THE CHIEF BREEDS OF DOGS
“Let us not dwell further on the dog’s origin—a very obscure question,
concerning which all that one can say is nothing but supposition,
although more or less plausible. Let us turn to the study of the animal
as found in a state of domestication.
“It would be hard to discover two dogs exactly alike. Were they of the
same breed, the same shape and size, they would differ in coat, at
least in some details. Three colors, red, white, and black, belong to
the dog’s coat; sometimes one alone for the whole body, sometimes all
mixed, sometimes the three distributed in spots or in great splashes.
If the coloring is varied, the spots are hardly ever arranged in order,
but scattered by chance. There is want of symmetry in their
distribution; or, in other words, on the two halves of the body, the
right and left, the spots do not correspond. You might say the same of
most domestic animals: you would nearly always note differences between
two oxen, two horses, two goats, two cats; and would find that in the
same animal both sides of the body are not exactly alike in the
arrangement of the colors.
“It is just the reverse with wild animals: there is close resemblance
between individuals of the same species, and symmetry of coloring on
the two halves of the body. As one is, so are all, with very slight
exceptions; as is the right side, so is the left. Whoever has seen one
wolf has seen all wolves; whoever has seen from one side an animal with
variegated coat has seen both sides. One of the most constant effects,
therefore, of domestication is the replacing of this primitive
regularity in color by irregularity, this similarity in individuals by
dissimilarity.
“The dog’s coat goes contrary to every rule except in one most curious
respect: if the animal is spotted with white, one of these white spots
is always on the end of the tail. Examine a black dog, for example: if
you see so much as one white speck on it, no matter where, on the
flank, or on the shoulder, you will be sure to see one where I told
you. Look at the end of the tail and you will find at least a touch of
white there.”
“So it is enough to see some white on any part of a dog to be sure that
it will have some also on the tip of its tail?” This from Jules.
“Certainly,” replied his uncle, “unless, of course, the animal has had
its tail cut, in which case I will not answer for it.”
“That is plain enough: with the tip of the tail missing the white touch
is missing too.”
“I will add that if the dog has only one white spot, that spot will
always be on the tip of the tail.”
“That singularity must have a reason?” queried Louis.
“Doubtless it has a reason, for nothing is left to chance in this
world, not even the tuft of hair at the tip of an animal’s tail. I will
tell you, then, that the various wild species akin to the dog, jackals
in particular, have, most of them, a white spot on the tip of the tail.
It is a sort of family trait which the dog, their ally, perhaps their
descendant, is sure to imitate every time it admits any white into its
coat. Strange development! If the dog comes, as is supposed, from the
jackal, it has lost its primitive savagery, its bad odor, its nocturnal
cries, and has faithfully retained from its ancestry only the plume at
the end of its tail. I will not undertake to explain why, in a
fundamental change of habits, one insignificant detail, a mere nothing,
shows greater tenacity and remains.
“To the differences in color are added differences in the quantity and
quality of the hair. Most dogs have short, smooth hair; some have fine,
curly hair, and look as if clothed in wool. Such is the barbet, also
called sheep-dog, because its fur reminds one of the curly fleece of a
sheep. Others, like the spaniel, have long and wavy hair, especially on
the ears and tail. Finally, there are some wretched, unsightly dogs
with the body entirely naked. One would think that some skin disease
had bereft them of their last hair. They are called Turkish dogs.
“The size is not less variable. The Newfoundland dog is a majestic
animal, as large as a calf; and then you will see a curly lap-dog, good
for sleeping on drawing-room cushions, so tiny a creature that it could
go into its master’s pocket. Between these two extremes there are all
degrees.
“If we enter on the details of shape, what diversity, again, do we
find! Here the ear is small and stands up in a point; there it is large
and covers the whole of the temple, and hangs down low enough to dip
into the porringer out of which the animal eats. One, active in the
chase, carries its slender body on long legs; another, apt at
insinuating itself into the fox’s narrow hole or the rabbit’s burrow,
trots on stubby members and almost touches the ground with its stomach.
In this one the muzzle is gracefully tapered, made for caresses; in
that, it is shortened into a brutal snout, adapted to warfare. Then
there are some whose knotty and twisted legs seem crippled from birth;
and there are others whose nose, black as coal, has the two nostrils
separated by a deep trench.”
“Those dogs look as if they had a double nose,” Louis remarked. “They
are said to have a keener scent than the others.”
“I don’t know how far the split nose may indicate keenness of scent.
Let us go on and take a rapid glance at the principal breeds of dogs.
“Let us first mention the mastiff, vigilant guardian of the farm-house
and courageous protector of the flock. It is a robust, bold animal,
tolerably large, with short hair on the back, longer under the belly
and on the tail. It has a long head, flat forehead, ears erect at the
base and drooping at the tip, strong legs, and vigorous jaws. White,
black, gray, brown are the colors of its coat. The mastiff has rustic
manners, scent far from keen, intelligence little developed. It is
found fault with for not being very docile and not lavishing its
caresses. Is the charge well founded? When one leads a rude life in
mountain pastures, often at close quarters with wolves, can one possess
the pretty, endearing ways of the dog reared in idleness? Is not a
severe manner the necessary condition of the grave duties to be
performed? The mastiff has the qualities of its lot in life, and it has
them to such a degree that it is not always of the same opinion as its
master, knowing better than he what must be done to protect the flock.
Let a wolf appear, and without considering whether it is the stronger
or weaker, the brave dog will throw itself on the beast and seize it by
the nape of the neck, even at the risk of perishing in the battle. The
mastiff does not weigh the danger; it leaps to the call of duty—a noble
quality, and one that has given rise to the likening of an energetic
and resolute person to a good mastiff.”
“This wolf-strangler,” said Emile, “has my highest esteem, although he
is not clever at offering the paw and playing dead.”
“You will have no less esteem for the shepherd dog. It is of medium
size, generally black, with long hair all over the body except on the
muzzle. It has short, erect ears, tail horizontal or drooping. You know
with what a swagger most dogs carry their tail over their back, curved
like a trumpet. With them that is a sign of high satisfaction. If they
are anxious, fear some misadventure, they lower it and carry it between
their legs. The shepherd dog disdains this manner of erecting and
curving the tail; he carries his modestly on a line with the body and
keeps it more or less inclined according to the ideas with which he is
preoccupied. That is the behavior of those wild animals most akin to
the dog, such as the wolf and nearly all kinds of jackal: none of them
curves the tail like a plume, but all carry it drooping. How does it
happen that the smallest pug twists its tail into a corkscrew and bears
it aloft with a pride bordering on insolence, while the shepherd dog
holds his in the humble position adopted by the jackal and the wolf?
This too, apparently, is a survival of old customs. Less changed in
primitive characteristics than other species, the shepherd dog has
retained from its wild ancestors the drooping carriage of the tail and
the erect bearing of the ears.
“The mastiff is the protector of the flock, the shepherd dog its
conductor. The former is endowed with brute strength, vigorous body,
and powerful jaws, but is not distinguished for intellectual gifts.
Notice in passing, my friends, that strength of body and strength of
mind seldom go together. A herculean athlete, exhibiting his talents in
public on fairday, will break a stone with his fist, lift an anvil and
hold it out at arm’s length, but would be incapable of putting two
ideas together in his small brain. It is about the same with the
mastiff: he boldly chases the wolves, but has none of the qualities of
mind necessary for guiding the flock.
“This delicate function, calling for a high degree of intelligence,
falls to the shepherd dog. While the master rests in the shade or
amuses himself playing on his box-tree flute, the dog, posted on a
neighboring rise, keeps the flock under his eye and watches that none
wander beyond the limits of the pasture. He knows that on this side
grows a field of clover where browsing is expressly forbidden. If some
sheep goes near, he runs up and with harmless snappings turns the
animal back to the allotted place. He knows that the rural guard would
prosecute with all the rigors of the law if the flock should stray to
the other side, newly planted with young oats. They must not attempt
it; if they do, he comes threatening and insists upon a hasty retreat.
Are the scattered sheep to be gathered together? On a sign from his
master he is off. He makes the circuit of the flock, barking here,
worrying there, and drives before him, from the circumference to the
center, the straying throng, which in a few moments becomes a compact
group. His mission ended, he returns to the shepherd for fresh orders—a
word, a gesture, a simple look.
“I should like above all things to have you see him on duty when the
flock is on the road, going to market or changing pastures. He walks
behind, absorbed in his grave duties. Dogs from the neighboring farms
come to meet him, and they pay him the polite attentions customary at
the meeting of comrades. ‘Go away,’ he seems to say to them; ‘you see
that I have no time to exchange civilities with you.’ And without
glancing at them he continues his watchful following of the flock. It
is wise of him, for already some sheep have stopped to crop the grass
at the side of the road. To make them rejoin the flock takes but a
minute. At this spot the hedge is open, and through the gap a part of
the flock reaches a field of green wheat. To follow these undisciplined
ones by the same breach would betray a lack of skill; the sheep, driven
from behind, would only stray still farther into the forbidden field.
But the wily keeper will not commit this fault; he makes a rapid
detour, jumps over the hedge as best he can, and presents himself
suddenly in front of the flock, which hastily retreats by the way it
came, not without leaving some tufts of wool on the bushes.
“Now the flock meets another. A mixing up, a confusion of mine and
thine, must be prevented. The dog thoroughly understands the gravity of
the situation. Along the flanks of the two bleating flocks he maneuvers
busily, running from one end to the other, back and forth, to check at
the outset any attempt at desertion from one to the other flock.”
“Then,” said Emile, “he knows his sheep, every single one of them, to
be able thus to distinguish which belong to him and which do not.”
“One would almost say so, such discernment does he show.
“Scarcely is this difficulty overcome when another presents itself.
Here, right and left, the road has no fences; access to the fields is
free on both sides. The temptation to the flock is great, for here and
there most inviting greensward appears. The dog redoubles its activity.
Let us go to the left. Well and good; everything is in proper train.
Now to the right. Ha, you down there! Will you please go on without
stopping to crop the young grass? That is well. Now to the rear. What
is that loiterer doing there? Back to the flock, quick, dawdler!
Perhaps something new has happened on the left; let us go and see. And
without a moment’s relaxation the indefatigable dog goes first to one
side, then to the other, then to the rear of the flock to hurry up the
laggards and keep the intractable ones in the right path. If some, more
headstrong, turn a deaf ear to his advice and scatter, he is after them
in a moment, bringing them back by buffeting their shins with his
muzzle.”
“And by giving them a taste of his teeth too?” asked Jules.
“No, my friend; a well-trained shepherd dog does not use his teeth,
which would wound the animal; a threat must suffice to bring his sheep
to order. To teach him this moderation, it is necessary to take him
quite young and exercise a great deal of perseverance, with caresses,
dainties, and, if need be, punishment; above all, he must be brought up
in the company of a comrade already very expert in the business, since
example is the best of teachers. The first time he is sent after the
sheep he is closely watched, and if he shows a disposition to bite he
is severely corrected. The best shepherd dogs come to us from Brie, a
part of old Champagne. From this country is taken the name generally
used for the guardian of the flock. Other dogs are called Medor,
Sultan, Azor; he is called Labrie.”
“I understand,” Emile nodded. “Labrie; that is to say, the dog of la
Brie.”