Independently of the love that young dogs show in puppyhood to their

owners, their friendship for others of their own kind comes early in

their stage of development. A friendship begun in puppyhood will often

last through life. An instance of this was seen in two fox terriers,

litter brothers, by name Rattler and Royal. These dogs were not sent

out to walk, but spent their young days together in their home kennels.

Their affection for each other was soon remarked, for contrary to the

general conditions obtaining among young terriers, they were never

known to fight together. When they arrived at years of discretion they

took their place with the older dogs, in the sporting pack to which

they belonged. Here the friendship of their younger days became even

more marked. Neither Rattler nor Royal could be induced to go out,

even for the delights of hunting, without the other. When they were at

work in the field they were always together, and in company they would

return. No day was ever too long for the brothers, and they were always

to the fore in any work there was on hand. Often when hunting was over,

Rattler would manage to slip away from the pack, and taking refuge in

some handy covert, start working on his own account. Royal would soon

notice his absence, and if not looked after would run back to find the

truant. Then the two would have a royal time, and hunt the woods at

their own sweet will till exhausted nature could do no more. It was

believed that a hearty meal of rabbit not infrequently ended the day’s

pleasures for them, and then under the shelter of a bramble bush they

would curl up together and sleep the sleep of the worn-out hunter.

[Illustration: THE INVALID AND HIS NEW FRIEND

ROY AND JACK]

An instance of strong friendship between an older and a younger dog is

seen with two pets, one a very handsome King Charles and the other a

fascinating, most alert little Yorkshire terrier, who are members of

a household where the dogs take no unimportant place. Roy, the King

Charles, was an old and valued friend before the puppy Jack came to

keep him company. At the time of the latter’s arrival Roy was suffering

from a long and painful illness, and as an invalid he claimed and

received more than his usual share of attention from his friends.

The care with which Jack was prevented from disturbing the sufferer

roused the puppy’s keenest interest in him, and it was observed that

Roy himself showed no disposition to be offended at the new-comer’s

presence. Little by little Jack was left free to go to Roy’s basket

when he pleased, and no sooner was a cry of pain heard from the older

dog than the puppy would rush to him and kiss him, and then look

round for help for his suffering friend from those present. In return

for these attentions Roy allowed Jack to play with his favourite toy

without demur, though his friends were ready to protect his plaything

from the other, while Roy was too suffering to take part in the games.

The invalid would, however, show his disapproval of the too zealous

attentions of his guardians by a low growl whenever Jack was deprived

of the coveted toy, and from his basket would watch the games of the

active puppy with a gentle interest.

Soon further signs of a good understanding between the dogs were shown.

Roy, who is the autocrat of the household, spends the night with the

cook, an old and valued servant, who has a quite passionate affection

for the imperious little beauty. In the morning, the next step of Roy’s

daily pleasures is a visit to his mistress, who being an invalid has

her breakfast in bed. The little spaniel lies on her bed until she

gets up, and when he is there, not even his friend Jane is allowed to

interfere with him. But one day when Jack arrived in his mistress’s

arms to pay a visit to the invalid, Roy was all anxiety for him to

share his position with him. As this was the highest mark of favour he

could show, it was felt that from henceforth the care in keeping Roy

from the pressing attentions of the puppy might be relaxed.

With the exception of my own Skye, Roy has the most varied vocabulary

in the way of language that I have ever heard from any dog. He makes

his wants and wishes known to his friends with the greatest ease.

Being a very determined as well as intelligent little person, it is

but seldom that he does not get his own way. He has a large circle of

friends and admirers outside his own family, and I think his devoted

attendant, Jane, could scarcely be induced to accept an invitation out

to tea, if Roy were not included in the party.

In the many severe illnesses that Roy has suffered, his life has

undoubtedly been saved by the gentle patience with which he has

submitted to remedies. He never resents anything that is done for his

future comfort, and will submit quietly to handling that causes him

great present pain with an evident appreciation of the reasons that

dictate his friends’ efforts on his behalf. As Roy in his younger

days had no home playfellow, he developed an amusing attachment to

self-elected pets. The first object of his young affections as a

plaything was a muff, that was shaken, tossed, and rolled about, till

its comely proportions were reduced to bare skin. This with unwavering

affection was always taken to bed to be slept on, till in an evil hour

for him, the cook took the somewhat doubtful looking object in hand.

She washed and mended it, with the laudable intention of making it a

sweeter bedfellow; but for Roy its charm had gone, and he discarded it

with a finality from which there was no appeal.

Now Roy, being as I have said, a privileged person, always has his

chair put for him at the dining-room table, where he sits beside his

mistress at mealtime, showing a decorous attention to the business in

hand. His plate is before him, and at a certain point, his own portion

of the food is put ready for him. Being an imaginative dog, Roy has

many little “make-believes” with his playthings, and occasionally the

ball that has succeeded the muff in his affections is carried into

the dining room and put on the edge of his plate. The first time this

happened, it was supposed to have been a mistake on Roy’s part, and the

ball was removed from its position. But its owner had not brought it

there without some unknown purpose in his little mind, and he prepared

forthwith to rectify his friend’s blunder. Leaving his chair and the

food that had just been put before him, he bustled off to recover the

lost treasure, and having put it back in its former position he ate his

dinner quietly. It is only now and then that the ball is thus honoured,

but on these rare occasions its presence is necessary to Roy’s comfort,

and his sense of the fitness of things must not be outraged by its

removal.

Roy’s little housemate Jack, though still in his early youth, has

already some well marked characteristics. He has a talent for

collecting his family and keeping them together in a walk that is

worthy of the powers of a sheep dog. His great accomplishment is

begging, which he exercises on his own initiative and in a most

effective manner. With him this habit takes the place of language. If

he wants anything he sits up immediately on his hind legs, and with a

wealth of expression in his eyes waits for his friends to attend to

him. As the desired answer is sure to come, Jack’s faith in his method

is unbounded. A little upright waiting form is not infrequently found

in position before a closed door. Though the desired answer may be long

in coming, Jack has every confidence that perseverance will win the day.

Between Whankey and Floss, the former a black and tan rough terrier

and the latter a fox-terrier, who are both mentioned elsewhere,

there existed the closest possible friendship. Though Whankey was an

established favourite in her home before Floss arrived, a firm alliance

soon sprang up between them. But the good feeling that marked their

own relations was not extended to other dogs. No other of the many

terriers owned by their mistress would they allow in the house. Even

Jubilee, an older dog, who was passing her last years in the shelter of

her owner’s home, was never permitted to pass the swing door that led

from the kitchen regions into the front hall. If she ever appeared in

the doorway, Whankey and Floss would be sure to spot her, and advance

in warlike attitude, bristles up and uttering warning growls. Jubilee

would respond in form, but would in the end give way to the superiority

of numbers and withdraw to her own domains.

The two house favourites were always with their mistress, and both

slept in her room at night. But each had her own allotted place on bed

or chair, and they showed a nice sense of the social amenities, as a

foundation of lasting friendship, by never taking a position belonging

to the other. When Whankey died, Floss was inconsolable, and spent

her time in looking for her lost friend. After a while she would pass

hours together on a certain chair that used to be considered Whankey’s

property. Here Floss would sit upright with an expression of misery on

her little face that often induced her mistress to try and comfort her.

But such efforts Floss resented, and she would snap and show marks of

anger that she never displayed to her owner under other circumstances.

Though Floss lived for some years, she still kept up the old embargo

on the presence of other dogs in the house. Several times her mistress

brought up some young puppies from the kennels, thinking that Floss

would relent in favour of their youth and innocence. But Floss was

unbending, and she was so unhappy at their presence that the young

things were always sent away. To the end of her life Floss remembered

Whankey. If the latter’s name was mentioned, she was immediately all

attention, and if any one called “Whankey!” in a low voice, Floss would

spring up and rush to the door, wagging her tail, and barking to be let

out to look for her friend.

The highest form of disinterested affection we find in dogs, as in

humans, in the love of a mother for her offspring. A friend, who was

in South Africa with her husband during the late war, was at Ladysmith

some months after the raising of the siege. She went out to Bulwana,

and near the spot from which “Long Tom” had wrought such havoc among

our people, she found a poor half-starved dog and her two puppies. The

mother and one of the little things fled at the approach of strangers,

but the other puppy, who was too weak to walk, clung to the kindly

visitor who was probably the first human being she had ever seen. To

leave the little thing in that desolate spot meant death for her, so

the lady succeeded in getting down the steep side of the plateau with

the puppy in her arms, and carried her all the way back to Ladysmith.

Here she had no difficulty in finding a good home for the little

stranger, as many people were anxious to have the care of a dog whose

birth dated from the time of the siege. Efforts were made to find the

starving mother and her other puppy, but these were unavailing. A short

time after, however, another visitor to the scene of “Long Tom’s”

exploits, found the younger dog, but the mother, who had managed to

save her offspring, had lost her own life in the struggle.

Another instance of maternal love was given by a black pointer, one of

those now known as the Black Prince breed. The dog was a very fine one

and was much prized by her owners. In a litter of otherwise healthy

puppies this dog had one weakling. The latter she would not allow to

be with its stronger brethren. She was seen to carry the little one

who was unable to hold her own in the rough and tumble of puppy life

into a separate compartment. There she cared for it patiently and

affectionately, and if it was put back with the others she instantly

removed it from the dangers of companionship. This, I think, is the

most touching example of motherly love in an animal that I have ever

heard of. The poor dog’s care, however, was unavailing, and when the

little sufferer died, she carried the dead body to a neighbouring

hedgerow, and there dug a hole and buried it. The last scene of the

tragedy was observed by a boy, who had taken the keenest interest in

the efforts made to save the puppy’s life, and who is now the owner of

the celebrated kennels of which the mother was an inmate.

VII

“_Not hopeless round the calm, sepulchral spot,

A wreath presaging life we twine:

If God be love, what sleeps below was not

Without a touch divine._”

Of the memory of past events and of recollection of places revisited

after the lapse of years, we have many wonderful instances in dog life.

Stella, a handsome well-bred fox-terrier, of strange experiences in the

wilds of Africa, was a striking example of a memory that survived some

thrilling adventures far from the bounds of civilisation. This little

dog left her English home when she was only a few months old, and with

her new master set sail for Africa. Stella was a smooth terrier with

a bright tan head, and throughout life was a fat, comfortable looking

little creature.

Stella’s evidence of memory of the place where she had spent the early

months of her life was shown when she returned from the first of her

adventurous journeys. She came home with her master after an absence

of rather over a year, and accompanied him on a visit to her former

mistress. It was a dark winter’s night when the travellers arrived at

the station, from which a drive of three miles would take them to the

house whither they were bound. The little dog’s only preoccupation was

to keep with her master, and the first part of the last stage of their

journey by road passed quietly. But as the carriage came within a short

distance of the house, Stella grew restless, and showed such anxiety

to get out that at last she was put down to run the rest of the way

on foot. But neither the darkness, that to humans would have made the

choice of a way a matter of difficulty, nor the time that had elapsed

since Stella as a puppy had been in the country before, prevented her

from recognising her old landmarks and the former conditions of her

life. At the entrance to the drive she left the carriage, and, taking

a short cut across the park, arrived at the front door and finding her

way in, turned into the drawing room, and paying no attention for the

moment to those who were waiting for the expected travellers, made

straight for the water dish from which she had often quenched her

thirst in early youth. Her mistress saw her dash in at the open door,

and go as straight for the corner where the dogs’ dish always stood,

as if it was only yesterday that she had found it there. Stella’s

unexpected appearance was the signal to the waiting friends that her

master was near at hand. In a few minutes the latter drove up, to find

that his little favourite had shown her recollection of the scenes and

surroundings of her youth, and was there in her old home to add her

welcome to those of his other friends.

The so-called “Homing-instinct” of dogs I touch on with diffidence.

Of the many truly wonderful instances of this power that we hear of

from time to time, few are narrated in a manner to compel conviction

of the facts being quite as they appear to the easy acceptance of the

narrator. With these, however, I have nothing to do, though in a few

cases I have come across examples of remarkable journeys over unknown

countries made by different kinds of dogs. I think it is in such

instances that we find evidence of a perfection of one or more of the

senses, to which we have no parallel in our own experience. Yet what a

strange difference there is in humans, in their power of finding their

way when in unbeaten tracks! Here, as we know, a savage, untutored and

guiltless of the faintest breath of civilisation, will succeed where

the highest efforts of the white man’s powers of mind avail nothing.

The lynx eye of the native will let nothing escape him. The turning of

a leaf from its natural position, the all but imperceptible impress

of a foreign body on the sandy soil, will tell him what may save the

life of the representatives of a higher civilisation, whose fate is

perchance confided to him. The powers of sight and smell, that tell so

many things to the Indian as he follows the trail through the trackless

forests of North America, and the unerring instincts that will carry a

native of Central Africa, or of the desert lands of Asia over the sandy

wastes, where to the European the unbroken desert gives no faintest

clue to his position, are closer to those we find in our dog friends

than any power we possess.

Yet among average men and women of normal intelligence and culture, the

greatest possible difference will be found in their “sense of country”

as it is often called.

In dogs there is at least as much difference in their power of reaching

home. Some will be hopelessly lost within a mile or two, while others

will make some wonderful, unaided effort to get back to their friends

that is crowned with complete success. It is of hounds that such

stories are generally told, and from the manner of their life, and

the wide range of their work, this is not surprising. I have never,

however, come across any well authenticated instance that will compare

with the marvellous tales of common report. It is hard to explain how

an unentered hound could have found her way over one hundred and twenty

miles of unknown country. Yet this happened to a young dog that was

sent by the Master of the Four Burrow Hunt to the kennels of the Devon

and Somerset Staghounds. The hound was bred at the Scorrier kennels,

and as his working days had not begun he had not learnt the country in

the neighbourhood of his home. When he was sent to his new quarters he

travelled by cart and train the whole way. On the night of his arrival

at Exford he jumped over the kennel wall and disappeared. No one saw

anything of him on the journey on which he started, so far as his

friends could learn, but ten days later he was back at Scorrier.

A similar instance occurred with another hound that was brought to the

Devon and Somerset country to hunt the wild red deer. When the late

Master of the Eggesford country gave up his position, his pack was

sent by train to Rugby to be sold. Here the Master of the Staghounds

bought several couple, which were duly taken by train to Dulverton,

and thence by cart to the kennels that are in the middle of Exmoor. On

their arrival one hound escaped, and the next day she turned up at the

Eggesford Kennels.

Another instance of the same kind, for the strict accuracy of which

I can vouch, is told in Miss Serrell’s account of the Blackmore Vale

Hounds.[5] “A remarkable instance of the homing instinct was displayed

by a hound named Rakish, with whose wonderful feet and legs Mr. Guest

was so much struck that he bought her. She came from the South Dorset

kennels, of which hunt Mr. Featherstonhaugh Frampton was then the

Master. At Moreton station Rakish was put into the Guard’s van with a

collar and chain on, and she travelled twenty miles in a northeastern

direction to Wimborne, and thence twenty-eight miles towards the

northwest to Templecombe, her journey ending two and a half miles

farther on, at Milborne Port. She was taken out at Milborne Port

Station, but no sooner was she on the platform than she snapped her

chain and made off. For a day or two she was seen occasionally near the

place, but after that was neither seen nor heard of, until Mr. Guest

received a letter from Mr. Frampton saying that Rakish had reappeared

at her old kennels. Nothing was ever known of the manner in which she

found her way home, a distance of twenty-two miles as the crow flies.”

The nature of the surroundings of a modern Skye terrier’s life do not

give him the advantage of the knowledge of country possessed by working

hounds. Yet a young Skye, only eight months old, and when taken to

London for the first time, found his way from a crowded thoroughfare,

across Hyde Park, which to him was unknown ground, to the home to which

he had been taken on his arrival from the country. The dog’s mistress

was staying in a flat at Albert Gate. A day or two after her arrival

she took the Skye with her in her carriage, when she went on a shopping

expedition. On leaving the carriage in Oxford Street she gave strict

orders to her coachman not to let the puppy escape during her absence.

The little thing had the brougham to himself, and no sound was heard

from him. At last the man got down and opened the door to make sure

that his charge was all right. Quick as thought the puppy slipped past

him, and dashed off down the crowded pavement in the direction of the

Marble Arch. When his mistress heard what had happened, she gave him

up for lost. But that evening the house porter found a little waiting

figure sitting at the door of the lift, for the lost terrier had found

his way back.

A similar instance I know of in connection with a striking looking

little dog, who passed many happy years in a good home at Bath. This

little creature was a cross between a Maltese and a Pomeranian, and

what gave him a very unusual appearance, was that in front he had the

points of a Maltese, while behind he had the tightly curled, gaily

carried tail and the form of his Pomeranian ancestors. Bobbie was only

eight months old when he was lost in one of the crowded thoroughfares

of London. As his then owner was living in a suburb, where he had

recently changed houses, it seemed impossible that the little thing

should find his way home. Nevertheless, on the following morning when

the house was opened, the wanderer was found sitting on the doorstep.

All through his life Bobbie was in the habit of going off for walks on

his own account, and though at Bath, where his days were mostly spent,

he was sometimes seen at a great distance from his home, he always

found his way back.

He had many engaging little ways and was very devoted to his mistress,

who showered love upon him. He always had a saucer of milk given to him

by his owner at afternoon tea. But when she was out and any one else

gave him the milk, he would not touch it. A very sad looking little

figure would establish itself at a short distance from the saucer, and

regard the dainty wistfully. It was not till his mistress returned and

he had given her his usual warm welcome that Bobbie would fling himself

upon the saucer and drink up the milk. When he wanted anything, Bobbie

had a fascinating little way of making his wishes known. Taking up his

position close to his mistress, he would sit upright and wave his paws

quickly in the air until his wants were attended to. In many other ways

he showed that he was a dog of character. It was the custom in his

home for one of the maids to go to the post every evening, and it was

Bobbie’s daily joy to accompany her. But he understood the business

on which she went, and not even the delight of the walk would tempt

him till he saw that she had the letters in her hand. Yet Bobbie’s

evening run was considered good for him, and if there were no letters

his mistress would put an envelope into the maid’s hand, saying, “There

are the letters,” and Bobbie, satisfied that all was right, would

spring up with a bark and rush downstairs with all his usual eagerness.

[Illustration: BOBBIE]

Pat, a Scotch terrier, once performed a mysterious journey on his own

account, and though it has nothing to do with the “homing instinct,”

well-directed determination, no slight amount of skill, and an

intelligent comprehension of the situation were required for its

success. Pat’s home was in an island off the coast of Argyll, and he

was the special favourite of the nursery party. The island is a large

one, and it was a fairly long drive from the house to the pier, at

which steamers called. Every year the family went South, to spend a

time at Bournemouth, or some other of the South-coast watering places.

One or two of their dogs went with them, and one year the children

pleaded for Pat to be of the selected travellers. But the elders

decided against him, and Pat was consequently left behind when the

family started. In the steamer the children and nurses took possession

of the cabin allotted to them. No sooner had the boat moved off from

the pier than a wriggling, apologetic little form came out from a dark

corner of the cabin. Pat was greeted with tumultuous affection from

his delighted playfellows, but how he had got there no one could say.

The men servants had seen nothing of him with the luggage carts, and

it was felt to be impossible that he could have concealed himself in

the wagonette. There was, beside, the difficulty of his having boarded

the steamer without being seen by any member of the crew or by his own

family. Pat’s exploit could never be explained, though the success with

which he carried it out made him dearer than ever to his young owners.

An instance of a similar kind of determination not to lose sight of

his friends was shown by a powerful black lurcher, named Tip. This dog

was a cross between a greyhound and a retriever, and belonged to a man

whose home was at Fleet, in Hampshire. On the day when the Basingstoke

market was held, Tip’s master was in the habit of getting a lift in a

passing cart, that he might attend the market. His dog always ran under

the cart and attended his master while he transacted his business.

The return journey the man made by rail, from Basingstoke to Fleet,

a distance of some ten or twelve miles. He left his dog to shift for

himself when he took his own place in the train. Tip would stand on the

platform and watch his master off. Then jumping down on to the line

he set off in pursuit of the train. That he never left the line is

proved by the fact that he did not come to grief by any train passing

the opposite way, and Tip would pass Winchfield, the only intermediate

station, without relaxing his speed. He performed the journey in a

marvellously short time, and from Fleet Station he made his way to

his home on the common, which he reached shortly after his master had

arrived.

Some of these performances we must acknowledge to be beyond our range,

without the aid of gifts that we feel are our own special prerogatives.

If we could put ourselves into a bodily form similar to that of the

dog, and at the same time divest ourselves of our higher powers of

mind, we should have to acknowledge that some special canine sense

was needed to get us out of our difficulties. We cannot set the dog’s

solution down to mere cleverness, though doubtless the workings of his

little mind often go far beyond what we attribute to it. Of simple

“cleverness” so called, a small red greyhound was a striking example.

The story has more than a flavour of poaching about it, but is an

evidence of individual efforts of intelligence on the part of the hero.

This dog, whose name was Rover, came into the possession of a friend

of mine in a curious way. The lady was staying with her brother, who

was a keen sportsman, and from him she heard the history of a poacher

in the neighbourhood, who had been giving the keepers a very lively

time. The man owned a little red dog, who was an extraordinarily clever

night-worker, and the hares were sadly on the decrease in consequence.

One evening, after dinner, an urgent message was brought to the master

of the house that a man, who would not give his name, implored him to

see him. The request was granted, and in a few minutes the servant

returned to ask the lady to go out to her brother. Here she found him

in conversation with a respectable looking young man, who was holding

a small greyhound in a leash. Turning to her, her brother said, “This

man has brought up the little varmint I was telling you about. He wants

me to take him, but I tell him that he is no good to me.”

In appearance Rover was certainly not the sort of dog to appeal to

a shooting man, but the sister’s sympathies were soon enlisted. She

listened while the dog’s owner explained that he had got himself into

such serious trouble that he was about to leave the country, and he was

so fond of his dog Rover that he wanted to find a good home for him

before he left. He added that he did not want anything for the dog,

but only to get him into good quarters. My friend being what she was,

it was a foregone conclusion that she should offer to take Rover, but

she expressed a doubt of such a small creature being able to catch a

hare single-handed. This implied slur of his favourite seemed to put

the young man out greatly, and he declared that he had never seen the

hare who could get away from Rover. The lady’s opinion, however, was

not shaken, but she took the dog to an empty dog box and fastened him

up for the night. The farewell between the dog and his master was very

touching, for there was evidently the warmest affection between them.

The poor little animal stood whining and tugging at his chain, while

his master’s footsteps died away in the distance, and it was only when

the last sound had faded that he retired disconsolately into his house

and curled himself up.

The next morning his new owner went down into the yard early to see

how her dog had fared. To her great astonishment she saw a large hare

hanging on the wall above his box, and Rover securely fastened up, but

looking very stiff and dirty, came slowly out to greet her. When this

was reported to her brother, he was much amused. It seemed that the

disbelief shown of the dog’s powers had so rankled in the poacher’s

mind that he had come back in the middle of the night and taken Rover

out for the last of their many midnight wanderings. A hare that the dog

had caught was left in the yard as a testimony to his prowess.

Rover in due course went home with his mistress, and before long his

owner determined to test his powers for herself. Taking Rover with her,

she went to a neighbour on whose lands hares were said to be plentiful,

to ask permission to try and find one. The permission was granted, but

her friend added, “You will never catch one with that little thing.”

Nothing daunted, however, Rover and his mistress took the field, with

the land owner’s keeper and his old retriever. Field after field was

tried unsuccessfully, and at last the word for home was given and Rover

was put on his leash. In the middle of a large stubble field Rover’s

mistress heard a shout behind her, and, turning, saw the keeper waving

his hat frantically, and pointing with his stick to a hare that was

coming straight towards her.

Rover spotted it at once, and struggled and strained so violently to

get away that it was a matter of some difficulty to release him. Off

he started in hot pursuit, and followed his quarry across the field at

racing pace, till the hare began to near the hedge. This the dog, by

cutting off a corner cleverly, managed to reach before her, and turned

her back. Away they went again the full length of the field, Rover

repeating his manoeuvre at the end and cutting the hare off from

her refuge. Back once more they raced, until the hare finding herself

baulked every time she was within reach of her smeuse, grew desperate.

The next time Rover tried to intercept her she made a frantic effort to

pass him. But Rover was too quick for her, and making his rush, rolled

her over and killed her.

His owner and the keeper meanwhile had been rushing up and down the

field, with the old retriever at their heels, till they had run

themselves to a standstill. They then had perforce to wait and watch

the issue. When the long struggle was over, the keeper ran up and

picked up the hare, finding poor little Rover panting hard from his

exertions lying full length beside her.

As soon as the man had recovered his breath he turned to the lady and

gave his view of the situation as follows: “Now, ma’am, don’t you ever

let that little devil out of your hand. Why, if some o’ they poaching

chaps were to lay hands on him there wouldn’t be a hare left in the

country.”

Though Rover’s training was open to suspicion from the point of view

of the law, there was no doubt of his having responded well to it. He

had, moreover, from his own intelligent appreciation of the work he was

called on to perform, added just those details that gave it an artistic

finish.

VIII

“_The faithful dog, in life the firmest friend,

The first to welcome, foremost to defend;

Whose honest heart is aye his master’s own,

Who lives, breathes, fights, and dies for him alone._”

The sense of the ego in the dog is, I think, clearly shown in the

feeling of personal responsibility he exhibits. If we had not the

feeling of being responsible in our own persons for the carrying out of

duties, often far from attractive in themselves, and, it may be, even

repulsive to us, should we put aside our inclinations and sensibilities

to face the disagreeables such duties entail, if we could merge our

personal responsibility in a general sense of the duties of mankind? It

is the consciousness of the individual answer, for or against, that we

must each make, that forces us to face the inevitable, as we realise

it. In the lesser round of the simpler duties that confront the dog,

the same recognition of the claims made on his personal response to

them is shown, and should be accepted as coming from the same source.

We cannot study the life story of any dog without finding at least

some instance of his recognition of duty as duty. Its carrying out may

entail personal discomfort, or even danger, but he goes forward without

hesitation or craven fear. In the life of Billy, a small wire-haired

lady fox-terrier, who answered to this incongruous name, several such

actions are to be seen. Billy is the very small daughter of well-bred

parents, and belongs to a lady whose home is in Ireland. She was

originally the property of a little son of the house, whose young life

ended in boyhood. His wee dog was very precious to his young master,

and during his last illness showed her response to his affection by

spending long hours with the sufferer. One of the last requests the

dying boy made was that Billy might be allowed to remain indoors at

night for the future, instead of being sent to the stables to sleep.

Such a petition was, of course, granted; and when her master’s short

life ended, Billy was lifted from the bed and found the most loving

guardians in the mother and sister of her former owner.

In return for the love lavished on her, Billy is a most vigilant little

guardian. In her basket she now spends the night in the kitchen. One

Sunday evening on going in to take up her position for the night, Billy

found a large kettle on the fire boiling over and sending a stream of

water on to the floor. The maids being out, there was no one to appeal

to in the kitchen regions, so Billy bustled off to the drawing room

to her mistress, and by whining and catching hold of her dress and

pulling at it she tried to show that all was not right. While her owner

was wondering what she meant Billy grew more importunate. Seizing the

lady’s skirt between her teeth she did her best to pull her mistress

up; and then, rushing to the door, she paused and looked round to see

if she were being followed. Then her mistress rose and went to see

what was the matter. When she reached the kitchen the reason of Billy’s

call was clear; and the dog, having done her duty, jumped into her

basket and curled herself up for the night.

[Illustration: BILLY]

Another time Billy rushed into her mistress’s room with such signs

of frantic eagerness to be followed that her appeal was responded to

immediately. Leading the way into one of the rooms, Billy flew to the

hearthrug, where a live coal had fallen from the fire. A large hole

was already burnt in the rug, and the carpet was smouldering in most

dangerous fashion. Without Billy’s summons the consequences must have

been serious, for flames were on the point of breaking out.

Yet again Billy came to the rescue; and though on this occasion

possible jealousy of the cat concerned in the story may have added to

the zest with which she performed her duty, she nevertheless did the

obvious and proper thing. Billy was settled for the night, but it was

not long before she discovered that a cat had been shut into the larder

by mistake, and was making the most of her unwonted opportunities. As

usual, she rushed off to bring her mistress to the rescue. As Billy’s

vigilance was now acknowledged and valued, she had little trouble in

persuading her owner to come down. She led the way to the larder and

calmly waited. The cat was discovered busy with a plump chicken; and

who shall say what feeling of satisfaction came to Billy’s soul, while

she watched the ignominious flight of the startled thief, to sweeten

the sense of a duty successfully carried out?

Not many dogs, even of Billy’s unusual beauty, have had such striking

testimony paid to their good looks. Billy was in the charge, for

the time being, of her young mistress, when an American gentleman

was so struck by the dog’s appearance that, with many apologies to

her guardian for his intrusion, he ventured to ask if she could be

persuaded to part with her pet. He would be delighted to give a cheque

for £20 in exchange for the dog. The offer was politely refused, and

the would-be purchaser then offered a blank cheque, to be filled

in by the owner for any sum she pleased, if she would let him have

Billy. Touched by the genuine admiration shown for the dog, it was

then explained to the enthusiastic American that there were tender

memories of a dead brother, to whom Billy had once belonged, that made

it impossible to consider the noble offer made for the favourite’s

transfer.

A very strong sense of duty was shown by Floss, the little terrier of

eventful history, of whom I have spoken several times. She delighted

in a day’s shooting, but looked upon it as her business to mount

guard over anything in the shape of dead game. One day she was tested

severely. A hare was killed early in the proceedings, and as the guns

were going a long way to the next beat, the hare was hung on a tree

and left. Not long after Floss was missed, and no one could remember

where she had last been seen. Thinking, however, that she had probably

run a rabbit to ground and would follow, the guns went on. At the end

of the day a beater was told off to fetch the hare. When he reached

the tree there was a little white form keeping guard over the trophy

overhead. But Floss did not know the beater, and warned him sharply off

her preserves. The man tried persuasion, caresses, and threats in turn,

but to no avail. Floss was ready to use all her powers in the defence

of her friends’ property, and the man went back to tell the tale of his

failure. Then one of Floss’s friends went to find her and the missing

hare. As soon as she saw him Floss ran to meet the new-comer with every

mark of pleasure. She watched him take down the hare, and then trotted

home contentedly by his side. Not even the sound of the firing that

told her she was losing so much of the day’s fun had been able to tempt

Floss from the path of duty.

A curious sense of the cares of guardianship Floss showed in regard to

the many masks and brushes that adorn the walls of her mistress’s room.

Every night before she curled herself up to sleep, she was observed to

sit upright and look round the walls. If one of the usual trophies had

been removed from its place, she would jump up and proceed on a tour

of inspection through the house to find it. As soon as she discovered

it, she barked again and again till some one arrived to see what was

wanted. Then she waited till her treasure was restored to its usual

place, and immediately this was done she settled herself down for the

night. A visitor to the house, who was much struck with Floss’s careful

guard, used to go into the room at night and pretend to touch some of

the furry treasures on the walls. Floss would be up and on the alert

in a moment. Flying at the rash intruder, she showed herself ready to

defend her mistress’s property till the pretended examination came to

an end.

The strongest personal note of another fox-terrier’s character was an

indomitable will power. What he wanted he would have, if any efforts of

his could secure it. A more independent, self-sufficing little person

it would be hard to find. Even as a tiny puppy, before he had left his

mother, he took the ordering of his young life in his own hands. His

future mistress, accompanied by her brother, went to see the litter, of

which Tyke was one, in order to choose a puppy for herself. When the

strangers came up to the family group, the young things took no notice

of them, with the exception of Tyke, who sat up and barked lustily. One

of the visitors was so taken with the hostile demonstration of the tiny

creature that he exclaimed to his sister, “That’s the little beggar for

you.” To this the lady agreed, and in due time the terrier passed into

her possession.

Now Tyke was not perfect from the point of view of beauty. He was

spindly in form, and had a tail that curled in reprehensible fashion.

Over one eye Tyke had a black patch that was the only touch of colour

on his smooth white coat. He soon made his presence felt in his new

home, and whenever he did not get what he wanted without delay, he

would sit down and, putting his head in the air, give a succession of

piercing howls. The noise he made was such that for the sake of peace

some one was sure to hurry up to see what was wanted. Whether it was a

door that needed to be opened, or whatever at the moment might disturb

the comfort of the puppy, he thus took his own means of ensuring its

removal.

From the first he was attached to his mistress, though he gave her

brother an almost equal place in his affections. To go out for a day’s

rabbit shooting with the latter was one of his greatest joys. While

he was engaged in his favourite sport, Tyke got a nasty blow on one

of his fore legs. He was so severely hurt and the wounded leg had

swollen so much, that there was no thought of taking him for the next

day’s shooting. Tyke, as an invalid, was being taken care of in his

mistress’s room. But no sooner did he hear the usual preparations for

a day among the rabbits being made, than he pushed open the door of

the upstairs room, and tore down to the hall in impetuous fashion, as

best he could on three legs. But Tyke’s enthusiasm cost him dear. As

he turned a corner in the staircase in a headlong rush, he missed his

footing and rolled down to the bottom of the last flight of steps. On

the way he snapped the bone of the injured leg about halfway up.

Tyke’s mistress, who was in the hall at the moment, picked him up, and

her brother, seeing what had happened, put down his gun and rushed out

to the stables to get a horse put into the dog-cart, to carry Tyke off

to have his leg set. In his mistress’s arms the dog was taken by his

two friends to the family doctor, who lived about four miles off. They

were sure that the latter would attend to their favourite for them.

In this they were not mistaken. They fortunately found the Doctor

at home, and enlisted his sympathy on behalf of the little sufferer.

His mistress suggested that Tyke should have chloroform, so while

the medical man busied himself in getting ready a bandage, he handed

the chloroform and some cotton wool to his amateur assistants. But

Tyke seemed insensible to the effects of the anæsthetic, and grew so

excited over the attempts to make him take it that the idea was at last

abandoned. Tyke’s self-control was equal to the demands made on it, and

he remained perfectly quiet throughout the operation, gently licking

his mistress’s hand, as a sign of comprehension and of gratitude for

the efforts made in his behalf.

During the time that Tyke was an invalid, he came in for a carriage

accident of a somewhat sensational kind. He was so unhappy at being

left at home when his friends were out of the house that his mistress

generally carried the little thing with her wherever she went,

comfortably tucked under her arm. One morning, when a friend had to be

driven to the station, the horse, whose business it was to do this work

not being available, an old chestnut hunter named Bessie was pressed

into the service. The wagonette was to be used and the man was to

drive, so the two ladies and Tyke took their places in the back part.

The mare did not take kindly to her new duties, but after a good deal

of fidgeting about at the start, drew the party safely to the station.

On the return journey, Bessie was startled by a dealer’s cart that

came rattling up behind her at a great pace. Laying back her ears she

started off at a mad gallop, and the coachman, in his efforts to get

a hold on her, pulled one rein harder than the other. Bessie’s head

being thus turned towards a fence, she made straight for it. Being a

capital jumper--as indeed her owner’s hunters were required to be--she

landed well on the top of a broad bank. But here she was reminded of

the unwonted encumbrance that hampered her movements. The two front

wheels of the carriage she had carried on to the bank, but the rest of

the conveyance remained hopelessly behind. After struggling vainly for

a few seconds to keep her footing, Bessie rolled back into the ditch,

where carriage, horse, and man were mixed up in hopeless confusion.

Tyke and his mistress fortunately had made their escape, for the

latter, with the dog in her arms, had, while the mare was striving to

balance herself on the bank, taken a flying leap over the closed door

into the road, where she landed happily on her feet. Looking round

for assistance, she saw that the cart, that had been the cause of the

mischief, had followed, and the driver was contemplating the scene of

confusion in the ditch. Catching hold of his horse by the head, the

lady told the man to go to the assistance of her coachman. At last,

hatless, and with his coat nearly torn from his back, but, to his

mistress’s great relief, without serious injuries, the coachman was

extricated from the débris. Then more people arrived on the scene, and

the poor mare was got up. She, too, had, in a marvellous way, escaped

further injury than some cuts about the head, but the carriage looked

like a huge spilt box of matches.

It was not long before the bone of Tyke’s leg joined, and when the last

bandage was taken off it was seen that the injured leg was as straight

as the other. His love for a day’s shooting was as keen as ever, and

his attachment to his owner’s brother was so marked that the former

was always afraid her dog would be carried off by him. When a visit

of her brother’s was coming to an end, she determined, therefore, to

leave Tyke at home when she drove down to the station on the morning

of his departure. The dog was left shut into her bedroom, and the

journey to the station passed without incident. But the dog-cart had

only just turned homewards when Tyke’s mistress caught sight of a

small creature tearing down the hill in front of her and clearly bound

for the station. She knew it must be Tyke, so flinging the reins on

the horse’s neck she jumped down just in time to catch the fugitive.

He was promptly put into the dog-cart and driven home, and for once

Tyke’s efforts to get his own way were defeated. A maid servant was, of

course, responsible for his release. When she opened the door of the

bedroom Tyke slipped past her, and, finding the front door open, he had

made straight for the station, covering the three miles in less time

than the horse had taken.

To one of the neighbouring country houses, situated some three miles

off across the fields, Tyke was a constant visitor. He had often

gone over there from his home for a day’s shooting, and this was a

performance after Tyke’s own heart. It was not long before he took to

making visits there on his own account, for he found the time dull at

home on the days when his mistress was hunting. Tyke would consequently

make his way over, and then sit down and howl at the front door until

he was let in. The gentleman to whom he specially attached himself

on his visits was in the habit of having a late breakfast before he

started for a day’s shooting. Such an arrangement suited Tyke to

perfection. He could see his mistress off on a hunting morning, and

still be able to reach the house in time to share in the breakfast and

start in good order for the day’s work. This over, Tyke would return

home with his temporary companion, and there, curling himself up in

front of the fire, he would rest peacefully for some hours till he

had slept off his fatigue. As soon as he woke, he considered it time

to return home, and announced his wishes in the usual manner. The

prolonged and continuous howls that echoed over the house, if he found

himself shut in, made his friends glad to clear the way for him. But

all were fond of the strange little creature, and one very wet night

they determined to keep him with them till the morning. Tyke seemed to

acquiesce in the proposed arrangement, and the household retired to

bed. But after a time Tyke came to other conclusions, and lifted up

his voice in such piercing fashion that at last the butler came down

and opened the front door for him. At four o’clock in the morning his

mistress was roused from sleep by Tyke’s well-known calls under her

window. In the quiet night air the shrill summons was enough to rouse

the household, and she therefore got up obediently and let him in.

Tyke must have taken an optimistic view of the general complaisance

of humans, as he curled himself up in his accustomed place for the

remaining hours of the night.

He combated successfully arrangements that were not to his mind when

another day’s shooting was in question. His shooting friend was going

with a party after pheasants, and Tyke, when he paid one of his usual

morning visits, found that after breakfast he was no longer wanted. He

was, indeed, handed over to the care of his friend the butler, who,

fastening a lead of string to his collar, gave him into the charge of

the local postman. The latter was going as far as the village, about

a mile from Tyke’s home, and the butler--with memories of Tyke’s past

exploits in his mind--declared that he was well able to find his way

home from the village. The postman undertook the charge, and trudged

off, holding the string carefully. The dog was no trouble to lead, and

after a time his guardian paid no more attention to him. Great was his

horror, therefore, on arriving at the village where the dog was to be

set free, to find only a collar trailing on the ground behind him. Tyke

as usual had taken his own means to carry out his wishes, and having

adroitly popped his head out of his collar, he returned forthwith to

the house from which he had been sent.

[Illustration: “ARE THEY COMING?”

TYKE]

The troubles of the postman however did not end here. His was a slow

working and a conscientious mind. He was in possession of a dog

collar, on which was inscribed the name of the lost dog’s owner. This

he understood was felony, and in much perturbation of mind he made

his way to the house of one of the church-wardens and told his fears.

He gave the collar into the custody of this respectable guardian, and

begged him to assure Tyke’s mistress of his innocence in the matter.

It needed very little to make Tyke understand any proposed arrangements

for the day, and to take his measures accordingly. At last his friends

had to be very careful what they said before him. He was lying one

morning asleep before the fire, in the room in which his mistress was

sitting, when the latter’s brother came in with a letter in his hand.

“I have been asked to shoot at S. to-day,” he observed to his sister.

“Will you drive me over?” “Yes,” was the answer, “but Tyke must not go.”

Tyke, who had started up all attention when the visitor entered the

room, slipped out instead of resuming his old place, as soon as he

found what was going to happen. When the dog-cart came round and his

two friends got in there was no sign of him. But when they reached the

end of the long drive, across which a public road runs, they caught

sight of Tyke’s head peeping out from the bushes on the top of the bank

facing them. Directly he saw that he was noticed, and having satisfied

himself that his friends were really coming, Tyke scampered off across

the fields, paying no heed to the calls that followed him. When his

mistress arrived at S., there was a sedate looking little dog sitting

by the front door waiting for her.

Tyke’s life was a long and a merry one. It ended peacefully, for one

morning it was a little lifeless form that his friends found lying in

his basket.

IX

“_There can be no question at all that the dog is capable of a kind

of fidelity, which presents all the characteristics of loyal and

passionate devotion. When that is the case ... there appear to be the

germ of true moral and spiritual quality._”

In the obedience that we claim and receive in such full measure from

our dogs, an element of thoughtful discrimination is often shown in

the response they give to our orders. Instead of following directions

blindly they display a nice sense of the possibilities of the situation

when all does not turn out as expected. In his behaviour a collie,

who had been trained as a sheep dog, showed a power of reasoning that

would have done credit to any human. The dog had gone to Scotland with

his master, who was living at the time at Holyrood, where he filled

the post of equerry to his relation, the High Commissioner of the day.

On going into a large shop in one of the principal thoroughfares in

Edinburgh, his owner told the collie to wait outside the shop door

for him. The dog lay down obediently, and time passed without the

reappearance of his master. The latter had indeed forgotten his dog,

and had gone out by a door on the other side of the building. At length

the collie, feeling that all was not right, got up and trotted back

to his master’s rooms. Here he was seen by the valet, but he would

not allow any one to touch him, and having satisfied himself that

his master was not there, went back to his place in front of the shop

door. Business detained his owner till the evening, and when at length

he went home, he heard from his man of the dog’s visit, and remembered

that the poor collie had been told to wait for him at the shop. Calling

a cab, he drove off to the place where he had left him and found the

dog obediently waiting for his return.

It is evident that when the dog realised that his master’s visit had

been unduly prolonged, he thought that he might have been forgotten,

and therefore took the obvious course of one possessed of reasoning

power, of going to see if his owner had returned home. But he was

mindful of his trust, and finding that his master had not gone back

without him, he was satisfied that the order given him must be carried

out to the letter. A more intelligent appreciation of the circumstances

in which he was placed it would be hard to find.

Another and a wonderful instance of reasoning power in carrying out

an order was shown by a collie, who was one of the performers in the

sheep-dog trials held some years ago at the Alexandra Palace. A great

crowd had gathered to watch the proceedings, and each dog had to

single out three sheep from the flock, and drive them to a hillside

about half a mile distant. On the hill was the pen into which he was

to drive them. One fine collie had three wild and frightened sheep in

charge, and for a long time he tried in vain to round them into the

pen. They refused to face the opening, and again and again scattered

in wild confusion whenever the collie tried to drive them in. The

spectators watched his efforts with breathless interest. Suddenly the

collie dropped as if exhausted, and lay with his back to the sheep, who

were standing some little distance from the opening into the pen. He

was panting with his exertions, and as he lay prone on the ground he

seemed to have given up the game and to take no further interest in his

charges. But the onlookers saw that every now and again he worked his

body slowly backwards along the ground, the movement being so gentle

that the sheep did not take alarm at it, though they moved gradually

further away from him and consequently nearer to the pen. When the

oft repeated manoeuvre had brought them sufficiently near, the dog

sprang to his feet and, twisting round with a shrill bark, drove

the sheep with a sudden rush inside. A chorus of cheers showed the

spectators’ appreciation of the clever way in which he had surmounted

the difficulty. No man could have shown more patience in compassing

the desired end, or have taken a more subtle method of overcoming

opposition.

A clear evidence of reasoning power was the source of great delight

to the many friends of a little dog called Nanky Poo. The name shows

that the little favourite had foreign blood in her veins, and though

Nanky Poo could not boast of pure descent, her mother was a Pekinese

spaniel. The daughter was black, with white front and toes. She had a

head that did credit to her mother’s side of the family, had a tail

that curled over her back, and was too long in the leg in proportion

to her size. But in spite of all blemishes in appearance, Nanky Poo

was as fascinating a little specimen of her kind as any dog-lover need

wish to know. In her country home, the spaniel used to have her basket

in the front hall, which was used as a sitting room during the summer

months. Here Nanky Poo was shut in, during her owner’s absence from

the house. She was too small and too precious to be allowed to meet

the possible dangers of woods and fields without a guardian at hand to

protect her. But if she was left alone long, Nanky Poo found the time

tedious, and whenever the front bell rang, and the man came to open

it for the expected visitors, she would slip past him and make her

escape. It sometimes happened that when the summons was answered no

one was found waiting at the door, nor was any one to be seen in the

drive. When it became of frequent occurrence for the man to be summoned

on a fruitless errand, some of the household determined to solve the

mystery, and, unknown to Nanky Poo, kept a watch upon her through the

glass door. When the little thing got tired of solitude she was seen

to get out of her basket and go to the wall on one side of the hall.

Here a dainty paw was lifted to the bell wire that ran round the wall

but a few inches from the ground. Nanky Poo pressed the wire down in

business-like fashion, and when she was satisfied that she had brought

about the desired result, she ran to the door that communicated with

the house and took up her station in front of it. With her head on

one side, she sat listening intently for the sound of approaching

footsteps, and by the time the servant arrived she was ready to take

advantage of her chance of liberty. Nanky Poo had a short but happy

life, with a mistress who was devoted to her.

A high form of intellectual development must be allowed to those

dogs who are always ready in an emergency to help themselves out

of a difficulty, or in any other way to conform to the unexpected

requirements of the moment. Such power has been shown by Bobbins, one

of the old Scotch bobtail cattle dogs, throughout her life. Bobbins

is a most fascinating dog, both in appearance and manner, and is of

a gentle, loving nature to her friends. She is a blue grey with tan

markings, and has a wonderful coat that resists the most inclement of

weather. Though Bobbins came from her home in Lundy Island at an early

age, and with her present owner has had none of the work in guarding

sheep or cattle that is the ordinary portion of her kind, she still

shows a keen appreciation of the duties to which she was bred.

[Illustration: BOBBINS]

Not long ago Bobbins was with her mistress in the fields when they

came upon some men at work. One of the men was trying to prevent some

heifers from forcing their way through a gate, that led into the field.

Her mistress called to Bobbins to go to the man’s assistance. Just

as the dog reached him the heifers charged through, and for a moment

Bobbins’s mistress feared her dog would be killed in the mad rush

of the young things. Bobbins was quick to see her danger, and threw

herself flat on the ground. One of the heifers who was coming straight

at her jumped over her prostrate form. No sooner had she passed than

Bobbins was on her feet, and, heading the rushing heifers, turned them,

and drove them safely through the gate.

Another story that shows Bobbins’s readiness to adapt her methods to

the needs of the moment is told by Miss Serrell, and once again I

will quote from her.[6] Bobbins was giving her assistance in the work

of driving a refractory bull, which refused to answer to the dog’s

repeated jumps at his head. Changing her tactics, Bobbins suddenly ran

behind him, “seized him by the tail, and hung on so persistently that

she was swung in the air, as the bull whirled round in his efforts to

get at her. Failing to dislodge her, the animal at last took fright and

beat a precipitate retreat.” The bull apparently nursed a sense of his

wrongs, and one day charged Bobbins unexpectedly, and all but caught

her. The dog only escaped “by turning head over heels and rolling

cleverly to one side.” Then she proceeded to take her revenge for the

unprovoked onslaught. Before the bull had time to turn, Bobbins was

snapping at his heels, and perhaps fearing a second attack on his tail,

the creature made off, and for the future he and Bobbins preserved an

attitude of armed neutrality.

It is of Bobbins that the delicious story is told of a judge who, not

being acquainted with the breed to which the dog belonged, put her down

as “a bearded collie.” When his attention was drawn to the fact that

the so-called collie had no tail, the worried judge made a reply that

deserves to be immortal. “If she has not a tail, she ought to have

one.” Needless to say that with such shortcomings Bobbins carried off

no award of merit from the show.

Another member of the wonderful dog family that Bobbins’s mistress

gathers round her is a pure white smooth fox-terrier named Roy. This

dog is a son of Racer’s, who was a distinguished member of the sporting

pack, whose exploits on land and water their owner has recounted. Roy

has the sporting instincts that marked his sire, and nothing in the

way of vermin comes amiss to him either above or under ground. But he

recognises the limitations of what is lawful in the chase, and respects

the inhabitants of the home poultry yard. Yet even they contribute to

the pleasures of life for him. As soon as he is let out for his morning

run, Roy dashes down the kennel steps and through the yard, scattering

the game fowls in all directions as he makes for the gate leading into

the fields. The more the birds fly and scream, the better pleased is he

with this beginning of the morning’s joys, but he has too keen a sense

of duty to offer to touch them.

In the summer months it is no unusual thing to see a number of ordinary

barn-door fowls scattered among the home game-chicks. The former are

bought by the owner of the place from the cottagers round, who are

afraid to keep them for fear of their falling a prey to prowling foxes,

and thus spoiling their season’s return. The first time Roy found such

unaccustomed mongrels among the dark brown aristocrats of the yard, his

duty appeared to him in a pleasanter light than usual. It was clear

that such nondescript sort of animals could have no right there, and

his mistress was apprised of something unusual going on by the sound

of a great commotion in the yard. Hurrying from the kennels to see

what was the matter, she met Roy with one of the strange birds in his

mouth. She stooped to take it from him, and restrain him from further

depredations. But Roy had no idea of wasting time in the delightful

occupation that duty for once opened out to him. Dropping the chick,

he scampered back before his mistress could secure him. Another trophy

of the chase was brought and laid at her feet, and this time Roy

was caught and a lead slipped on as the surest means of curbing his

enthusiasm. Roy was now clearly puzzled. His mistress was angry, and

told him sternly he was not to meddle with the new-comers. Yet, as he

understood things, these were intruders, and had no more right to a

place in the yard than from an æsthetic point of view they added to its

appearance. He stood looking wistfully up into his mistress’s face,

his stern carried low, but wagging it gently, as he always does when

he is found fault with. Poor Roy, the aspect of the day had indeed

changed, and the problem that confronted him was hard to solve. He

had tried to do his duty in clearing his own ground of unauthorised

trespassers, and he was being scolded for his pains. It was hard indeed

that such an unwontedly delightful duty should not be appreciated by

his usually discerning mistress. But though the reasons that dictated

her conduct were beyond him, he understood the order given. For the

future, the homely creatures must be allowed to join in the general

rush that signalised his rapid passage across the yard, and he never

again attempted to touch them. The carrying out of his personal

responsibility in guarding his mistress’s property must have seemed

beset with unknown dangers to him from that time.

The duty attached to his position as guardian of his home also presents

itself sometimes in attractive form to a thoroughbred mongrel named

Boy. This dog is, in his home circle, said to be a Russian poodle. In

colour he is white with black markings, and has a silky, curly coat

and tail. He has a round head, in which there is plenty of room for

brains, and a pair of very intelligent eyes. Belonging to his owners

is an old and very fat Dalmatian who answers to the name of Tip. The

latter is not allowed in the house, but is always finding means of

ignoring the prohibition. Boy, whose own position is assured, feels

called on to resent the intrusion. As soon as he catches sight of Tip

on forbidden ground, he flies to tell his mistress what has happened.

Then comes Boy’s full sense of virtue rewarded. While Tip is stealing

away dejectedly from the coveted comforts of the house, Boy shows his

delight in the situation by dancing about in glee, and letting off a

series of joyous barks.

[Illustration: BOY]

Boy is a great ratter, and with his first exploit in this line

is connected an early foreshadowing of the serious views as to

guardianship he now holds. In this case untold joys were found that

proved too strong to be resisted. Boy was only a few months old when

his mistress shut him up in a room into which a rat was known to

find its way. In due course the rat appeared, and Boy, yielding to

his hereditary instincts, fought and eventually killed it. But he

knew nothing of the life history of the strange creature whose span

of existence he had ended. Was it not a pet of the mistress whose

belongings he was bound to guard? When his owner came in to see how

things had fared, she was met by a shame-faced little creature, who

crawled to her feet and begged forgiveness for the crime he believed he

had committed. Since then Boy has learned much about rats in general,

and suffers no qualms when he has laid low one of their mischievous

tribe.

X

“_To come to speech they have it questionless,

Although we understand it not so well,

They bark as good old Saxon as may be,

And that in more variety than we._”

A natural freak among dogs is Bettina Corona, of high sounding title.

This small creature contains in her tiny form as many blemishes from

a show point of view as any terrier--so called--that has ever lived.

In weight she is only eight pounds, and in her photograph can be seen

the bandy fore legs, the prick ears, the woolly curling coat, and

altogether ridiculous tail that go to make up her physical attractions.

But a lion’s heart is in that small body, and she is a sportswoman to

the core, while a more fascinating little will-o’-the-wisp bundle of

mercurial attractions it would be hard to find.

Bettina Corona was born in the Coronation year of King Edward VII,

and her pedigree is of the longest. Her sire is one of the greatest

champions of the kennel-world, and was sent to America at a very high

price. But in compassion to her high relations, let us draw a veil

over her family history, and concern ourselves only with her very

interesting little person.

She is very compact and sturdily built, and has such a powerful jaw and

rare set of teeth as to make her a very formidable creature to give

offence to. Her curly coat is of quite extraordinary thickness, and

resembles that of a sheep. So luxuriant is its growth that like a sheep

she has to be shorn in the course of the summer, or Bettina with her

active ways would be in danger of her life. Bettina’s time of beauty

then is in the winter, when she is a mass of woolly curls from the tip

of her aggressive little nose to the end of her gaily carried stern.

The amount of digging that Betty can get through is surprising, and

in the orchard, where she spends a part of each day, she passes hours

digging for field mice. Nothing indeed comes amiss to her in the way

of game. She has followed a rabbit through all the turns and twists of

a very large earth, and either killed or bolted it. Even cockchafers

and stag beetles do not come amiss, for want of larger prey, and these

she crunches up with a terrible finality. Her greatest enemies are,

however, cats, and she will literally go through fire and water to

reach them. Amongst her many feline foes is a fine long-haired tabby,

half as big again as herself, who rejoices in the name of Jim. Now

Jim is a great poacher, and one morning Betty lighted on him as he

was returning from a midnight prowl. Jim was carrying a young rabbit,

from which he evidently contemplated making his breakfast. But Betty

had other views, and after a very noisy, skirmishing sort of fight,

succeeded in getting possession of it. She then marched triumphantly

into the house, carrying the prize, and making herself as big and fussy

over it as she possibly could.

Another time she did not come off so well, as she rashly caught Jim by

the tail as he was vanishing through the stable door. Swinging round on

her, Jim fixed his claws on each side of her head, and seized one of

her ears with his teeth. But Betty was game, and refused to release her

hold. Fortunately the coachman was at hand to come to her aid, and with

the stable broom tried to get in between them. The commotion soon drew

her mistress to the spot, and she made frantic grabs at the struggling

Betty. At length, Betty was seized by the neck and pulled off, and her

mistress fled with her, while Betty fought and yelled to get back to

the fray. Jim being now perfectly infuriated turned on the coachman,

but the broom being well handled, he was finally swept out of the

stable and the door closed. It was a very long time before the other

combatant calmed down, and Betty spent the rest of the morning rushing

about wildly and hunting for the enemy.

[Illustration: BETTINA CORONA]

When Bettina emerges from the seclusion of the wired-in orchard, she

has a long lead attached to her collar, as this is the only way of

keeping her out of mischief. Her constant endeavour is to jerk the lead

out of the hand of her captor, and one day, having escaped from her

mistress’s vigilance by this means, she rushed headlong into a cottage.

The scene that followed defies description. A black and white cat sat

in peaceful enjoyment by the fire, and near by was an infant slumbering

in its cradle. Betty flung herself with her usual impetuosity on the

cat, and the terrified animal, in its efforts to escape, sprang into

and out of the cradle as a first effort. Betty cleared the cradle

in a flying leap, and, pinning the victim on the far side, a fierce

fight began. The chairs and other articles of furniture were sent

flying in all directions, as Betty’s lead wound itself round them in

her mad struggles. The mistress of the house, brought hurriedly from

her domestic duties, seized a chair as being the handiest weapon, and

with it uplifted rushed on the fighters, while three terrified children

clung screaming to her skirts. At this juncture, Betty’s owner appeared

on the scene, and making a snatch at the uplifted chair with one hand,

she succeeded in grasping Betty’s lead with the other, and swung the

delinquent off her feet. Half choking, she was forced to release her

hold of the cat, and poor puss straightway fled up the staircase into

safety.

The startled woman received compensation for her fright and trouble,

and, as Betty was borne off she turned her attention to the baby, who,

disturbed from its sleep, had been doing its best to add to the general

confusion.

Bettina’s great delight is to escape into the woods, where she will

stay in a very ecstasy of hunting till she is captured and brought

back. She and the two other house dogs, Bobbins a Scotch bobtail, and

Bosky a beautiful wire-haired fox-terrier, all make a mad rush for the

dining room as soon as the gong sounds for luncheon. Betty generally

wins the race, but one day when she had been excited by the constant

yapping of a dog in a distant covert, she turned at the foot of the

stairs and, rushing through the open door that led to the kitchen

regions, tore through the back premises and disappeared to freedom

and hunting. The butler waiting by the dining-room door saw her turn,

and knowing her proclivities and the care with which she was guarded,

rushed after her. The cook, too, had seen her flight from the kitchen,

and joined in the chase. But Betty was disappearing like a flash of

greased lightning down the drive, and pursuit on foot was clearly

useless. The man jumped on his bicycle, and pursued the fugitive alone.

At the end of the carriage drive, Betty, finding herself hard pressed,

turned out of the road and scrambling through the hedge, made at top

speed across the arable field that lay between her and the covert

whither she was bound. The going was heavy, and the man soon found

himself in difficulties as he sped on foot after her. Happily there

was a plough at work in the field, squeaking loudly as is the way of

Dorset ploughs--for what Dorset ploughman does not scorn to oil his

shares? Bettina was immediately all attention, and hurrying up to see

what strange animal was making the noise, the ploughman promptly put

his foot on her lead, and stopping his horses waited for her panting

pursuer to come up. A very snappish and disappointed little creature

was then carried back to the house.

Yet Betty is very good-tempered with the dogs she knows, and romps and

plays merrily with them. Her greatest favourite is Bobbins, and with

her she has endless games. So strong is she that the tiny thing will

jump up at her friend’s head, and dragging her over on her back will

hold her down and pretend to worry her. She can lift the larger bobtail

completely off the ground, and all her tricks the other takes in good

part. They are often to be seen curled up together, with Betty’s head

pillowed on her friend’s back.

An instance of good memory Bettina once showed in connection with a dog

of my own. This dog had been on a visit with me to Betty’s home, and as

the poor dog was ill at the time, the volatile Betty and her pressing

attentions were too much for him. The two dogs had consequently been

kept much apart, with the result that the aim and object of Betty’s

existence was to get to him, and he roused her keenest interest. Some

five months afterwards I was there again, but without my dog. When I

came into the house I met Betty, and she rushed at me in her usual

impetuous way. Scarcely staying, however, for my pat of greeting, she

tore upstairs to the bedroom that I had occupied on my previous visit,

and searched every corner of it to see if my dog was there. For several

days she insisted on renewing her search from time to time, as she

clearly thought the dog was being kept from her as he had been before.

The instant linking in her little mind of the expected presence of the

dog with my own appearance showed that Betty’s memory is enduring.

Another practical joke among dogs was one with whom a friend had a

bowing acquaintance in a Midland town, where she was keeping house for

a brother. This dog lived in a long street of suburban houses tenanted

by workmen. He was a pretty little dog, with a fine silky coat and

a sharp nose, a cross probably between a small spaniel and a black

Pomeranian. He used to have great games with the children in the street

where he lived, the favourite form of amusement being for the children

to try and secure something--a stick or cap--that the dog held. The way

the little thing’s eyes sparkled as he proved more than a match for

many of his playmates, was as effective as any laugh. His popularity

was evidently great, and my friend, who often passed by his house,

never saw him anything but furry and jocose and on the best of terms

with his surroundings. On one occasion, indeed, he was found doing a

little bullying on his own account, though not without provocation. A

child, whose face and appearance were far from prepossessing, always

went down the street in terror of his life. A stone, thrown in wanton

mischief at the dog, had roused the latter’s ire, and no sooner did the

child appear in sight than a little black imp, barking wildly, would

rush out and, circling madly round his enemy, disappear, only to pop

out from some unexpected corner and renew the attack further on.

When the muzzling mania was abroad, the lady was anxious about the fate

of her little friend. It was evident that his owner was away all day,

and that the dog took his amusement at will from the doorstep. She

was glad to see him as merry hearted as ever and not a little amused

to find that the new regulations were so far understood by him that he

preferred a policeman to any other playmate. He delighted in presenting

his unmuzzled face, and being chased, and somehow, possibly because

the policemen were not entirely untouched by the joke, he was a much

hunted but never caught dog. But in time the imp himself needed more

excitement, and then came discreet visits to the police station. It was

summer, and the doors stood invitingly open, and it was no uncommon

sight for a little black unmuzzled head to come peeping round the

doorpost, and a shrill, impertinent bark to dare the inmates to the

chase. As the police station was at some distance from the dog’s home,

it seemed as if he was drawn there by the knowledge that a spice of

real danger heightened the enjoyment of the game.

Not so irresponsible a member of the canine race, or one who did

violence by her appearance to the feelings of well-bred relatives,

was a beautiful fox-terrier named Venus. Yet more than once this

terrier showed a strong and apparently unfounded dislike to strangers.

Venus was a hound-marked dog, with tan head and black-marked body,

and she was of a playful and confiding nature that endeared her to

a large circle of friends. She always accepted any acquaintance of

her mistress, and though in some cases she only showed the tolerance

that the laws of hospitality and good manners demanded, to others she

extended a warmer welcome. In all cases she seemed to make up her mind

about a stranger at the first glance. One day a guest arrived to

luncheon, and Venus was as usual curled up in a favourite position in

the drawing room. The noise of the opening door roused her, and after a

momentary look at the stranger, who was advancing to greet her hostess,

Venus sprang to the ground and rushing to the visitor, jumped up and

caught her firmly by the sleeve. Fortunately the little teeth only met

in the sleeve itself, but the lady was terrified and shaking Venus off,

she exclaimed that she hated dogs and they were never to be trusted.

Venus’s mistress was utterly taken aback at the onslaught, for such

a thing had never happened before. She captured the little criminal

promptly and sent her off to be shut up until her visitor should have

left the house. After many apologies calm was restored, and the party

adjourned to the dining room.

But the maids of the household had not heard of Venus’s disgrace, and

one of them going into the room where she was, set her at liberty.

The tiny feet instantly pattered downstairs and made their way to the

dining room. Through the open door the dog sped unnoticed by any of the

party, and, singling out her former victim, made straight for her and

again fastened on to her arm. The second offence was worse than the

first, and the frightened visitor was only reassured when her hostess

returned with the key of the door of the room into which she had locked

the dog.

The strangest thing about the occurrence was that Venus had never seen

the lady before, and the only explanation of her conduct seemed to be

that a glance told her the stranger was to be regarded as an enemy,

inasmuch as she had no love for dogs. It is certain that we poor humans

would save ourselves much suffering and many painful disillusions if we

had the same intuitive knowledge of those who, under the amenities of

social usage, secretly regard us with disfavour.

The second time that Venus put her mistress to shame, she had more

apparent ground for her action. In this case she was in a strange

house, where she was visiting with her mistress. A lady entered the

drawing room, who was perfectly unknown to the terrier, though she was

on terms of intimacy with the members of the household. As soon as the

usual greetings were over, the visitor turned her attention to the dog.

Standing in front of the couch where Venus lay curled up, she exclaimed

in a teasing voice, “Do you call that thing a terrier?” and laughed in

a manner clearly insulting to a well-bred dog.

Venus lay quietly watching her, but her eyes glowed like two little

balls of fire, and as the laugh ended she made one spring, and,

fastening her teeth in the visitor’s dress, shook and worried it with

every appearance of anger. The offender was borne off in disgrace and

was shut up in her owner’s bedroom, there to reflect on her misdeeds.

Some days later the same lady came to the house again, and no sooner

was she inside the door than with a rush Venus was upon her, and

worrying her dress in the way she had done before.

The gentle, amiable nature of the dog made these onslaughts all the

more remarkable, for the delicate marks of her attention she bestowed

on her friends were such as endeared her to them. To any one who was

admitted to her favour--and to others she simply showed a well-bred

indifference--she would carry a tiny stick, or failing that, or any

small article she could find about the room, she would abstract a small

piece of coal from the coal box, and going up to the selected person,

would offer it, with every appearance of conferring a favour. Should

any one, however, attempt to take the not always tempting morsel from

her, she would refuse to part with it, and intimate that her playful

condescension was not to be imposed on.

Venus had a way of extending the love she felt for her mistress to some

of her belongings that occasionally led to embarrassment. Whenever the

dog was left at home during her owner’s absence, she always searched

for a pair of old slippers sacred to the use of the bedroom, and made

use of one of them for a pillow. If she grew tired of staying in one

room, Venus would carry her prize downstairs and, putting it down in

front of the drawing room fire, curl up on it and await her mistress’s

return. One day, when the latter came home late from hunting, she

was told that some friends were awaiting her in the drawing room. On

entering the room, she saw to her dismay a pair of dilapidated slippers

occupying a prominent position in front of the fire, and Venus in high

spirits doing the honours. As a mark of special favour she had offered

one of the slippers to a lady who was a great friend of hers, and who

was thoroughly enjoying the joke.

Her owner could not account for the anger she showed to the two

strangers who received such startling marks of her disfavour. She must

often have been in the society of other people who were not to be

counted among dog-lovers, and she never, except in these two instances,

swerved from the usual dignified indifference she extended to all who

were not admitted to the circle of her friends.

XI

“_To snarl, and bite, and play the dog._”

These words are typical of our master poet’s attitude towards the dog.

Treachery, cunning, and quarrelsomeness are the traits he dwells on

when he mentions dogs, and we search his plays in vain for any trace

of his appreciation of the noble gifts and heroic virtues that bind

the dog so closely to those who love him. At most we find such guarded

praise as that given by Shallow in “The Merry Wives of Windsor,” where

he says of Master Page’s greyhound, “Sir, he’s a good dog and a faire

dog, can there be more said? He is good and faire.” Or again, when one

of the sporting dogs, who always receive the kindliest treatment at his

hands, is made the means of a sarcastic thrust of comparison with one

of a higher species. This occurs in the “Two Gentlemen of Verona,” when

Launce declares in praise of his mistress, “She hath more qualities

than a water-spaniel, which is much in a bare Christian.”

We can but feel that a poet who could paint the most delicate shades

of moral feeling, with the same master hand that plumbs the darkest

depths of the human heart, might have done what no other writer of any

time could do for us in the delineation of the dog’s mind, if only

he had brought his sympathetic interest to bear on it. But a dog for

Shakespeare was only one of the lower animals, whose evil qualities

outweighed his better gifts, and who was at most an uncertain, if not a

questionable companion.

The story of the bet made between Lord Nugent and Sir Henry Holland[7]

shows how difficult it has always been to believe in the limitations

of the poet in this respect. Lord Nugent, who was recognised as the

greatest Shakespearean scholar of his day, declared that throughout

Shakespeare’s writings no passage could be found “commending directly

or indirectly the moral qualities of the dog.” Sir Henry Holland

demurred to the statement, but after a year’s search was fain to

acknowledge its truth, and to pay the bet of a guinea which he had

been confident of winning. In all our reverence for and delight in

Shakespeare, we feel that his want of appreciation of the dog is one of

those weak spots in the armour of genius that shows its possessors to

be, after all, but of the same clay as ourselves.

Yet there are dark spots in the histories of our favourites, though

in many cases these are attributable to defects in early training, or

to harsh treatment. Some too are caused by illness, or by abnormal

conditions of brain and nerve, of which we can only guess the existence.

My own household was once the scene of a terrible act of vengeance by

a bulldog, who is said to have the unamiable trait of nursing injuries

for a long time. Lion was confided to me by a friend, and remained

with me for some three months. He was gentle and friendly with me

from the first, and was on good terms with my other dogs--I then had

a Skye and a Basset hound--and with every one in the house. As he had

been used to sleeping indoors, he continued to do so, and never showed

the slightest ill temper with any one. My cook was devoted to all the

dogs, and as she fed them and often played with them in the garden,

they were on the best of terms with her. She was very good tempered,

and could be trusted implicitly to be kind to them. She could never,

however, be made to see that it was unwise to play with the dogs when

they were busy with a bone, and was rather proud of the fact that they

would never resent it if she teased them by taking their bone from

them and throwing it to a distance, or otherwise interfering with

their enjoyment. Lion seemed of such a gentle nature, in spite of his

ferocious appearance, that I had no special fear with regard to him,

though I often told Mason that I wished the dogs to be left severely

alone, to the enjoyment of their daily treat.

One evening when I returned home, I heard that Lion had been growling

at the cook, and having taken up a position outside the kitchen door,

he refused to allow her to pass him. I went into my study and called

the dog by name, and he immediately trotted round the house and came in

at the glass doors. He came up to me for his usual caress after I had

been away, but I saw that his eyes were red, and had a fierce light in

them that I had never seen a trace of before. I noticed, too, that he

regarded my friend, who had come in with me, with such an unfriendly

look, that I exclaimed, “Helen, I think you had better leave me alone

with him.” This, however, my friend refused to do, as she thought Lion

meant mischief.

I was on the point of telling the dog to come with me into the garden,

when I saw the cook cross the lawn to fetch something from the kitchen

garden, which Lion’s hostile demeanour had prevented her from doing

earlier. I exclaimed, “How foolish of Mason not to keep away,” and the

words were not out of my mouth, when Lion caught sight of her, and the

heavy brindled form at my feet shot through the air silently from the

study steps. To my horror, the next second I saw him hanging by his

teeth to the upper part of Mason’s arm. The small, slight form of the

cook tottered, and then fell on to the grass, and the deadly teeth

were so near her throat that I trembled lest she should be killed. Not

a sound marred the peaceful stillness of that summer evening, but the

horror of the silent tragedy I shall never forget. Calling to my friend

to get assistance I rushed into the garden, while Mason’s terror lent

her strength to struggle to her feet, and stagger towards me, with

the enormous brute still hanging to her arm. Lion’s eyes glared, and

my terror was increased as I thought that he had gone mad. He had no

collar on, and my efforts to choke him off were quite ineffectual. As I

struggled with him, I remember wondering where he would seize me when

he left his hold of cook, for I knew I had not strength to hold him.

The moments seemed hours as they passed. Again Mason fell, and once

more staggered up, but nothing slackened the deadly grip in which she

was held. Happily she did not faint, and the brute did not attack her

throat. Would no one ever come to our assistance? Just as a hum of

voices told me that help was at hand, Lion’s teeth relaxed, he fell

from his terrible perch, and to my infinite relief he walked away and

lay down, without taking any further notice of either of us.