ANECDOTES ABOUT DOGS (_Continued_)
I have been asked to reproduce a humourous "skit," which appeared in
"The Daily Mail" 9th of July, 1897, from the pen of a well-known
contributor to that paper. It was headed "A Ladies' Dog Show," and ran
as follows: "Seven gentle ladies were yesterday to be observed walking
gravely in a circle in Regents Park. They each led a Black Pug by a
chain. They walked round and round a ruddy old gentleman with keen blue
eyes, a shepherd's smock, and a slouched straw hat. Three partridge
feathers stuck out jauntily from the side of the hat. The ladies cast
appealing looks at the shepherd, who stared hard at the insignificant
little wretches of dogs, one of whom barked all the while, but he did
not heed it. The march became quicker; the ladies looked more appealing
than ever. A crowd gathered around and observed the strange proceedings
with wonder. What was it? they asked. A new system of Pantheistic
worship? or a side show from a menagerie? The shepherd put up his hand
and the ladies stopped, dead. He threw down his glittering pencil to
attract the notice of one of the glossy little Pugs. The Pug snapped. He
caught it by the head, and stared hard in its ridiculous little face.
The dog chastened by the keen blue eyes, ceased to yelp. The proud
proprietor at the other end of the chain, looked as anxious as a
criminal in the dock. The other ladies made the most of this moment of
respite. They patted their dogs and kissed them, and told them to be
good little duckies of doggies, and mamma would be so pleased! One
tempted her charge with a biscuit, another with half a crown. The coin
was held up above the dog's nose. Doggie jumped, and scrambled and
yelped just like any of its human acquaintances. The shepherd looked at
each dog in turn, and wrote something in a book, and then seven ladies
and seven dogs left the ring. One lady looked pleased, another fairly
satisfied and the rest as if somebody had blundered. The Pugs were all
indifferent. But the secret was out, there were no mysterious rites of
an Esoteric creed. It was a dog show, that of the 'Ladies' Kennel
Association.' They have survived their internecine troubles, and have
more members than they had before that dramatic split at the Holborn
restaurant and boast of more entries at this show than ever they had
before. Between seven hundred and eight hundred dogs are staged. At a
Ladies' Show it is to be expected that some of the conventionalities
will be overthrown. There are, for instance, no men prowling about, with
cloth caps, buckskin leggings, and wisps of straw, telling you that
their Terrier killed fifty rats in thirty seconds or that 'the Brindled
Bull was own sister to the best dawg that was ever bred.' The exhibitors
are ladies, elegantly dressed, who sit and listen to the band with their
Pugs and Spaniels, on their knees. It is the same with the dogs, there
are no sporting dogs, to speak of, though the number is increasing year
by year and not half a score of Bull Dogs. Such as there are, a little
aristocracy of bone and jowl lie at rest in a distant corner of the tent
not deigning to notice the Poodles around. Near them are a few Airedale
Terriers. One of them, which would be in its element in a rattling
street fight, stretched to the top of its pen, looked over at the
'curled darlings' on the other side, deliberately yawned and turned over
again to sleep. There is a whole tent full of Toy Spaniels and other
exquisites in upholstered pens. They have ribbons round their necks, and
bells and go about two to the pound. The Poodles are curled and shaven
and shorn, and decked out with top-knots of coloured ribbons. One which
lay asleep was described as a 'Rag and a Bone, and a Hank of Worsted,'
Two Poodle puppies, not yet shorn, looked refreshingly unkempt by the
side of these ultra-respectable Uncles and Aunts. A litter of Dachshunds
resembled lion cubs asleep. The foreign class which is both strong and
varied, provided an amusing contrast. In one pen was a huge shaggy
'Balu,' in the next a shivering little 'Mousie Chihuahua,' whatever that
may be! 'Balu' could have taken 'Mousie' among his hors d'oeuvres
before dinner. Chows with big heads and wee twinkling eyes. Borzois
trying to twist their legs into geometrical figures; an Esquimo asleep;
a vicious Dingo in a cage. St. Bernards which made the tent quiver, when
they barked and Bloodhounds sleeping serenely, there being no murderers
about, these were the Giants of the show. If not as numerous, certainly
they were a more weighty section than the Toy Spaniels. The Princess of
Wales was among the exhibitors. If anyone wants to see a good collection
of 'Japs' and 'Poms' and 'Skyes' and 'Dachs' and 'Charlies,' so the
ladies tenderly call them, at Regents Park, he will find them."
The following related by the late Hon. Grantley Berkeley, strongly
illustrative of the sagacity and thinking powers of dogs, may be
interesting to some of my readers: "I had a dog called 'Wolf,' at
Teffont Mane House, in Wiltshire, and when I fed my tame pheasants and
partridges I always took him with me. This dog had seen my caution when
I approached the birds and always obeyed my signal to lie down by the
gun till I had done feeding them. When the game began to get to an age
to stray, a considerable number used to come upon the lawn in front of
the windows.
"One afternoon the lawn being, to all appearances, clear of birds, I
sent Wolf to hunt a rabbit out of a circular flower bed, for me to
shoot. The dog obeyed the sign, but no sooner had he entered the
laurels, than he made a sort of snap with his jaws, a thing he always
did when he was not pleased, and returned to my heels with rather a
sheepish look. The sign to hunt having been repeated the same thing
occurred and on his returning to me with a peculiar expression in his
face, I went to the laurels to ascertain what hindered his obedience.
"To my great pleasure I found about a dozen young pheasants, into whose
presence he was fearful of intruding, so I lay down on the lawn close to
the pheasants, and letting him see how pleased I was, caressed him for
full five minutes, and then when I retired, did so in a most marked and
stealthy manner, which he, close at my heels, immediately adopted. Now
suppose some thoughtless or inconsiderate master with such a dog as this
had upon his refusal to hunt, beaten or kicked him for disobedience,
which would really have deserved the punishment, the sensible dog, or
the silly man?
"On taking up my residence at Beacon Lodge, and, for years after, Wolf
was still in or out of the house, my constant companion and closely
observant of all I did or desired. When first the wild white rabbits
began to appear at Beacon, I never shot them, but very frequently killed
the brown ones by their side. In hunting any outlying place, if by
chance there was a white rabbit, I used to stop Wolf from hunting it up
to my gun, and by observation the dog convinced himself that a rabbit so
coloured was on no account to be molested. When the whites had become
more common, one evening I went out to kill some rabbits for the table,
or to give away, and seeing a very fine young white one, I shot it. The
rabbit lay dead on the contrary side of a fence, and Wolf had not seen
it killed, but at a sign from me, flew over to pick up whatever might be
there. The rabbit lay kicking with its hinder legs, and Wolf seeing the
motion in the grass, dashed up, but instantly made the snap with his
jaws, dropped his stern and came back with a sheepish look, as if to
tell me I had done wrong. I praised and made much of him, and taking him
with me up to the rabbit encouraged him to pick it up and to give it to
me, and ever after he would pick up any coloured rabbit that might be
killed.
"Wolf's dinner hour was at my dessert time, the last thing the retiring
servants had to do was to place his plate upon the hearthrug.
Occasionally they neglected to do this, and then he had seen me ring the
bell, to rectify the omission. For some years before his death, when his
dinner was due, and had not been brought in, after looking at me with a
wistful expression of countenance, he would go up and kiss the bell
handle, and then come to me, look up in my face, and push my arm with
his nose. Of course, up came his dinner, with a ring from the bell,
denoting double quick time."
More than forty years since, there was a London street dog which took a
great fancy to following the fire engines. Whenever there was a fire
there would the dog be seen running in and out among the throng
apparently making himself as busy as possible. This strange conduct of
the animal, of course, attracted the attention of the firemen, and after
a time they used to feed and take notice of him, occasionally giving him
a ride on the engine. At last, so well was the dog known that he came to
be called the Fireman's Dog. He owned no master, but stopped a day or
two with any of the firemen he took a fancy to. He was always on the
alert, directly the fire alarm was given, and used frequently to run by
the side of the horses for miles together. At last the dog on one of the
journeys, was run over and killed, when the firemen had his body stuffed
and set up in a glass case in the principal office of the Metropolitan
fire brigade, Watling street, London. There it remained for some years,
and numbers of people called to see him in his glass case.
In 1853 the Superintendent of the Fire Station, Chandos street, Covent
Garden, was for some neglect of duty degraded to the rank of an ordinary
fireman. This disgrace so preyed on the poor fellow's mind, that one
winter's night he threw himself over Waterloo Bridge and was drowned. He
left a widow and children totally unprovided for, and in order to
procure a sum for their relief, the glass case containing the stuffed
figure of the Fireman's Dog was disposed of by way of lottery. A raffle
took place at a tavern in Chandos street, when upwards of a hundred
pounds was realised. The dog was won by the tavern-keeper, and in his
parlour it may still be seen. Thus you see that long after death the dog
has been found useful to his masters in time of need.
The following account of a dog, for many years known as "The Brighton
Coach Dog," is cut from an old newspaper of the time. "For a long period
a dog invariably accompanied the only coach which in 1851 ran between
London and Brighton. On the 24th June, in that year, he was placed on
the back of the coach to prevent his barking at the horses, when he
jumped off at Henfield and fell between the wheels, one of which,
passing over his back, killed him. The animal belonged to an ostler at
the Newcastle Place stables, Edgeware Road, London; he went to the yard
when a puppy and the man took care of him.
"Being brought up amongst horses, he was never happy unless with them
at home, or travelling about. His chief delight was to travel up and
down with the Brighton coach. He had been known to travel, during the
last spring of his life, for eight successive days to and from Brighton,
Sundays intervening.
"The distance from London to Brighton by way of Leatherhead, Dorking,
Horsham and Henfield, the road which the stage coach traversed is
seventy-four miles. It was with great difficulty he could be kept on the
coach, always preferring to run by the side of it and it was his being
placed on the top of the coach, from feelings of humanity on the part of
Clarke, the coachman, which cost him his life.
"On one occasion the guard placed him inside the coach, when there were
no passengers, but in a few minutes he was surprised to see him running
beside the coach, having jumped clean through the glass window.
"During the early part of the summer he went with a strange coach to
Tunbridge Wells, not liking his berth he did not return to London by the
same conveyance, but found his way across the country from Tunbridge
Wells to Brighton and went up to London with his favourite team.
"He was well known by many on the road from London to Brighton, and in
some places on the journey met with hospitable treatment. At the time of
his death he was about five years old. Clarke informed us that he would
kill a goose on his travels by the roadside, throw it over his back like
a fox, and run for miles, and he offered to lay a wager that the dog
would accompany the coach between Brighton and London daily for a month,
Sundays excepted, and kill a goose by the roadside each day of his
travels, provided birds were put within his reach. His skin was
preserved, and has been stuffed. The 'Brighton Coach Dog' may be seen in
the attitude of life in the bar parlour of a tavern in the Edgeware
Road."
I do not think I mentioned, when speaking of my kennels, and dogs, that
for many years, an old Great Western Railway coach formed part of them,
it was composed of a first-class, second-class, third-class
compartments, and a luggage van, as a general rule, we had a pair of
dogs, male and female, in each division, and used the luggage van for
biscuits.
As some of my readers may like to try the same experiment, I may say
that there is no difficulty in the way, there are usually railway
coaches of different sizes (I believe, you can also purchase horse boxes
and trucks, which often serve the purpose of cow and poultry and cart
and trap sheds) for sale at Swindon, where I bought mine for five
pounds.
Of course, it was merely the body, without any of the iron under part,
but with the windows, doors, seats, ventilators, etc., no cushions or
upholstery of any kind, but the only expense I had to incur was to get
the village smith to fix some small iron bars on the outside of each
window frame, to enable us to open the windows to give plenty of air,
without the fear of the inmates getting out. The company delivered free
to their nearest station, which in my case was within two miles from my
place, and I there had a trolly and pair of horses, and the coach run on
to it and lashed firmly to the trolly and it was brought without much
difficulty as the weight was only about thirty-five hundredweight,
although it looked a heavy affair.
There was more time and trouble in fixing it in its place in my yard,
than in the journey there. And some years afterwards when I changed my
residence, I got the village smith to fix an axle and a couple of low
strong wheels at each end of the coach, and one of the neighbouring
farmers easily took it along the road to my new dwelling place, with a
couple of his cart horses, to the great amusement and delight of the
rural population, who insisted that each of the divisions was filled
with some of my dogs, which were well known in the district as being
frequent prize winners.
The following is related on the authority of an old newspaper called
the "Boston Traveller," published in the United States of America: A
gentleman stopping at an hotel in Boston, privately hid his pocket
handkerchief behind the sofa cushion in the coffee room and left the
hotel accompanied by his dog, after walking for some distance, he
suddenly stopped and said to his dog, "I have left my handkerchief at
the hotel, go back and fetch it for me," giving no particular directions
about it. The dog immediately returned at full speed, and entered the
room his master had just left. He went directly to the sofa, but the
handkerchief was gone. He jumped upon tables and counters, but it was
nowhere to be seen. It turned out that a friend of his master's had
discovered it and supposing it had been left by mistake, had taken care
of it for the owner. But "Tiger" was not to be foiled. He flew about the
room, apparently much excited, in quest of the "lost or stolen." Soon,
however, he was upon the track, he scented it to the gentleman's coat
pocket. What was to be done? The dog had no means of asking for it, by
word of mouth, and was not accustomed to picking pockets, and besides
the gentleman was ignorant of his business with him. But Tiger's
sagacity did not suffer him to remain long in suspense. He seized the
skirt containing the prize and furiously tearing it from the coat,
hastily made off with it, much to the surprise of the owner. Tiger then
overtook his master, and restored the lost property. Both the owner of
the dog and the gentleman who had lost the tail of his coat, applauded
the dog for his sagacity.
In the southeast window of St. Mary's church, Lambeth, there is the
full length figure of a pedlar with his pack, his staff and dog. This is
the portrait of the unknown man who gave "Pedlar's Acre" to the parish
of Lambeth. The story is worth telling. In the year 1504, a poor pedlar
passing over a piece of waste ground near the river sat down to rest on
the trunk of a tree. While seated here, he noticed that his dog acted
very strangely, busying himself with scratching the earth with his feet
and barking, and smelling about, every now and then running up to his
master and looking him earnestly in the face and trying to drag him from
his seat. The pedlar did not at first pay much attention to the dog, but
its repeated barking and running to and fro compelled him, at last, to
see what the animal wanted. Going to where the dog had been scratching
he was surprised to find something shining below. Digging on the spot he
discovered a large sum of money with part of which he purchased the land
originally known as Pedlar's Acre, but now called the Belvidere Road, in
Lambeth.
Maitland, the historian of London, (1739 edition, page 791) tells the
story as I have given it with the addition that the pedlar left the
piece of land to the parish on condition that his portrait and that of
his dog should be perpetually preserved in painted glass in one of the
windows of the church. I cannot say whether this be true or not, but
such is the legend, and there is the painted window with the portrait of
the man and dog, as evidence still remaining.
The following story about a Mastiff appeared in the Glasgow Chronicle:
Early one Sunday morning some thieves attempted to enter the premises of
Messrs. McLeod and Pollock, Argyle street, Glasgow, jewellers, by
breaking through the sky-light. The building was one story high and it
was comparatively easy to get on to the roof. About two o'clock a. m.
Mr. McLeod, who resided in the back of the premises, was awakened by the
action of his watch dog. The animal did not bark, but jumped upon the
bed and continued scratching with his forepaws until his master rose up.
The dog then uttered a low growl and looked towards the roof, as if
anxious to draw his master's attention to that particular quarter.
Immediately afterwards a small piece of glass fell on the floor, and on
Mr. McLeod looking up he could see a man furtively moving on the roof;
the police were informed and effected an arrest of the intruding
burglar, through the warning given by the dog and before he had time to
conceal himself or make good his retreat.