ANECDOTES ABOUT DOGS (_Continued_)
I have mentioned the "Warwick Shows" of days gone by, and what charming
re-unions they were. I think the incident which follows must have been
at the first of them, for although I had known Mr. Nichols by sight and
name, I did not think I was known to him. I remember I had reached
Warwick in the afternoon, engaged a bed at the Globe Hotel (where they
told me mine was a double bedded room, and I stipulated that the other
bed should not be occupied without my consent), and went to the show,
and meeting with many friends there, it was late when I got back. I then
found Mr. Nichols waiting to see who I was, as it seemed the other bed
in my room was the only one unoccupied in the town. I had not left my
name, and the hotel people's description did not enlighten him, but he
said, "Whoever it is, if he knows anything about dogs, or doggy men, he
will know me!" and so it proved. We had, as always afterwards whenever
we met, a long talk on subjects congenial to us both, and he secured the
"last bed of Warwick!"
Amongst the many weaknesses to which I plead guilty, is a devoted
admiration of the works of the late Charles Dickens, some of which came
out in their green coloured numbers, while I was a schoolboy, and it was
the delight of my brothers and self, to sit and listen to them being
read out to us by our dear mother, who had a gift in that direction. I
hope my readers will pardon my giving here, a very short doggy story,
from Pickwick Papers, in the pithy, disjointed sentences of "Mr. Alfred
Jingle," as I wish to give something, however slight, about nearly every
breed, and the anecdotes about Pointers are not very numerous. "Ah! you
should keep dogs, fine animals, sagacious creatures. Dog of my own once,
Pointer, surprising instinct, out shooting one day, entering enclosure,
whistled, dog stopped, whistled again, Ponto! no go; stock still, called
him, 'Ponto, Ponto,' no go, stock still, wouldn't move, dog transfixed,
staring at a board, looked up, saw an inscription, 'Gamekeeper has
orders to shoot all dogs found in this enclosure,' wouldn't pass it,
wonderful dog, valuable dog that, very. 'Singular circumstance that,'
said Mr. Pickwick, 'Will you allow me to make a note of it?' 'Certainly,
sir, certainly, hundred more anecdotes of the same animal.'"
At the risk of its being considered "a chestnut," I will here recount
the story of the dogs of Oldacre, so well told by the late William
Howitt, in his "Boys' Country Book" (one of the prime favourites of my
boyhood). "This story brings to my recollection, those two noble dogs at
Oldacre, two grand Setters that Squire Mills used always to have at his
heels, whether it was shooting season or not, just one the picture of
the other, as like as pin to pin or pear to pear!
Well, Squire Mills had an estate in Oxfordshire, a hundred miles off at
least; and there he used to go twice a year to receive his rents, and he
never went, while he had those dogs, without taking one of them with
him. When the dog was tired he let him go up into his chaise and ride,
and when he was tired of riding, the dog leaped out and jogged along
again till he was tired again.
Squire Mills always stopped at the Mitre Inn at Oxford, and it so
happened, on one occasion, that as his Setter followed him up the stable
yard, a great mastiff, which was chained to a kennel, suddenly rushed
out, seized on the Setter, and before he could be beaten off, had very
severely worried him. Squire Mills was very angry, and the innkeeper
made many apologies, but that did not cure the dog's wounds, and the
Squire, who said he would rather have given five pounds than the dog had
been so used, set off homeward in no very good humour.
The dog, which seemed very much hurt, lay whining and appearing very
uneasy, in the bottom of the chaise, all the way home, and when they got
there the keeper was ordered to pay every attention to him, and do all
that he could for him. But the dog lay in his kennel for more than a
week, and seemed in a very poor way, indeed. He would not eat, and the
keeper was very doubtful what would be the upshot of it, when, one
morning he was very much surprised to find, both he and his fellow dog
missing.
All inquiries were made, but nothing could be heard of them and it was
concluded they were stolen. The squire immediately offered five and
twenty guineas for the discovery of the thief; but no thief was heard
of, or the dogs either, till a week afterwards, when they again entered
the yard, but two such poor jaded, worn-down creatures as never were
seen.
They were, apparently, starved to the very point of death, covered with
dust, and in fact, in such a condition that notwithstanding all that
could be done, they both died in the course of a few days. On examining
them after death, they appeared to have been shot at, various shot-corns
being found in their skins.
Nothing, however, came to light about it; and on the next rent day the
Squire made his journey into Oxfordshire without either of his favourite
dogs.
As he passed the kennel of the Mastiff in the Inn Yard, at Oxford, he
could not help looking, with resentment, towards it, when to his
surprise, instead of the Mastiff, which had been there many years, he
saw quite another dog. "And so you have parted with that savage brute of
a Mastiff that worried my setter the last time I was here," he said to
the Ostler. "Ay," replied the Ostler, "there's a curious thing about
that, sir, the dog was worried, dead on the spot, at the door of his own
kennel, and if I am not mistaken, your setter helped to do it too." "My
setter," said the Squire, "what do you mean?" "I mean, sir," said the
man, "that about a week or so after you was here last, when your dog got
so towsled by old Sampson, the Mastiff, we heard all of a sudden a
terrible noise of dogs fighting in the yard, and on running out, saw two
great dogs fiercely at work with old Sampson. They had got him down, and
seemed tearing him into very atoms. Our master made no more to do, but
in he ran, snatched down the gun, and fired at the dogs, but it was too
late, they were just going over the yard wall together, and I dare say,
got off without the peppering master meant for them. But there, however,
was old Sampson, as dead as the stones he lay upon!" "And you thought,"
said the Squire, "that one of the dogs resembled my setter?" "Nay," said
the Ostler, "both of them. One was the very picture of the other, and if
they were not your setters, they were no dogs at all!" "It is very
wonderful," said the Squire, "but I have not a doubt but that you are
quite right in your belief, and this accounts for what, till this
moment, has very much puzzled me. My dog was so resentful of the injury
and insult that he received from your Mastiff, that he without doubt
communicated his grievances to his brother dog, and prevailed on him to
set out on a pilgrimage of revenge. The dogs disappeared for a week or
more together, they came back wounded, and in that miserable plight,
that they never recovered it. The dogs, let me tell you, are both dead,
and I would not have taken a hundred pounds for them." The Ostler and
all the people about the inn were wonderfully surprised at the story,
and a wonderful circumstance it was, to be sure. My grandfather, who
told the story, added, "It is just as true as you sit there, I had it
word for word, nay, I have had it, word for word, twenty times, from
Squire Mills himself."
Of course in a long career of dog showing and judging I have come into
contact with all classes of exhibitors, and I am bound to say, as a
general rule, have met with the greatest courtesy and had many a kind
turn done me at different times, nor was I ever, but once, the subject
of any of the practical jokes which used to be, more than they are now,
so very frequent, and sometimes very rough, and unpleasant in their
nature.
The one exception was when I was stopping at Sydenham, on the occasion
of a Crystal Palace show, and when I rose in the morning to go up and
see my dogs before breakfast, my boots could nowhere be found, but as I
knew there was a very lively team stopping at the same hotel, I felt
certain it was their doing, and resolved to checkmate them by going to
see the dogs all the same and saying nothing about it, so as I always
carried in my bag a pair of Indian leather moccasins, I put them on, and
went over to the Palace, where I presently met one of the squad I
suspected of "lifting my boots," he said, "What funny shoes you have on,
Mr. Lane." I said, "Yes, they are a little out of the common, but, the
fact is, some of the jokers at my hotel, have taken a fancy to my boots
and probably supposed I should be kept a prisoner in the hotel all day,
and so I put on these," he said, "You don't mean to say, _your_ boots
were taken. They've taken the wrong man's; no one had the slightest idea
of playing any prank on you," and when I returned, I found my boots in
my room.
I came across, in an old French work, the following curious, if true,
method of fishing, in which the services of a Poodle, or Terrier were
called into action. The enthusiastic sportsman who fears neither storms
nor sunstroke (_coup de soleil_) makes his appearance at the Riverside
without either fishing rod, lines, worms, flies or bait, of any
description, but having under his left arm a double-barrelled gun, in
his right hand, a large cabbage and following at his heels a clever
Poodle or Terrier dog. The fisherman, or huntsman, I scarcely know which
to call him, now duly reconnoitres the river, fixes upon some tree, the
large and lower branches of which hang out over the water, ascends with
his gun and cabbage, and having taken up his position upon one of the
large projecting branches, closely examines the surface of the stream
beneath him.
He has, usually, not been long on his perch, before he perceives a
stately pike, or other member of the finny tribe, paddling up the river,
he instantly breaks a leaf off the cabbage, and when the fish has
approached sufficiently near, throws it into the water, the frightened
fish immediately disappears, but shortly after rises, and grateful to
the kind and unknown friend who has provided this admirable parasol,
swims towards it, and after pushing it about for a while with his nose,
finally places himself comfortably under its protecting and congenial
shade.
The sportsman in the tree, watching the animated movements of the
cabbage leaf, immediately fires, when the dog, whose sagacity is quite
equal to that of his master, plunges into the water, and if the fish is
either dead or severely wounded, seldom fails to bring the scaly morsel
to land; thus as long as the heavens are bright and blue, the water
keeps warm on the surface and the larger fish prefer to swim in the sun,
the sport continues so long as the climbing and staying powers of the
sportsman hold out. Sometimes the dog and fish have a very sharp
struggle, and then the fun is great indeed unless, by chance, the
sportsman should unfortunately miss his footing in the tree, in the
midst of his amusement and drop head foremost into the water with his
double-barrelled gun and what is left of his cabbage.
I think it may be interesting here to quote the eulogistic terms in
which Mr. Burchell, the well-known African traveller, wrote of his dogs,
as he had a considerable experience of the breed in the course of his
long and perilous journeys in that (at the time he was there) almost
unknown country.
"Our pack of dogs," says he, "consisted of five and twenty, of various
sorts and sizes. This great variety, though not altogether intentional,
as I was obliged to take any that could be procured and were at all
likely to answer my purposes, was often of the greater service to me, as
I observed, some gave notice of danger, or their suspicions of it, in
one way, and others in quite a different manner. Some were more disposed
to keep watch against men, others against wild beasts of prey, and
others for animals and birds of sport; some discovered an enemy by their
quickness of hearing, others by that of scent; some were useful for
speed in pursuing game, some for their vigilance and barking, and others
for their courage in holding ferocious animals at bay. So large a pack
indeed was not maintained without adding greatly to our care and
trouble, in supplying them with meat and water, for it was sometimes
difficult to procure for them enough of the latter; but, their services
were invaluable, often contributing to our safety, and always to our
ease, by their constant vigilance, as we felt confident that no danger
could approach us at night without its being announced by their barking.
"No circumstances could render the value and fidelity of these animals
so conspicuous and sensible as a journey through regions which abounding
in wild beasts of almost every class, gave us continual opportunities of
witnessing the strong contrast between the ferocious beasts of prey,
many of which fly at the approach of man and these kind, but not always
duly appreciated, companions of the human race. Many times when we have
been travelling over plains where the wild creatures of all kinds have
fled directly we appeared in sight, have I turned my eyes towards my
dogs, in admiration of their devotion and attachment and have felt a
grateful affection towards them for preferring our society to the wild
liberty of other quadrupeds.
"Often in the middle of the night when all my people have been fast
asleep round the fire, have I stood to contemplate these faithful
animals lying by their side, and have learned to esteem them for their
social inclination to mankind. When wandering over pathless deserts,
oppressed with vexation and distress at the conduct of my own men I have
turned to them, as my only friends and felt how much inferior to them
was man when actuated only by selfish views.
"The familiarity which exists between these animals and our own race, is
so common to almost every country of the globe, that any remark upon it
must seem superfluous, but I cannot avoid believing that it is the
universality of the fact which prevents the greater part of mankind from
duly reflecting on the subject. While almost every other quadruped fears
man as its most formidable enemy, here is one which regards him as a
friend.
"We must not mistake the nature of the case, it is not because we train
him to our use and have made choice of him in preference to other
animals, but because this particular species feels a natural desire to
be useful to man and from spontaneous impulse attaches itself to him.
Were it not so we should see in various countries an equal familiarity
with various other quadrupeds according to the habits, tastes, or
caprices of different nations. But, everywhere, it is the dog only takes
delight in associating with us, in sharing our abodes, and is even
jealous that our attention should be bestowed on him alone, it is he who
knows us personally, watches for us, and warns us of danger.
"It is impossible for the naturalist, when taking a survey of the whole
animal creation not to feel a conviction that this friendship between
two creatures so different from each other, must be the result of the
laws of nature; nor can the humane and feeling mind avoid the belief
that kindness to those animals, from which he derives continued and
essential assistance is part of his moral duty." These words of such an
experienced naturalist as Mr. Burchell, are as true to-day as when they
were written by him more than fifty years ago, but I am bound to say I
think dogs are more valuable, and more thought of now, than ever they
were since the world began.
Mr. Bell tells a short story of the intelligence displayed by a
Bloodhound belonging to a friend of his, a Mr. Boyle. He says, "To make
trial whether a young hound was well instructed, Mr. Boyle desired one
of his servants to walk to a town four miles off, and then to a market
town three miles from thence. The dog, without seeing the man he was to
pursue, followed him by the scent to the above mentioned places,
notwithstanding the multitude of market people that went along the same
road and of travellers that had occasion to come, and when the
Bloodhound came to the market town he passed through the streets,
without taking notice of any of the people there, and ceased not till he
had gone to the house, where the man he sought rested himself and where
he found him in an upper room to the wonder of those who had accompanied
him in this pursuit." In the face of the Bloodhound trials last year,
and again this spring, in which my friend Mr. Brough has been so much
interested, I thought some of my readers might like to see this short
account of the doings of a young hound, more than half a century ago.
To illustrate the occasional trials of exhibitors, I recollect starting
off early with a team of dogs for one of the first general shows held at
Oxford, I think all my dogs were in boxes or baskets but one, a
tricolour Collie, whose name I forget, and he was on the chain, and put
by the railway people into one of those vile receptacles they call dog
boxes, narrow, dark, low and often dirty. On arrival at Didcot (which I
had before connected in my mind with Banbury cakes, and was quite
surprised to find a "one-eyed" sort of straggling village of
contemptible size,) a porter opened one end of the dog den and called
the Collie, he, however, showed no intention of responding to the call,
and retreated to the other end of the den and growled at the porter, and
one of the other porters went around to the further side of the coach
and opened the other door of the den, and the dog, taking advantage of
this chance of freedom, bolted out, crossed the line, went through a
hedge and found himself at once in the open country. I had taken no part
in the affair, and declined all responsibility, but told the officials I
should sue the company for the value of the dog, lost through their
carelessness. They begged me to accompany some of their men in search of
the dog, as he might be easier caught if he saw someone he knew amongst
those after him.
Soon after it began to rain, and from soon after eleven a. m. till
after six p. m. we tramped the country in search of the wandering dog,
whom we afterwards saw in the distance, but in that district the fields
are very large, and often as we laboriously got into a field through a
hedge or over hurdles, etc., we had the mortification of seeing the dog
disappear through or over the hedge on the opposite side, and very
wearisome work it was.
At length I decided to go on to Oxford, with the rest of my dogs, and
left the matter of the lost dog with the railway company, who, I was
informed, offered a reward for his recovery, and about a month
afterwards I had a letter asking me to call at one of their stations
where they thought a dog lately found answered the description of mine.
This turned out to be correct and I took home the dog, making a small
claim for expenses I had been put to in the matter. The dog was not in
bad condition, and still wore the collar and chain on him when lost, but
it is strange how that dog managed to live for a month in such a
sparsely inhabited district as that round about Didcot, at any rate at
that time, which is about fifteen years ago.