WONDERFUL FEATS PERFORMED BY DOGS—MOST CELEBRATED DOGS OF THE
WORLD—LEARNING THE ALPHABET—TO PLAY CARDS AND DOMINOES—TO SELECT ANY
ARTICLE DESIRED AND PUT IT ANYWHERE DIRECTED.
Our last chapter gave a wide range of tricks performed by dogs, most of
which can be taught by the amateur trainer. There is another class of
tricks, requiring great intelligence on the part of the dog, and rare
skill and patience on the part of the trainer, for their successful
mastery. Though these may be beyond the abilities of ordinary dogs and
ordinary trainers—for such feats are very rare, even in public
exhibitions, and when performed, are looked upon almost as miracles—they
cannot fail to prove interesting to our readers, and it is barely
possible that some reader of this book may yet astonish the world with
some equally proficient animal, to rival those whose deeds are herein
recorded.
The French trainers have probably brought the education of the dog to a
point achieved in no other country, and several of these canine
celebrities have become subjects of history. Emil de Tarade gives a very
interesting account of two of these, the principal part of which account
we translate, as follows:
“In 1840 I was acquainted with M. Leonard, of Lisle, (an inspector of
the revenue) who possessed two well taught dogs. Braque and Philax, as
they were named, were two grayhounds, with large brown ears. Their eyes
alone would tell you how much intelligence had been developed in these
interesting animals. Words were fixed in their memory with a positive
meaning. These dogs knew as well as we do the meaning of ‘above,’
‘below,’ ‘before,’ ‘behind,’ etc. They made a proper application of the
name of a color, of a number up to a certain point; knew what was meant
by ‘parlor,’ ‘corridor,’ ‘stairs;’ knew the furniture, utensils, small
objects of the pocket and toilet; and when one bade these dogs perform
in the _absence_ of their master, one was seized with astonishment and
admiration.
“If you said to one: ‘Go sit down in front of the lady in the
rose-colored dress,’ the dog went immediately to seek the lady so
designated, seated himself upon his haunches, wagging his tail, and
regarding the lady with a very expressive look. ‘Ask the lady for her
thimble.’ The lady offered successively her handkerchief, gloves, etc.,
but the animal did not move. As soon as she presented the thimble, he
ran off, making a thousand gambols at having obtained it. After this he
passed gravely about the room, as if to say: ‘What shall I do with it?’
On saying to him: ‘Go to the sofa in front of the fireplace—there is a
hat upon it—put the thimble in the hat, and carry it to the lady in
blue,’ the dog would strictly carry out the order.
“Placing a piece of meat on a piece of bread, and putting the whole into
a corner of the room, you might say to either of these dogs: ‘Seek it!
Seize it!’ The animal would run toward the object in question, but on
nearing it, he would face about, seat himself before you with a pleasant
air, as if to say: ‘I only eat what my master gives me—is Mons. Leonard
present?’ The latter would say: ‘Leave the meat—put it on the ground—eat
the bread.’ The order would be executed.
“Both these dogs knew how to play dominoes, and this is the method in
which it was done: One dog was made to seat himself upon a chair before
a table on which were placed the dominoes, and opposite a human player.
It was necessary to give the dog only four dominoes, which were laid out
in a row, the faces toward him. If he had a double six he played it at
once, placing it in the middle of the table. If he had not, he waited
for his opponent to play. Then, if he had a domino proper to play, he
did not fail to do it, though he never adjusted it nicely—contenting
himself with placing it at the end to which it belonged. If you
attempted to cheat, by placing a two, for instance, where a six
belonged, he contented himself (if it was a lady) with returning the
wrong domino; but if it was a gentleman, he accompanied the correction
with a growl, as if to say: ‘Do not revoke, sir.’ These feats were
performed by these dogs either in the presence or absence of their
master.
“One day, walking in the country, I asked M. Leonard to order the dogs
to go over a fence right and left. He did so by command only, Philax
going over on our left, and Braque on the right, as they were ordered.
Then he ordered them to kiss each other; they pushed muzzle to muzzle in
quite an amusing way. Another thing, the dogs were frequently sent to
the butcher, baker, or grocer, with a basket and written message, and on
these occasions it was only necessary to say: ‘Go to the butcher!’ ‘Go
to the baker!’ or, ‘Go to the grocer!’ and the command was always obeyed
without fail. On these occasions, one would carry the basket, and the
other would act as guard.
“One may see from this that if the grayhound, the least intelligent of
his kind, is capable of such instruction, all dogs are capable of being
taught to do things which seem apparently impossible.”
Still another French celebrity of the canine kind is described by a
writer in Le Siecle, a Paris journal. Mlle. Bianca, as she was called,
one of the pug breed, created quite a sensation among amusement seekers
at the time she was exhibited, and her wonderful feats were witnessed by
large audiences. We did not see her performance, but have been assured
by persons who did, that the following, though perhaps a little highly
colored—as is the habit of most French writers—is yet substantially an
accurate description of the dog’s feats. Le Siecle’s reporter says:
“As most of the Parisian papers have mentioned this little phenomenon,
who reminds the public of the genius of the illustrious Munito, I, in
turn, wished to make Mlle. Bianca’s acquaintance. She did me the honor
to accord a private audience to me, for which I am extremely grateful.
To see artists on the theater of their exploits is doubtless very
agreeable, but to be introduced into their intimate circle of
friendship, is still more precious. If these lines should fall under
Mlle. Bianca’s eyes—as it is not improbable, for artists generally do
not disdain to read newspapers where their merits are vaunted—she may
see that, though I am only a man, may hert is no stranger to every
sentiment of gratitude. Let me say, in the first place, in praise of my
heroine, that her modesty exceeds even that of male and female literary
people, who are, as everybody knows, a most modest race. Vanity, that
horrible fault which some observers have insisted they were able to
detect in some men and women—fortunately extremely rare—is no canine
vice; and great as are Mlle. Bianca’s talents, she remains what nature
made her—simple and good natured, and as sprightly as beautiful.
“She reads fluently, writes in her way, corrects faults of orthography,
takes part in a game of ecarte, forms a bouquet by the names of flowers
or their colors, and barks, or at least is familiar with, nineteen
languages. Even if we admit the natural affection which Mlle. Bianca’s
professor has for his excellent pupil has betrayed him into exaggerating
the talents of Mlle. Bianca some fifteen more tongues than she really
possesses, nevertheless she will still be a most distinguished
polyglotist. This I can affirm. I gave her the English word ‘God’ to
translate into Latin. She instantly, and without hesitation, composed
the word ‘Deus.’ This is her modus operandi: She is placed on a table
sufficiently large to allow her to move easily in every direction. She
is in the center of the table. All around her are small bits of
pasteboard, bearing each a letter of the alphabet. When a spectator
gives a word, or asks for a translation, Mlle. Bianca seems to think a
moment, half closes her eyes, like a poet hunting for a rhyme, and moves
around the table, taking pasteboard, letter after letter, until she
completes the word. She does this quietly, easily, without ever being
betrayed into hurry. The word formed, she gravely takes her seat and
gives one bark, as a printer places a period at the end of a sentence.
She plays cards, and forms nosegays in the same way. While this
intellectual animal is at work, her master stands motionless, some three
or four paces from the table, but does not say a word. He sometimes
disappears entirely behind a door, and Mlle. Bianca works wonders as
effectually as when he is present. I said to her tutor: ‘So your dog
really reads and understands what is said to her?’
“‘How can you doubt it, as you see she does so as well when I am absent
as when I am by her side?’
“‘She really is the worthy peer of Munito, the Newton of the canine
race.’
“‘Munito!’ quickly exclaimed Mlle. Bianca’s tutor, his lip curling with
contempt as he spoke. ‘Munito was a miserable humbug; one of those dogs
who abuse the public credulity.’
“‘What? Munito a humbug? You astound me!’
“‘Yes, sir; and were Munito here, I should tell him so to his face.
Impostors and dogs of real talents should not be confounded. Munito did
not know B from a bull’s foot, while Bianca has learned by rule. What
she knows, she knows thoroughly.’
“‘Is it possible Munito knew nothing, and merely concerted with his
master to appear learned?’
“‘You have hit the nail on the head.’
“‘Do you mean to tell me there are pseudo savants among dogs? I thought
men had a monopoly of that plague.’
“‘Dogs don’t escape it.’
“‘Good heavens! can a fellow trust neither man nor dog? Do enter into
particulars; and since I am doomed, it seems, to lose one more illusion,
let the loss, at least, turn to the profit of my knowledge.’
“‘I, too, was a dupe to Munito’s merits; but one fine morning the scales
fell from my eyes, and I discovered the truth. Like my Bianca—forgive me
the odious comparison, dear!—Munito stood in the center of a circle
formed of bits of pasteboard bearing letters, or figures, or colors. I
grant you, Munito had a good deal of brains; he was no fool, I admit,
and his ear was exquisitely delicate. Had he been trained by a good
method, he would have attained high rank; but his master, who was an
Italian, preferred turning his delicacy of hearing to profit, rather
than bringing him up by rule.’
“‘Ah! Munito was no classic. But, pray tell me, did he then belong to
the romantic school?’
“‘Not a bit more than he belonged to the classical school. All his
talents lay in obeying his master’s signals. Munito walked gravely
around the table, assuming the airs of a member of the French academy;
but incapable as he was of reading or distinguishing colors, he never
stopped to pick up the bit of pasteboard except when his master gave him
the signal. Munito’s master stood with his hand in his breeches pocket.
He would snap a finger nail or a tooth pick, and this click, though so
slight as to escape the attention of the spectators, was caught by the
dog’s ear, and who instantly received the reward of his criminal comedy.
He was given a bonbon. Do you know of what that so-called bonbon was
made? ’Twas nothing but bread and meat hashed fine and rolled in the
shape of a ball; but there was no more sugar in it than there is in a
black draught. Such cheating really deserves the brand of history. If
you think I speak harshly of Munito, my excuse is, he is dead. We owe
nothing but truth to dead dogs as well as dead men.’”
The reader will perceive that, for the best results, a systematic course
of education is necessary rather than the teaching of a mere trick, to
be performed at a recognized signal from the trainer. Presuming that the
dog has been taught to fetch and carry, as described in the preceding
chapter, and may thereby be considered to be well up in the rudiments of
canine education, the following, which may be termed the “classical”
course, would be the system of instruction—it is, indeed, the same as
was pursued with Braque and Philax:
Having taught your dog the meaning of the words, “go fetch it,” “bring
it,” “drop it,” “bring it back,” you will next teach him the names of
different articles. Let us first take a handkerchief, and placing it
upon the ground, order him to “bring the handkerchief,” until the name
is impressed on his memory. Now we will add a glove, and direct the dog
to “bring the glove.” Should he bring the handkerchief instead, we scold
him, but should he bring the glove, we reward him. When he has
thoroughly learned to distinguish these articles by name, a key may be
added, and the same method of teaching continued. One by one other
articles may be added, until the number is sufficiently large to make
the trick entertaining. When he has been exercised in picking out on
command the desired article from those-placed on the ground, hide one of
them, and, calling the hidden article by name, order him to bring it.
If, after examining the objects before him, he shows by his distressed
looks that he knows the article required is not among the others, you
may be assured he has thoroughly acquired his lesson. If he brings a
_wrong_ article, it is certain that either he is careless, or not
sufficiently drilled.
Differences of color come next. Take, for example, a red, white, or blue
handkerchief, and placing it on the ground, direct the dog to bring it,
calling it by _color_ as well as name. At first he will bring it,
because he knows what the word “handkerchief” means, and without giving
consideration to the color; but when you add a handkerchief of a
different color, still ordering him to bring the former one, he will
remember the new word and its application to the right handkerchief.
Supposing you have commenced with the red one, and have added the white,
should he bring the white, you say sternly, “No! the _red_
handkerchief,” making him replace the white, and bring the red. Now
repeat the lesson, calling at will for first one and then the other,
until he makes no mistakes. Then add the blue handkerchief, and repeat
the lesson. Gloves of various colors may then be added, one by one, in
all cases naming the _color_ as well as the article when directing him
to bring it. The number of objects may be increased to whatever extent
the patience of the trainer and the capacity of the pupil will admit of.
After that it will be found convenient to teach him the names of the
more common articles of furniture. Pointing to a table, you will say to
him: “Go to the table.” The motion of your hand will probably direct him
to the designated spot; and by repeating the lesson, he will learn to
associate the name of “table” with that article. Of course, “chair,”
“sofa,” and other objects may be added as he progresses.
Then he may be taught to distinguish between the meanings of such words
as “on,” “under,” etc. This is done by emphasizing the prepositions as:
“Put the glove _on_ the chair;” “Put the handkerchief _under_ the
table,” etc., in each case repeating the order until he obeys correctly.
If all preceding lessons have been thorough, he will readily comprehend
all of the order but the _new_ part, and as his attention will only be
required by that, he will soon learn it. Then the titles of individuals,
as “lady,” “gentleman,” and “child,” may be taught in the same manner,
reproving his failures and rewarding his successful attempts.
To secure a valuable dog against accidental or malicious injury from
poisonous or improper food, it is well to accustom him to take his food
from the hand of his master, or some other trustworthy person, and never
to eat anything unless it be so given. This is the foundation of several
tricks spoken of in a preceding page. After the dog’s intelligence has
been so cultivated that he quickly understands your wishes, and has
become accustomed to rendering implicit obedience thereto, place within
his reach a piece of meat, or a saucer of milk, and order him not to
touch it. Then retire to a short distance, but be ready to check any
attempt to seize the food, by repeating the command, “Don’t touch it,”
and by force if necessary. Do not tantalize him too long, but soon give
him some tid-bit as a reward for his self-control, and repeat the
lesson. By-and-by he may be left alone, at first only for a few minutes,
then for a longer and longer time.
It is possible—and, indeed, it is the common method—to teach a dog to
pick out any desired letters from a number of printed cards, in
obedience to signals given by the exhibitor. This method of training is
essentially the same as that adopted with the “educated hog;” so it is
unnecessary to describe it here. But dogs, as in the case of those
described in the preceding pages, may be taught to _know_ the letters,
and to recognize them when named; so that the performance can be
conducted more openly, and without risk of the clap-trap of signals
being detected.
But how is this to be taught? Why, very much as a child is taught—by
constant drilling until the name and looks of each letter are perfectly
associated together. Pieces of pasteboard should be provided, on each of
which one letter is marked large and plain. Placing the A and B cards
side by side, tell the dog to bring you the A. If he brings the B, scold
him; make him return it to its place, and again order him to bring the
A. As soon as he does so, pat him, speak encouragingly to him, and
repeat the lesson, not calling the letters in any regular rotation, but
at random. Add letter by letter each day as the dog learns thoroughly
those already given him, until he can select without hesitation any
letter of the alphabet that may be called for. He may then be made to
spell words by your calling the letters composing them. If thoroughly
trained, he will bring the proper letters when shown a card on which the
word you desire him to spell is printed. Of course, only capitals should
be used in these exercises, for otherwise the labor of teaching would be
doubled, besides confusing the dog between capitals and small letters,
without gaining anything.
On the same principle the dog may be taught what, with a little license,
may be called playing cards. Pieces of pasteboard several times the size
of ordinary playing cards should be provided, one side of each being
printed to represent one card. As with the letters, these cards are to
be placed on the floor, at first only two, then three, increasing the
number as the dog learns those already shown him. Suppose the ace of
clubs and the ace of hearts be used to commence with: direct the dog to
bring the ace of clubs; if he does so, reward him, but if he brings the
heart, scold him, and order him to return it; again directing him to
bring the ace of clubs. So on with each lesson until he can distinguish
between all the cards, and bring any one desired. After this, cards a
little smaller may be substituted for those at first used, and then
smaller and smaller ones until the customary playing cards are used. We
give this feat on the authority of M. de Tarade, never having personally
seen it performed, but it is really not so difficult as might at first
be imagined; the dog, even to know the whole pack, needing only to learn
the thirteen _values_ of the cards, and to then distinguish between the
four suits.[2]
Footnote 2:
Even this would be a greater feat of intelligence than we have ever
seen exhibited by a dog, and we are inclined to think there was some
aid afforded in this case of the French dogs, by arranging the cards
systematically, or by some other means. It is harder to count (or to
distinguish between) the number of dots, than to distinguish between a
blue handkerchief and a red stocking. The dog who is described as
playing dominoes, it should be remembered, used only four pieces at
one time. Possibly the dog recognized the cards by the _general_
appearance of each, not the number of spots thereon.
The “playing” part consists in the trainer directing the dog to bring
the particular card required; wherever it is pretended that the dog of
his own accord selects the proper card for taking a trick, there is
really deception; the dog in such a case must be secretly directed by
signals which he has been taught to obey.
To teach a dog to play dominoes, provide some pieces of board or thick
card, some eight or ten inches long, on which paint conspicuously in
black the required dots. Having provided two sets in this manner, spread
one set upon the floor, and taking in your hand the blank domino of the
other set, you say: “Bring the white.” Being familiar, from his previous
training, with the color, he will doubtless select the correct domino.
Then you show him the one spot, directing him to “bring the one.” Should
he hesitate, repeat the command, showing him the spot on the domino in
your hand. As soon as he has learned this difference, cease your
instruction for the day, as it is unwise to attempt to go too fast. On
the next day the two, three, and four may be included in the lesson; and
so on each day, adding two or three, until the whole are learned. Having
learned so much, the dog is prepared to play a game of dominoes, for the
game consists merely in matching certain pieces.
Munito, the dog to whom reference is made in a preceding page, was a
French poodle, very handsome, with a fine silky, white, woolly coat,
half shaved. A gentleman who saw him exhibited in Piccadilly, London,
nearly fifty years ago, thus describes his performance, disclosing at
the same time the secrets thereof:
“He performed many curious feats, answering questions, telling the hour
of the day, the day of the week, or date of the month, and picking out
any cards called for from a pack spread on the ground. At the corner of
the room was a screen, behind which the dog and his master disappeared
between each feat for a short time. We watched him narrowly; but it was
not until after our second visit that the mystery was solved. There were
packs of ordinary cards, and other cards with figures, and others with
single letters. One of the spectators was requested to name a card—say
the queen of clubs—the pack was spread on the floor in a circle, faces
upward. Munito went around the circle, came to the queen of clubs,
pounced upon it, and brought it in his mouth to his master. The same
process was repeated with the cards with figures, when he brought the
exact numbers which answered the questions put as to dates, or days, or
hours; in the same way with the letter cards, when he picked out the
necessary letters to spell any short word called for, always making a
full circle of the whole of the cards for each letter, or for each
number, and never taking up two letters or two numbers consecutively,
though they might chance to lie close together. This fact we made out at
the first visit, but nothing more. On the second occasion we watched
more narrowly, and with that object took a side seat, so that we had a
partial view behind the screen. We then noticed that between each feat
the master gave the dog some small bits of some sort of food, and that
there was a faint smell of aniseed from that corner of the room. We
noticed that the dog, as he passed around the circle of cards, with his
nose down, and his eyes directed to the ground, never pounced on the
right card as his eyes covered it, but turned back and picked it out. It
was clear that he chose it by the smell, and not by the sense of sight.
We recalled that, each time before the dog began his circuit, the master
arranged and settled the cards, and we then found that he pressed the
fleshy part of his thumb on the particular card the dog was to draw,
which thumb he previously put into his waistcoat pocket for an instant;
and as he passed close to us, his waistcoat had an aniseed scent.”
Dogs have been made to take part in stage representations, their
performances being but applications of simple tricks taught in our tenth
chapter. The good dog who recognizes the murderer of his master and
seizes him by the throat; the other good dog who prevents an
assassination by flying at the would-be assassin, and having a scuffle;
and the still other good dog who rescues the child from drowning, or
some other impending danger, are all “worked” by signals, or obey
understood commands—the actor’s “cue” serving as well as any other word.
An amusing story is told of an accident which befell a penurious manager
of a minor play-house, in endeavoring to avoid an engagement with the
owner of the wonderful dogs, when _their_ services and not _his_ were to
constitute the principal attraction. The owner persisted; it must be his
dogs _and_ himself, or no dogs at all; the sagacious animals would
perform their marvels with no one else. The huckstering manager doubted
this, and craved permission to try whether, by running across the room,
and using the words repeated by the owner in the play, one of the
animals would not seize _him_ by the coat collar as well, without doing
him any injury. The master consented, but the experiment failed
entirely. The dog remained doggedly motionless. “It strikes me,” said
the disappointed manager, “that if you were to say, ‘Go, sir!’ in a
harsh tone, when I repeat the words, that he would at once perform the
feat.” “Very well, sir,” replied the owner, “we will try the experiment,
if you wish it.” The preliminaries were again gone through with; and the
master said, “Go, sir!” The gigantic dog _did_ go with a vengeance. He
dashed off like an arrow; seized the manager by the nape of his neck,
threw him violently on the floor, and giving two or three tremendous
growls, seemed on the point of making mince-meat of his prey, who,
petrified with fright, was glad enough to be rescued, and to permit the
master to perform with his dogs, and on his own terms. He never was
quite satisfied, however, that there was not some _peculiarity_ in the
“Go, sir,” used on that particular occasion.
[Illustration]