intentionally played a wrong number. The Dog looked
surprised, stared very earnestly at the writer, growled, and finally
barked angrily. Finding that no notice was taken of his remonstrances,
he pushed away the wrong domino with his nose, and took up a suitable
one from his own pieces and placed it in its stead. The writer then
played correctly; the Dog followed, and won the game. Not the slightest
intimation could have been given by M. Léonard to the Dog. This mode
of play must have been entirely the result of his own observation
and judgment. It should be added that the performances were strictly
private. The owner of the Dogs was a gentleman of independent fortune,
and the instruction of his Dogs had been taken up merely as a curious
and amusing investigation.”[100]
To give another instance of a Dog understanding actual words:--A woman
expressed aloud a wish that a certain Cat, who plagued her greatly, was
dead. Her favourite Dog went out of the house, found the Cat in the
garden, and immediately slew it! This is quite a parallel case to the
story of Henry II. and Thomas à Becket.
Another very unequivocal instance is given us by Mr. Hugh Miller.
Pompey, a black Retriever, belonging to a lady at Morningside,
Edinburgh, could not be kept because he was perpetually damaging the
neighbours’ gardens. He was, therefore, sent to lodge with the family
of an old servant, but there, too, he made his position untenable by
fighting with the servant’s own Dog. At last, it was agreed that there
was no use in trying to cure Pompey of his bad habits; he was condemned
to death, and the butcher was ordered to hang him on a certain day.
The children, who loved the poor beast, despite his crimes, kept
throwing their arms round his neck and saying, “Oh, poor Pompey,
you’re going to be hanged!” On the morning fixed for the execution
Pompey disappeared, and kept clear until he imagined the storm had
blown over. Another day was, therefore, fixed, but before that time
the servant at whose house he was stopping mentioned Pompey’s case to
a lady, who obtained a reprieve, and adopted him herself. He behaved
very well with his new mistress for some time, although for a full
year after his rescue he was much depressed in spirits, and wore quite
a hang-dog look. But after some years, there was a general change of
servants in the house, and Pompey, who disliked strangers, bit one of
the new-comers. His mistress--without meaning a threat--said to him,
“Oh, Pompey, you’ll be hanged after all!” whereupon Pompey decamped,
and could by no means be heard of. At length, an advertisement in the
_Scotsman_ was answered by a gentleman, who stated that an ownerless
Dog, of the description given, had been caught _changing trains_ at
Layton, Cumberland. Here he was detained, and, although at home rather
averse to strangers, displayed at once extraordinary urbanity, and was
soon a prime favourite. Evidently it was his intention to ingratiate
himself with his new friends, that he might not be sent home and
hanged. Subsequently, he was identified by a friend of his mistress’s
who was travelling in Cumberland, and sent home. Besides illustrating a
Dog’s knowledge of words, this anecdote furnishes a wonderful instance
of acuteness, for this Dog knew nothing of the railway by which he
travelled to Layton, except from having a short time before accompanied
the cook to the station to see her off on a journey.
After finding that the Dog can understand what is said to him, one is
always tempted to wish he could go one step further, and answer again,
for to hear from a Dog’s own lips his opinion on “men and things” would
be an entertainment of no small interest. Attempts have been made
to teach Dogs to speak, but as one might imagine with very partial
success. A curious account of an attempt of this kind was communicated
by the great philosopher Leibnitz to the French Academy.
“A little boy, a peasant’s son, imagined that he perceived in the Dog’s
voice an indistinct resemblance to certain words, and therefore took it
into his head to teach him to speak. For this purpose he spared neither
time nor pains with his pupil, who was about three years old when
his learned education commenced, and in process of time he was able
to articulate no fewer than thirty distinct words. He was, however,
somewhat of a truant, and did not very willingly exert his talent, and
was rather pressed than otherwise into the service of literature. It
was necessary that the words should be pronounced to him each time,
and then he repeated them after his preceptor. Leibnitz attests that
he heard the animal talk in this way, and the French Academicians add,
that unless they had received the testimony of so celebrated a person
they would scarcely have dared to report the circumstance. It took
place in Mesnia, in Saxony.”[101]
[Illustration: BLACK RETRIEVER.]
But “actions speak louder than words,” and although the Dog is not
gifted with the power of articulate speech, he is yet capable of
expressing his feelings by look and gesture as eloquently as most
people. It is altogether wonderful to see how a Dog’s whole expression
and demeanour are changed by a word or look either of praise or blame.
The eye, the mouth, the ear, the tail, the whole trunk, all are called
into requisition, and together speak a language which is unmistakable.
Mr. Darwin gives a most interesting account of the mode of expression
of two opposite states of mind in the Dog; an account which, like
everything written by the same author, leaves nothing to be desired for
clearness and accuracy.
“When a Dog approaches a strange Dog or man in a savage or hostile
frame of mind, he walks upright and very stiffly; his head is slightly
raised, or not much lowered, the tail is held erect and quite rigid;
the hairs bristle, especially along the neck and back; the pricked
ears are directed forwards, and the eyes have a fixed stare. These
actions follow from the Dog’s intention to attack his enemy, and are
thus to a large extent intelligible. As he prepares to spring, with a
savage growl, on his enemy, the canine teeth are uncovered, and the
ears are pressed close backwards on the head. Let us now suppose that
the Dog suddenly discovers that the man whom he is approaching is not
a stranger, but his master; and let it be observed how completely and
instantaneously his whole bearing is reversed. Instead of walking
upright, the body sinks downwards, or even crouches, and is thrown into
flexuous movements; his tail, instead of being held stiff and upright,
is lowered and wagged from side to side; his hair instantly becomes
smooth; his ears are depressed and drawn backwards, but not closely to
the head; and his lips hang loosely. From the drawing back of the ears
the eyelids become elongated, and the eyes no longer appear round and
staring.”
And again, “when a Dog is on the point of springing on his antagonist,
he utters a savage growl; the ears are pressed closely backwards, and
the upper lip is retracted out of the way of his teeth, especially of
his canines.... If a Dog only snarls at another, the lip is generally
retracted on one side alone, namely, towards his enemy.”
“The feeling of affection of a Dog towards his master is combined with
a strong sense of submission, which is akin to fear. Hence Dogs not
only lower their bodies and crouch a little as they approach their
masters, but sometimes throw themselves on the ground, with their
bellies upwards. This is a movement as completely opposite as is
possible to any show of resistance.... A pleasurable and excited state
of mind, associated with affection, is exhibited by some Dogs in a very
peculiar manner, namely, by grinning.”[102]
It is extremely interesting to consider the means by which these
various expressive movements are produced. If the skin be removed from
the head of a Dog, there will be seen, lying beneath it, a quantity of
red flesh, intermixed with a good deal of fat and fibrous substance. If
this latter be carefully dissected away, the red flesh will be seen to
resolve itself into a number of _muscles_, very definitely arranged,
and each one designed for some special movement. There are, first of
all, muscles which move the eye. One set of fibres closely encircle
the aperture of the eyelids, and, when they act, close the eye, either
entirely, as in actual sleep, or partially, as in that half sleepy
state a Dog loves to be in on a hot afternoon, or before a blazing
fire. Another set of eye muscles have an entirely different action
to these. They radiate from the eyelids to the surrounding parts of
the head, and when they act, “draw back the eyelids from the eyeball,
and give a sparkling fierceness to the eye.” From this reason Sir
Charles Bell, who first described them, called them _scintillantes_, or
sparkling muscles. The ears have a number of muscular bands attached
to them, some drawing them forwards, some backwards, others sideways.
These are, therefore, highly important muscles, for a Dog hardly passes
a moment without moving his ears. We ourselves possess representatives
of these muscles, but in an entirely useless state in most persons,
very few having the power of moving their ears. Other very important
muscles pass from one of the face bones in front of the eye, and are
attached to the lip just above the canine teeth. When these act,
they draw the lips back from those teeth, thus baring the Dog’s
chief weapon, and producing a snarl; they are, therefore, called the
_ringentes_, or snarling muscles; and one has only to irritate a Dog
to see their effect in altering the animal’s expression. Lastly, there
are muscles which draw back the corners of the mouth and produce a sort
of grin, an action which seems to be almost normal in the Wolf, but
which is also frequently seen in Dogs. It will be readily observed how
important these muscles are, and how every expressive look in a Dog’s
countenance can be referred to the action of one or more of them.
[Illustration: MUSCLES OF DOG’S HEAD. (_After Sir C. Bell_)
_a_, Circular muscle round the eyelids; _b_, _d_, scintillantes;
_f_, _g_, _h_, muscles of the ear; _i_, _k_, ringentes; _m_,
circular fibres of the mouth; _n_, muscle drawing back the angle of
the mouth; _o_, cutaneous muscle, for moving the skin of the neck.]
There can be no doubt that Dogs are perfectly capable of communicating
their thoughts to one another, and of understanding one another’s
meaning as well as that of their masters. One often sees two Dogs,
after a friendly sniff, carry on a small conversation, before trotting
on their ways, evidently quite as fond of a little chat as Burns’s
celebrated “twa Dogs,” who
“Foregather’d ance upon a time
* * * * *
Nae doubt but they were fain o’ ither,
An’ unco pack and thick thegither;
Wi’ social nose whyles snuff’d and snowkit;
Whyles mice and moudieworts[103] they howkit;
Whyles scour’d awa in lang excursion,
An’ worry’d ither in diversion;
Until wi’ daffin weary grown,
upon a knowe they sat them down,
And there began a lang digression
About the lords o’ the creation.”
The method of hunting in packs adopted by wild Dogs is an undoubted
proof of the faculty of combining together for a definite end, a
number of animals agreeing to hunt a quarry, which one alone would
be powerless against. But there are many instances of civilised Dogs
concocting plans in the cleverest way, and carrying them out with a
care and circumspection perfectly wonderful in a “dumb animal.” For
instance, Mr. Romanes says:--“A small Skye and a large Mongrel were
in the habit of hunting Hares and Rabbits upon their own account, the
small Dog having a good nose, and the large one great fleetness. These
qualities they combined in the most advantageous manner, the Terrier
driving the game from the cover towards his fleet-footed companion,
which was waiting for it outside.” The same gentleman gives another and
still more curious instance:--
“A friend of mine in this neighbourhood had a small Terrier and a large
Newfoundland. One day a shepherd called upon him to say that his Dogs
had been seen worrying Sheep the night before. The gentleman said there
must be some mistake, as the Newfoundland had not been unchained. A
few days afterwards the shepherd again called with the same complaint,
vehemently asserting that he was positive as to the identity of the
Dogs. Consequently, the owner set one watch upon the kennel, and
another outside the sheep enclosure, directing them (in consequence of
what the shepherd had told him) not to interfere with the actions of
the Dogs. After this had been done for several nights in succession,
the small Dog was observed to come at day-dawn to the place where the
large one was chained. The latter immediately slipped his collar, and
the two animals made straight for the Sheep. Upon arriving at the
enclosure, the Newfoundland concealed himself behind a hedge, while
the Terrier drove the Sheep towards his ambush, and the fate of one of
them was quickly sealed. When their breakfast was finished, the Dogs
returned home, and the large one, thrusting his head into his collar,
lay down again as though nothing had happened. Why this animal should
have chosen to hunt by stratagem prey which he could so easily have run
down I cannot suggest; but there is little doubt that so wise a Dog
must have had some good reason.”
In another case we have met with, a “solemn league and covenant” was
made, for purposes of offence and defence, between a Dog and a Cat. A
Blenheim Spaniel was taken to a strange house, and, shortly after his
arrival, was attacked and severely scratched by the two Cats living
there. The Spaniel was no match for both antagonists at once, and so
judiciously beat a retreat into the garden. He there met with a Cat
belonging to the gardener, and succeeded in making friends with her and
prevailing on her to join with him against his cruel enemies. The two
allies then went into the house, and finding one of the victorious Cats
alone, attacked and defeated her. Shortly after she was put to flight,
victor number two entered the room; she was also presently attacked
and routed with great loss by the allied forces, who were thus left
masters of the field. The narrator of this tale goes on to state that
the Spaniel remained ever afterwards on terms of the firmest friendship
with his feline helper.
It is a subject of great interest to consider which of the virtues and
vices of man himself are exhibited by the Dog. We will take, first, his
good qualities, and then shall “follow his vices--close at the heels of
his virtues;” so that we may see how many of both he can be found to
possess.
First, and most important of all, is a clear sense of right and wrong,
without which no moral advancement is possible. That nearly all Dogs
have this sense, and that many possess it in a very marked degree,
there can be no doubt. Several instances of this faculty are given by
the author we have already quoted, Mr. G. J. Romanes,[104] who writes
of a little Dog in his possession:--
[Illustration: ITALIAN GREYHOUND.]
“For a long time this Terrier was the only canine pet I had. One day,
however, I brought home a large Dog and chained him up outside. The
jealousy of the Terrier towards the new-comer was extreme. Indeed, I
never before knew that jealousy in an animal could arrive at such a
pitch; but as it would occupy too much space to enter into details,
it will be enough to say that I really think nothing that could have
befallen this Terrier would have pleased him so much as would any
happy accident by which he might well get rid of his rival. Well, a
few nights after the new Dog had arrived, the Terrier was, as usual,
sleeping in my bed-room. About one o’clock in the morning he began to
bark and scream very loudly, and upon my waking up and telling him
to be quiet, he ran between the bed and the window in a most excited
manner, jumping on and off the toilette-table after each journey, as
much as to say: ‘Get up quickly; you have no idea of what shocking
things are going on outside!’ Accordingly I got up and was surprised to
see the large Dog careering down the road: he had broken loose, and,
being wild with fear at finding himself alone in a strange place, was
running he knew not whither. Of course I went out as soon as possible,
and after about half-an-hour’s work succeeded in capturing the runaway.
I then brought him into the house and chained him up in the hall; after
which I fed and caressed him, with the view of restoring his peace of
mind. During all this time the Terrier had remained in my bed-room,
and, although he heard the feeding and caressing process going on
down-stairs, this was the only time I ever knew him fail to attack
the large Dog when it was taken into the house. Upon my re-entering
the bed-room, and before I had said anything, the Terrier met me with
certain indescribable grinnings and prancings, which he always used to
perform when conscious of having been a particularly good Dog. Now, I
consider the whole of this episode a very remarkable instance in an
animal of action prompted by a sense of _duty_. No other motive than
the voice of conscience can here be assigned for what the Terrier did:
even his strong jealousy of the large Dog gave way before the yet
stronger dread he had of the remorse he knew he should have to suffer
if next day he saw me distressed at a loss which it had been in his
power to prevent. What makes the case more striking is, that this was
the only occasion during the many years he slept in my bed-room that
the Terrier disturbed me in the night-time. Indeed, the scrupulous care
with which he avoided making the least noise while I was asleep, or
pretending to be asleep, was quite touching: even the sight of a Cat
outside, which at any other time rendered him frantic, only causing him
to tremble violently with suppressed emotion, when he had reason to
suppose that I was not awake. If I overslept myself, however, he used
to jump upon the bed and push my shoulder gently with his paw.”
[Illustration: GREYHOUND.]
“The following instance is likewise very instructive. I must premise
that the Terrier in question far surpassed any animal or human
being I ever knew in the keen sensitiveness of his feelings, and
that he was never beaten in his life. Well, one day he was shut up
in a room by himself, while everybody else in the house where he
was went out. Seeing his friends from the window as they departed,
the Terrier appears to have been overcome by a paroxysm of rage,
for when I returned I found that he had torn all the bottoms of the
window-curtains to shreds. When I first opened the door he jumped about
as Dogs in general do under similar circumstances, having apparently
forgotten, in his joy at seeing me, the damage he had done. But when,
without speaking, I picked up one of the torn shreds of the curtains,
the Terrier gave a howl, and rushing out of the room, ran up-stairs
screaming as loudly as he was able. The only interpretation I can
assign to this conduct is, that his former fit of passion having
subsided, the Dog was sorry at having done what he knew would annoy
me; and not being able to endure in my presence the remorse of his
smitten conscience, he ran to the farthest corner of the house, crying
_peccavi_ in the language of his nature.
“I had had this Dog for several years, and had never--even in his
puppyhood--known him to steal. On the contrary, he used to make an
excellent guard to protect property from other animals, servants, &c.,
even though these were his best friends. Nevertheless, on one occasion
he was very hungry, and in the room where I was reading and he was
sitting there was, within easy reach, a savoury mutton chop. I was
greatly surprised to see him stealthily remove this chop and take it
under a sofa. However, I pretended not to observe what had occurred,
and waited to see what would happen next. For fully a quarter of an
hour this Terrier remained under the sofa without making it sound,
but doubtless enduring an agony of contending feelings. Eventually,
however, conscience came off victorious, for, emerging from his place
of concealment, and carrying in his mouth the stolen chop, he came
across the room and laid the tempting morsel at my feet. The moment he
dropped the stolen property he bolted again under the sofa, and from
this retreat no coaxing could charm him for several hours afterwards.
Moreover, when during that time he was spoken to or patted, he always
turned away his head in a ludicrously conscience-stricken manner.
Altogether, I do not think it would be possible to imagine a more
satisfactory exhibition of conscience by an animal than this; for it
must be remembered, as already stated, that the particular animal in
question was never beaten in its life.”
That extreme sensitiveness, so often an attribute of the highest kinds
of mind, was developed to an extraordinary degree in this wonderful
Terrier. His owner says:--“A reproachful word or look from me, when
it seemed to him that occasion required it, was enough to make this
Dog miserable for a whole day. I do not know what would have happened
had I ventured to strike him; but once, when I was away from home, a
friend used to take him out every day for a walk in the park. He always
enjoyed his walks very much, and was now wholly dependent on this
gentleman for obtaining them. (He was once stolen in London, through
the complicity of my servants, and never after that would he go out by
himself, or with any one whom he knew to be a servant.) Nevertheless,
one day, while he was amusing himself with another Dog in the park, my
friend, in order to persuade him to follow, struck him with a glove.
The Terrier looked up at his face with an astonished and indignant
gaze, deliberately turned round, and trotted home. Next day he went
out with my friend as before, but after he had gone a short distance,
he looked up at his face significantly, and again trotted home with a
dignified air. After this, my friend could never induce the Terrier
to go out with him again. It is remarkable, also, that this animal’s
sensitiveness was not only of a selfish kind, but extended itself in
sympathy for others. Whenever he saw a man striking a Dog, whether
in the house or outside, near at hand or a distance, he used to rush
to the protection of his fellow, snarling and snapping in a most
threatening way. Again, when driving with me in a dog-cart, he always
used to seize the sleeve of my coat every time I touched the Horse with
the whip.”
Sensitiveness such as this generally goes along with the keenest
susceptibility to ridicule; and here, again, the same Dog showed a
dislike of being laughed at which is amusingly human, as is also the
clever trick by which he tried to escape the gibes which were entering
so deeply into his soul.
“The Terrier used to be very fond of catching flies upon the
window-panes, and if ridiculed when unsuccessful, he was evidently much
annoyed. On one occasion, in order to see what he would do, I purposely
laughed immoderately every time he failed. It so happened that he did
so several times in succession--partly, I believe, in consequence of
my laughing; and eventually he became so distressed that he positively
_pretended_ to catch the fly, going through all the appropriate
actions with his lips and tongue, and afterwards rubbing the ground
with his neck as if to kill the victim; he then looked up at me with
a triumphant air of success. So well was the whole process simulated,
that I should have been quite deceived had I not seen that the fly
was still upon the window. Accordingly I drew his attention to this
fact, as well as to the absence of anything upon the floor; and when
he saw that his hypocrisy had been detected, he slunk away under some
furniture, evidently much ashamed of himself.”
Honesty is a virtue very commonly developed in good Dogs, and instances
of it are numerous. In the family of a friend of ours there is a large
Retriever--a long-faced, Puritanical-looking Dog--which, when the
temptation to steal is ready to overpower him, will, to keep his virtue
untarnished, turn his back upon the longed-for morsel, solemnly looking
in the opposite direction. Evidently, like Coleridge’s “holy hermit,”
he “prays where he does sit,” and thus overcomes the temptation. But,
as usual, the best anecdote is given by Mr. Romanes, again _apropos_ of
his wonderful Terrier.
“I have seen this Dog escort a Donkey, which had baskets on its back
filled with apples. Although the Dog did not know that he was being
observed by anybody, he did his duty with the utmost faithfulness; for
every time the Donkey turned back its head to take an apple out of the
baskets the Dog snapped at its nose; and such was his watchfulness,
that, although his companion was keenly desirous of tasting some of the
fruit, he never allowed him to get a single apple during the half-hour
they were left together. I have also seen this Terrier protecting meat
from other Terriers (his sons) which lived in the same house with him,
and with which he was on the best of terms. More curious still, I have
seen him seize my wristbands while they were being worn by a friend to
whom I had temporarily lent them.”
In some Dogs, as in many people, honesty does not spring from high
principle, but from mere conventionality. Actual dishonesty, too, is
the commonest vice of untrained or badly-trained Dogs. It is, however,
comparatively rare to meet with Dogs whose thefts are of a really
artistic nature. Two of the best instances of this are furnished by Sir
Walter Scott,[105] who gives a most interesting account of a Shepherd’s
Dog and a Spaniel, both of whom had a perfect talent for thieving; they
were not only afflicted with kleptomania in a high degree, but showed
as much talent in the performance of their equivocal deeds as the most
prominent member of the “swell mob.”
[Illustration: COLLEY, OR SHEEP DOG.]
“I have heard of a sheep-stealer who had rendered his Dog so skilful
an accomplice in his nefarious traffic, that he used to send him out
to commit acts of felony by himself, and had even contrived to impress
on the poor cur the caution that he should not, on such occasions,
seem even to recognise his master if they met accidentally. There
were several instances of this dexterity, but especially those which
occurred in the celebrated case of Murdison and Millar in 1773. These
persons, a sheep-farmer and his shepherd, settled in the vale of
Tweed, commenced and carried on for some time an extensive system of
devastation on the flocks of their neighbours. A Dog belonging to
Millar was so well trained that he had only to show him during the
day the parcel of Sheep which he desired to have, and when dismissed
at night for the purpose, Yarrow went right to the pasture where the
flock had fed, and carried off the quantity shown to him. He then drove
them before him by the most secret paths to Murdison’s farm, where the
dishonest master and servant were in readiness to receive the booty.
Two things were remarkable. In the first place, that if the Dog, when
thus dishonestly employed, actually met his master, he observed great
caution in recognising him, as if he had been afraid of bringing him
under suspicion; secondly, that he showed a distinct sense that the
illegal transactions in which he was engaged were not of a nature to
endure daylight. The Sheep which he was directed to drive were often
reluctant, to leave their own pastures, and sometimes the intervention
of rivers or other obstacles made their progress peculiarly difficult.
On such occasions, Yarrow continued his efforts to drive his plunder
forward until the day began to dawn, a signal which, he conceived,
rendered it necessary for him to desert his spoil, and slink homeward
by a circuitous road. It is generally said this accomplished Dog was
hanged along with his master; but the truth is, he survived him long,
in the service of a man in Leithen: yet was said afterwards to have
shown little of the wonderful instinct exhibited in the service of
Millar.
“Another instance of similar sagacity a friend of mine discovered in
a beautiful little Spaniel, which he had purchased from a dealer in
the canine race. When he entered a shop, he was not long in observing
that his little companion made it a rule to follow at some interval,
and to estrange itself from his master so much as to appear totally
unconnected with him. And when he left the shop, it was the Dog’s
custom to remain behind him till it could find an opportunity of
seizing a pair of gloves, or silk stockings, or some similar property,
which it brought to its master. The poor fellow probably saved its life
by falling into the hands of an honest man.”
[Illustration: NEWFOUNDLAND DOGS.]
Equally good is the account given by Mr. Youatt of a pair of canine
house-lifters, whose talents were really pre-eminent. One is almost
tempted to wonder if an iron safe with all the most recent improvements
would have been proof against their attacks.
“The writer of this work had a brace of Greyhounds as arrant thieves
as ever lived. They would now and then steal into the cooking-room
belonging to the kennel, lift the lid from the boiler, and, if any
portion of the joint or piece of meat projected above the water,
suddenly seize it, and before there was time for them to feel much
of its heat, contrive to whirl it on the floor, and eat it at their
leisure as it got cold. In order to prevent this, the top of the
boiler was secured by an iron rod passing under its handle, and tied
to the handle of the boiler on each side; but not many days passed ere
they discovered that they could gnaw the cords asunder, and displace
the rod, and fish out the meat as before. Small chains were then
substituted for the cords, and the meat was cooked in safety for nearly
a week, when they found that, by rearing themselves on their hind legs,
and applying their united strength towards the top of the boiler, they
could lift it out of its bed, and roll it along the floor, and so get
at the broth, although the meat was out of their reach. The man who
looked after them expressed himself heartily glad when they were gone;
for he said he was often afraid to go into the kennel, and was sure
they were devils and not Dogs.”
The foregoing Dogs were all dishonest in a tolerably open sort of way,
and are comparable to human burglars and shop-lifters; but the animal
of whom the following tale is told disdained plain dealing, and went
in for something akin to the well-known “confidence dodge,” by which
so many unsuspecting countrymen are every year taken in by London
sharpers:--
“I once, under somewhat singular circumstances, made the acquaintance
of a Dog, as arrant a vagabond and impostor as ever ran on four
legs, but whose shortcomings were, I feel convinced, occasioned by
circumstances entirely beyond his control. He was above the medium
size, and of handsome proportions, except for one or two blemishes.
There was an air of superior breeding about the animal; his coat was
silky and genteel, and his bright eyes beamed with intelligence. Owing,
however, to an accident of birth, a taint of the most objectionable cur
kind had crept into his composition. It announced itself in distorting
to bandiness his otherwise symmetrical fore-legs, and in a shapeless,
club-like tail, which usurped the place of a wavy, graceful terminal
appendage such as would have been his had not his breed been marred.
A close observer might have remarked, as well as the peculiarities
mentioned, a raffish-drooping of the left eyelid and an up-curving of
the upper lip on the right side, as though the animal had been used to
pot-house company; and they had taught him the trick of holding a short
pipe there. But, on the whole; and at a cursory glance, he was quite a
nice-looking Dog.
“The first occasion of our meeting was very late one wintry night, when
the snow lay half a foot deep on the street pavement. I cannot say if
he first caught sight of me or I of him, for he was crouched in the
shadow of a lamp-post; seemingly on the chance of there coming that way
a compassionate pedestrian who might be induced to give him a night’s
lodging. Our eyes met, and had I been a long-lost relative he could
not have been more suddenly inspired with joy. He bounded to his feet,
and proclaimed his good-luck in tones that must have awakened all the
babies in the neighbourhood. I quickened my step, but he appeared to
regard this as a friendly response to his friskiness, and he barked the
louder. For peace and quietness’ sake I adjured him as a ‘Good Dog.’
That did the business. He had no objection to trotting soberly by my
side on that understanding, and so together we arrived at my domicile.
“It was altogether against the rules of the establishment to admit
strange Dogs, but under such circumstances what could I do? His genteel
appearance pleaded for him. The mere fact of his having, like a
blundering, stupid, honest tyke, jumped to the conclusion that I looked
just the sort of Man to befriend a houseless Dog, spoke in his favour.
Every one was in bed as I opened the door with my latch-key, and not
too deeply to compromise myself I pointed out to my canine intruder
that his place for the night was the door-mat. I went down-stairs and
searched for scraps, and got him together a tolerably good supper, and
left him perfectly comfortable.
“I cannot believe that at that time he had it in his mind to abuse my
confidence, or to act towards me in any way the reverse of honourable.
It must have been that unfortunate one-eighth of cur that, made bold
by beef-bones, rose against the animal’s better nature, and conquered
it. Anyhow, when the outer door was opened to the newspaper-boy next
morning, the servant was scared by the spectacle of a Dog taking the
whole flight of steps at a leap, and making off with part of a leg of
pork in its mouth. The villain had feloniously extracted it from the
pantry, which I had inadvertently left open when I went foraging for
him. Besides the pork he had carried off, he had helped himself during
the night to a small steak-pie, about a pound of fresh butter, and a
fine rasher of ham. I had but little expectation of encountering the
canine traitor ever again; but I did so. About a week after, at dead
of night, and in the pouring rain, once more I made out his crouching
figure in the shadow of the identical lamp-post. Again our eyes met,
and, as on the previous occasion, he instantly leapt to his feet. Not
to cut capers about me. However, his guilty fears did not make of him
a faltering, trembling coward. He took in the whole situation at a
glance, including my vengefully-grasped umbrella, and, with one brisk
bark of derision, made off at a speed which quickly carried him out of
sight. Since then I have frequently encountered him, but it has been
in the busy streets at daytime, but he does not run away. If he can
avoid my eye he does so. If he cannot--and with his guilt haunting
him I imagine it is not easy to do so--he assumes a puzzled expression
of countenance, as though half convinced he has seen me before, though
when and under what circumstances he could not say though his life
depended on it.”[106]
Another very good instance of cunning, produced by a long course of
back-slum life and manners, is given by the writer from whom the
foregoing anecdote is taken, respecting “a Dog--a low-looking villain,
blind of one eye, and, in consequence of his nefarious propensities,
with never more than three sound legs to run on, who haunts the
neighbourhood of Drury Lane. Nobody owns the brute, but he has
contrived to scrape acquaintance with a kind-hearted cheesemonger, who
keeps a shop there. I have the worthy tradesman’s own word for it that
he always knows when the officer on the look-out for vagrant Dogs is
about by the sudden appearance of Tinker and his peculiar behaviour.
At ordinary times disdaining to be anything better than a Dog of the
streets, his custom is to salute the cheesemonger from the pavement,
and by a bark and a wag of his stump of a tail solicit an unconsidered
trifle of bone or bacon-rind; but on the special occasion alluded to
his tactics are quite different. He enters the shop with a sober and
business-like air, and lies down on a mat by the parlour-door, with
paws extended and his tail beating a contented tattoo on the floor, as
though since his puppyhood that had been his home and abiding-place,
and he had known and desired to know no other. It is a joke between
the officer and the cheesemonger, and the former enters the shop and
loudly demands to know if ‘that Dog lives here.’ I have not as yet had
the pleasure of witnessing it, but the cheesemonger informs me that it
is ‘as good as a play’ to observe the reassuring blink of his only eye
which, at this juncture, Tinker bestows on the policeman, immediately
afterwards curling himself round for a doze, as though to say, ‘Let
this convince you.’ Tinker’s stay, however, is not protracted. As soon
as, according to his calculation, the coast is clear, he is off, as
unexpectedly as he came, and until he is again hard pressed by the law
never thinks of crossing the cheesemonger’s threshold.”
We spoke just now of Dogs being honest from pure conventionality;
there is no doubt that many of them soon acquire a very acute sense
of the conventional, and perform certain actions, or assume a
certain behaviour, simply because they feel it to be the right and
proper thing. We have heard of a Bull-terrier who acquired perfectly
that sense of decorum which in many human beings serves in lieu of
religious feeling. When this Dog was bought, it was debated whether or
not it would be advisable to let him remain in the room at prayers;
the question was eventually decided in the affirmative, and the Dog
almost immediately seemed to get a sense of what was meant, and to
feel that he was expected to behave with propriety. He therefore
adopted a particular mode of procedure--a sort of canine ritual--to
which he always steadily adhered. While the Bible was being read, he
sat straight up on his haunches on the hearth-rug, looking solemnly
into the fire. This he continued until the family knelt to pray, when
he immediately went off to a corner of the room, and stood there
with lowered head until all was over. He did this with such perfect
solemnity that the effect was indescribably ludicrous, and friends
stopping in the house had to be warned of what to expect.
The tales of canine magnanimity are endless. Every one knows that of
the big Newfoundland who, being long plagued by a number of little
yelping curs, one of whom at last bit him, revenged himself only by
dipping the offender in the quay hard by, and, after he was cowed,
plunging in and bringing him safe to land. But all Dogs are not
magnanimous. Some of them, like certain men one meets with, have quite
a talent for taking offence, and will pick a quarrel on the slightest
provocation, or, indeed, on no provocation at all. There are, of
course, the wretched little curs one meets in the street, whose sole
delight seems to be to rush out suddenly and bark furiously at every
passer-by; but these miserable beings act as they do rather from lack
of brain, and for want of something to do, than from real badness of
heart. There are Dogs, however, who are naturally quarrelsome, and
will do all in their power to get up a row, simply for the pleasure of
the thing. “There is a well-authenticated instance of a Terrier, who,
in picking a quarrel, contrived, as if trained in the Kanzellei of
Prince Bismarck, to place himself technically in the right. He would
time his movements so that some passenger should stumble over him, and
would then fasten on the calf of his leg. With a most statesman-like
aptitude, he selected the aged, the infirm, and the ill-dressed, as the
objects of his cunningly-planned attacks.”[107]
Not only are instances of quarrelsomeness to be found Dogs, but also
of the strongest desire to revenge real or supposed injuries, of the
exercise of a wonderful amount of cunning and reasoning power to bring
a hated rival to justice. The following anecdote forms a capital
antithesis to that of Mr. Romanes’ Terrier, who prevented the escape of
the Dog he disliked and was jealous of, although such an event would
have brought him the greatest possible comfort:--
“A fine Terrier, in the possession of a surgeon, about three weeks
ago, exhibited its sagacity in a rather amusing manner. It came
into the kitchen and began plucking the servant by the gown, and
in spite of repeated rebuffs, it perseveringly continued in its
purpose. The mistress of the house hearing the noise, came down to
inquire the cause, when the animal treated her in a similar manner.
Being struck with the concern evinced by the creature, she quietly
followed it up-stairs into a bed-room, whither it led her; there it
commenced barking, looking under the bed, and then up in her face.
Upon examination, a Cat was discovered there quietly demolishing a
beef-steak, which it had feloniously obtained. The most singular
feature in the whole case is that the Cat had been introduced into
the house only a short time before, and that bitter enmity prevailed
between her and her canine companion.”
Besides illustrating the desire for vengeance, this is as good an
instance of reason as any we have given. The Dog evidently argued to
himself in this wise:--“If I fly upon this wretched Cat and deprive her
of her stolen goods by force, she will get nothing more than a fright,
or, perhaps, a few tooth marks; but if I lodge a complaint against her
before the proper tribunal, her guilt will be manifest to the whole
household, and she will be got rid of, or even killed.” The Dog, by the
way he conceived and acted on this plan, showed himself to be nearly
as clever and almost as wicked as a great many men one reads about in
history.
We have spoken of maternal love as exhibited by the Dog. This is, of
course, a case of instinct; but instances are not wanting in which Dogs
have shown the high faculty of devoted love towards other than their
offspring, and of friendship like that of Ruth for Naomi. Mr. Darwin
mentions a Greyhound bitch who, contrary to the usual custom of her
race, fell deeply in love with a Pointer, and would have nothing to say
to any other Dog during the life of her lover; and, stranger still,
when he died, she showed a constancy equal to that of the best of her
sex among the human race, and remained strictly faithful to his memory,
never afterwards bearing pups.
Rarer than conjugal affection amongst animals, is friendship between
individuals of the same sex; of this, too, instances are not wanting.
Mr. Youatt relates the following:--“Two Dogs, the property of a
gentleman at Shrewsbury, had been companions for many years, until one
of them died of old age. The survivor immediately began to manifest
an extraordinary degree of restless anxiety, searching for his old
associate in all his former haunts, and refusing every kind of food. He
gradually wasted away, and at the expiration of the tenth day he died,
the victim of an attachment that would have done honour to man.”
Of equally intense devotion to man, instances are so numerous that one
hardly knows which to mention. None is, perhaps, more wonderful or more
affecting than that we have already mentioned, of the Dog who watched
for three months by the corpse of his dead master on Helvellyn. There
is also a tale of a Newfoundland Dog, whose master--a soldier--returned
to his home, after an absence of many years, when the Dog recognised
him at once, “leaped upon his neck, licked his face, and died.” He
must have retained, during the whole of the time his master was away,
the memory of his care and friendship. One cannot doubt that he often
thought of and longed for him; and the rush of joy and hope fulfilled
was too much for the great heart of the noble animal. He succumbed to
the intensity of his feelings, thereby showing himself to be superior
in one of the highest and grandest of qualities to by far the greater
proportion of the human race. How many men, or even women, of one’s own
acquaintance, are _capable_ of dying of joy?
But there is a dark side to this picture. A very large proportion of
Dogs possess but little of this virtue of fidelity, but have greatly
developed the contrary vice of extreme fickleness. They will change
masters without the slightest objection, and be “off with the old
love and on with the new” absolutely without a pang. Froissart, the
chronicler, tells a curious tale respecting the treachery of Richard
II.’s Dog, “a Grayhounde, called Mithe, who always wayted upon the
kynge, and woulde knowe no man els. For where so ever the kynge did
ryde, he that kept the Grayhounde dyd lette him lose, and he wolde
streyght mime to the kynge, and faune uppon hym, and leape with his
fore fete uppon the kynge’s shoulders. And as the kynge and the
Erle of Derby (Bolingbroke, afterwards Henry IV.) talked togyder in
the courte, the Grayhounde, who was wonte to leape uppon the kynge,
left the kynge, and came to the Erle of Derby, Duke of Lancastre, and
made to him the same friendly continuance and chere as he was wonte
to do to the kynge. The duke, who knewe not the Grayhounde, demanded
of the kynge what the Grayhounde would do? ‘Cousin,’ quod the kynge,
‘it is a greate goode token to you, and an evyl signe to me.’ ‘How
knowe you that?’ quod the duke. ‘I knowe it well,’ quod the kynge.
‘The Grayhounde acknowledgeth you here this day as Kynge of England,
as ye shall be, and I shall be deposed; the Grayhounde hath this
knowledge naturally; therefore take hym to you: he wyll follow you and
forsake me.’ The duke understood well these words, and cherished the
Grayhounde, who wolde never after follow Kynge Richard, but followed
the Duke of Lancastre.” This anecdote, curious, if true, would seem to
show that rats and men are not the only animals who make haste to leave
a sinking ship.
[Illustration: POMERANIAN DOG.]
We have made mention of a certain quarrelsome Dog, fond of picking a
quarrel, who always took care, with the true instinct of a cowardly
bully, to pick out old or infirm persons as objects of his attacks. We
are glad to say that we have found a notice of a Setter who showed a
becoming respect for age. His owner says:--
“One other curious fact may here be mentioned about this Dog. Although
naturally a very vivacious animal, and, when out for a walk with myself
or any other young person, perpetually ranging about in search of game,
yet, if taken out for a walk by an elderly person, he keeps close to
heel all the time, pacing along with a slow step and sedate manner, as
different as possible from that which is natural to him. This curious
behaviour is quite spontaneous on his part, and appears to arise from
the sense of the respect that is due to age.”
We need hardly say that this Dog belongs to Mr. Romanes, amongst whose
animals specimens of all the Christian gifts and graces seem to be
found.
We thus see that a very large proportion of our own virtues and vices
are developed in our canine “fellow-mortals”; there is, however, one
state of mind which we should hardly expect to find in any animal,
viz., despair. With man it is, alas! sufficiently common to feel that
he has had enough of “life’s fitful fever,” and that the only thing
left is to make haste
“---- to be hurled
Anywhere, anywhere, out of the world.”
But who would expect a dumb quadruped to have feelings of this sort?
Yet that such may be the case is rendered probable by the following
remarkable story:--
“A day or two since, a fine Dog, belonging to Mr. George Hone, of
Frindsbury, near Rochester, committed a deliberate act of suicide by
drowning in the Medway at Upnor, Chatham. The Dog had been suspected
of having given indications of approaching hydrophobia, and was
accordingly shunned, and kept as much as possible from the house. This
treatment appeared to cause him much annoyance, and for some days he
was observed to be moody and morose. On Thursday morning he proceeded
to an intimate acquaintance of his master’s at Upnor, on reaching the
residence of whom he set up a piteous cry on finding that he could not
obtain admittance. After waiting at the house some little time, he was
seen to go towards the river close by, when he deliberately walked down
the bank, and, after turning round and giving a kind of farewell howl,
walked into the stream, where he kept his head under water, and in a
minute or two rolled over dead. This extraordinary act of suicide was
witnessed by several persons. The manner of his death proved pretty
clearly that the animal was not suffering from hydrophobia.”[108]
The last statement of the writer of this anecdote may be called in
question, as it is a well established fact that a mad Dog will often
plunge its head into water, and make violent though ineffectual efforts
to drink; and it is very likely that the Dog in question had no real
intention of committing suicide, but was drowned while attempting to
slake his insatiable thirst. This seems a probable explanation, though
it takes the point from our tale.
Of that most horrible and fatal disease--rabies--little need be said
here. It is accompanied in the Dog by inflammation, inability to
swallow, insensibility to pain, even to severe blows or burns, and
usually great ferocity, and a disposition to bite everything that
comes in its way. The gait, the glance, and also the howl of a mad
Dog are very characteristic. But the most terrible thing about rabies
is that it can be communicated to man, producing in him the special
human form of the disease, hydrophobia. This latter, like rabies,
never arises except by inoculation with the saliva of a rabid Dog, so
that both these terrible, and it is to be feared increasing diseases,
might be stamped out by the adoption for a few months of a rigorous
quarantine.[109] When a human being is bitten, symptoms of rabies
usually occur in from a fortnight to three months; but a case is on
record in which the disease did not appear for twelve years! When the
poison is once established in the system a cure seems to be utterly
impossible. The only remedy is at once either to cut out the wound
or to rub it deeply and thoroughly with lunar caustic (nitrate of
silver), which Mr. Youatt states to be far more efficacious than actual
cauterising or burning with a red-hot iron.
* * * * *
The varieties or breeds of the Dog are extremely numerous, and differ
from each other to a wonderful degree. In the matter of size, we have
the Mastiff, as large as a pony, at one end of the series, and the
Toy-terrier, a few inches long, at the other. As to the development
of hair, there is every gradation, from the hairless Turkish Dog
to the Skye-terrier or the Poodle; as to running powers, there are
the Greyhound and the Turnspit; in the matter of mental and moral
characteristics, we have the intelligent Shepherd’s Dog, the obstinate
and courageous Bull-dog, the silly Italian Greyhound, and the lazy
Lap-dog. Never was animal so thoroughly, so unanimously, and so
successfully selected: never did any show such endless variation in so
many particulars.