rendered, it was found necessary to take her to a hospital where she
could have the best advice and nursing that could be given her. Slowly
she got over the shock, and struggled back to health and the use of her
arm, and at the end of two months a visit to the seaside quite set her
up, and she was able to return to me.
Lion, of course, was no longer in the house. He had been left in
possession of the garden, while Mason was being attended to, and it
was not till past midnight that I was free to think about him. In the
meantime, his master had been summoned, and before venturing into the
garden we examined Lion’s appearance with a strong light from the
kitchen window. There was no trace of excitement about him, and he
seemed to have recovered his normal calm. He wagged his tail when he
was spoken to, and came up under the window when called. I had sternly
refused the offer to kill him, made by those who had come to my help in
the first instance, as I felt I must know if the poor cook was at least
safe from the horrors that might have followed Lion’s mauling, if he
proved to be mad.
At the midnight conference held over him we decided to shut him into
a stable, and keep him under supervision till we could be sure on
this point. As there was likely to be trouble with the stable door,
of which a decrepit lock often defied the best efforts of those who
did not understand its eccentricities, I insisted on going to open it,
while the dog’s master kept his attention on the culprit. Lion came
up to us quietly when we went out, and allowed his master to pat him,
but the weird horror of that short walk in the dead of night, with the
pattering feet behind me, is a thing not to be forgotten. Would one
of those deadly springs suddenly overpower us? But the tragedies of
the day were over, and Lion in the course of a few days found a new
master, who was undismayed by the gruesome record of his misdeeds, with
which he was made fully acquainted. His new owner found him gentle and
affectionate, as I had done, but he watched him carefully, and some
fifteen months later, when he thought he saw signs of excitement about
him, I believe Lion’s life came to an end.
Whether some playful teasing had roused Lion’s anger against his friend
the cook, and thus led to his terrible act of vengeance, I never knew.
Mason always declared she had done nothing but play with him and the
other dogs, as she always did when she was free in the afternoon. To
all my questions as to whether she had taken a bone from him, I could
get nothing but an assurance that she had been very careful since I
had warned her, and thus no direct explanation of the disaster was
ever forthcoming. I inquired diligently for details of Lion’s earlier
life; but here again I could learn nothing of any value. He had changed
hands frequently, and the experiences of his early days were shrouded
in obscurity. I may admit that I have never since then had anything to
do with bulldogs, and that among dogs, the bulldog is the only one I
cannot regard with favour. The terrors of my experience with Lion have
prejudiced me against all others of his kind.
Jealousy is often shown by dogs, but when this comes from the strength
of their affections, which can brook no rival in their owner’s hearts,
is it to be counted among their bad qualities? We must here take into
account the comparatively low standard of the dog’s moral development,
in the answer we give. Certain it is, that in the crimes to which
jealousy often leads dogs, a sense of shame for the misdemeanour into
which the force of their feelings has hurried them is almost always
shown.
A clear instance of this was given by a Skye terrier, the object of
whose dislike was a kitten. The Skye’s master was a man who possessed
that strange power over animals that is only given to the few even
among those who love them. He was, too, a scrupulously truthful person,
and neither particularly imaginative nor of a philosophical turn of
mind, so that any story that came from his lips is worthy of credence.
Buzz, the Skye, was for a long time the only indoor pet in this
household. Then a kitten was introduced by the mistress, and Buzz’s
master took some notice of the new arrival. Buzz, though a perfect
little gentleman in his behaviour to the kitten, showed every sign of
being distressed by her presence. He would creep away under cover of
the furniture and was generally very depressed, but as he never showed
the least inclination to touch the kitten, it was thought he would soon
be reconciled to her.
One day the kitten disappeared, and all search for it was unavailing.
It was noticed that Buzz seemed more dejected than ever, instead of
rejoicing at her departure. On the following morning, when the master
of the house went out for his smoke and stroll round the garden after
breakfast, Buzz went with him as usual. Instead of displaying his
accustomed vivacity, however, he attracted attention by the depressed
fashion in which he crawled along at his master’s side. At last he
showed signs of interest, and made his master understand that he wanted
him to follow him. He then led the way to a rose bush, and flinging
himself impetuously on the bed, poor Buzz began to dig, looking up from
time to time to make sure that his master was close beside him. At last
the dead body of the kitten came to light. Buzz then left his work,
and rolling over on his back, waved four fat paws in the air, in the
fascinating way these terriers generally ask for pardon.
It was concluded that Buzz had killed the kitten and hidden the sign of
his crime, and his conduct gave ground for the conviction. It might be,
however, that the little intruder had been the victim of an accident,
and that a servant was responsible both for that and the burial, but
in any case the dog showed plainly that he knew what had happened,
and could not rest till he had told his master. The simple action of
asking pardon when he discovered the body seemed to point to his having
had a share in the tragedy. Who shall say that the sense of shame Buzz
showed at his own or another’s misdeed was not a clear evidence of the
moral sense that is the guide of our own actions?
Another and more remarkable instance of the effects of jealousy on
a dog, I will take from that mine of good stories contained in Miss
Serrell’s book.[8] Whankey, the hero of the story, was a black and tan
wire-haired terrier, a dog of such beauty that she was pronounced to
be faultless in make and shape. She was too of a singularly engaging
and affectionate disposition. To her mistress her attachment was very
great, and as Miss Serrell says, “She could never tolerate anything for
which I showed affection.”
“At one time,” the narrator goes on, “I kept a large head of poultry
which Whankey looked on with great disdain. She would never go near
them, and her anger knew no bounds when once, being pressed for room, I
had a trip of young game chicks brought up and cooped on the lawn.”
“All went well for a time, Whankey affecting to ignore their presence.
One very precocious young cockerel, however, soon took to leaving
the others and marching up the steps of the verandah in front of the
drawing room windows. One day he ventured to come close and look into
the room, when Whankey was instantly on the alert and growled angrily
at the intrusion. Growing bolder as he came to know the verandah
better, the cockerel at last walked through the window into the room
where I was sitting at the time. Whankey showed such anger at his
audacity that I was glad to throw the bird some crumbs and get him back
on to the lawn, and as Whankey then quieted down no more was thought
about the matter.
“The following day, when I returned from a drive, I found Whankey in
her usual place in the drawing room with the window open, and noticing
some earth on her nose and paws, I said to her, ‘What have you been
burying, Whankey?’ On this, instead of greeting me, she got up and
walked out of the room. In the evening when the chicks were penned in
their coop there was a hue and cry; one was missing, and this turned
out to be the little pert cockerel. A few days afterwards his body
was found buried under the shrubs at the far end of the garden, and
of course there were all sorts of conjectures as to the manner of his
death. Some were of opinion that a stray cat had done it, but the
mystery was not cleared up till many months later....
“The following spring I had seven dark-coloured ducklings brought
up from the farm and put on the lawn, together with five very nice
white ones, which, as they were about the same age as mine, I bought
to go with them. I had the white ones wired in when they were first
brought home till they should get accustomed to their quarters, and
every day after luncheon I used to take some scraps out and feed them.
This proceeding excited Whankey’s jealousy to the highest pitch, and
she used to walk round the wire with her bristles up, and growling
savagely. One Sunday morning before I started for church I opened
the wire and left all the ducks to run about together, and Whankey
was as usual in the drawing room with the window open. On my return
a tragic tale was unfolded. The gardener had met Whankey carrying a
dead white duckling in her mouth, and he had watched her go with it
to the asparagus bed, lay it down, and proceed to dig a hole. The
gardener picked up the duck and brought it into the house, and Whankey
immediately went indoors and ensconced herself in my bedroom. I went
to the lawn to see what had happened, and there found the seven dark
ducklings all huddled together and looking very frightened, and not a
white one to be seen. Further search showed that all the latter had
been killed and buried in different parts of the asparagus bed, and
there was no doubt but that Whankey was the culprit, not only in the
matter of the ducklings, but in that of the cockerel the year before.”
The extraordinary thing about this performance was, as Miss Serrell
points out, that the terrier picked out only those ducklings of which
her mistress had taken special notice in order to reconcile them to
their new home. She must have killed each of the detested rivals
separately, and then carried the body a considerable distance from the
front lawn to the middle of the kitchen garden, and there concealed
the evidence of the crime. In fact, it was clear that Whankey had had
an active morning’s work before her mistress returned from church,
and that the little brain had not been idle was proved by the perfectly
planned scheme of vengeance.
[Illustration: A SUNDAY MORNING WORK
WHANKEY]
Whankey did not show any touching sorrow for her crime, and perhaps
considered that the end of clearing rivals from her path justified the
means she used. In fact, she could not be considered as a repentant
sinner, though she never liked to hear her exploit alluded to. If any
one said to her, “Whankey, where are the white ducks?” she “would
always get up and walk away growling.”
The growls would seem to show an unrepentant frame of mind to the
end. She wished the subject to be forgotten, but the cockerel and the
ducklings were beyond the power of annoying her. The price we are
content to pay for a great relief is sometimes a large one.
XII
“_For know that in the soul
Are many lesser faculties that serve
Reason as chief. Among these, Fancy next
His office holds. Of all external things,
Which the five watchful senses represent,
He forms imaginations, airy shapes;
Which Reason joining or disjoining, forms
All that we affirm, or what deny,
And call our knowledge._”
While a dog is clearly incapable of any appreciation of a picture as
a work of art, the presentment of a man or animal will appeal to him
as that of a solid figure. Here we are brought face to face with the
limitations of the dog’s mind that is unable to follow our own powers
on to the higher planes of their development. Yet that he is far from
being devoid of imagination, his behaviour when he is brought face
to face with his own reflection in a looking-glass will show. My own
Skye was clearly puzzled when as a young dog he first saw himself in a
looking-glass that was let into the door of a sideboard. He sat down
and gazed earnestly at the quaint little face looking at him from the
glass. Then he got up and moved nearer, wagging his tail in pleasure
at meeting with a companion of whose appearance he seemed to approve.
Bounding a little to one side he showed that he was ready for a game,
and waited for the other to come and join in the fun. When no response
came to his invitation his tail dropped, and at a little distance he
sat down again and renewed his attentive survey of the figure facing
him. A sense of something that he could not fathom apparently oppressed
him, and presently he got up and came and lay down at my feet, sure
that no unknown danger would be allowed to follow him there. He made
many attempts during the next few days to persuade the unresponsive
little dog to come and share his play, and as the reflection of his
moving form confronted him, he would give a joyous bark at having at
last roused the other into life. But with all his efforts he could
not find the barking, jumping little figure, and at last one of his
rushes brought his nose in sharp contact with the glass. This evidently
gave him a shock, and after drawing back for a moment and scanning
the strange thing curiously, he advanced, and putting out his tongue
touched the glass with its tip. Now there was no doubt that something
uncanny was before him, and with every manifestation of terror he fled
to me for protection. He avoided the glass in future, and if put down
in front of it would refuse to look at it, and would shrink away,
frightened, from the thing he could not understand.
With her King Charles, a friend had a similar experience. In this case
the dog discovered his reflection in a long cheval glass on the floor
of his mistress’s bedroom. For some time he gambolled about in front
of it, but at last, wanting to find the dog who refused to come out to
him, he ran behind the glass to see where he was. Finding a blank space
where his senses told him the waiting figure ought to be, his whole
demeanour changed. He was frightened, and all his eagerness for play
leaving him, he became limp and depressed and went to his mistress for
protection. Nothing would ever induce him to look into a glass again,
and even in the safe shelter of his owner’s arms he would cower down
and hide his face against her shoulder when he was invited to admire
his own reflection.
In the same way, as soon as a dog has discovered that a picture is
really a flat surface, and that the figure he sees there has no solid
form, the thing loses all attraction for him. When an excellent
painting of the master of the house was brought home, where a poodle
and a collie were the household pets, both dogs recognised it at once.
They jumped about in great excitement, and invited their owner to take
them for the walk they always associated with his appearance among
them from his study. When no response came, and they were not allowed
to jump up with the usual marks of excitement, the picture had no more
interest for them than a scented soap plum has after the first taste
for an inquiring child.
In a house where a Blenheim spaniel lived, she could not bear to be
taken into the dining room where the walls were hung round with family
pictures. Some of these ancestral portraits were of stern appearance,
and for one of them the children of the house had a great dread,
saying that its eyes followed them about the room. When the spaniel
was some eight or nine months old she first made acquaintance with the
portraits. She showed every symptom of terror as she gazed at them,
and singled out the children’s special dread for her fiercest growls of
disapproval.
Whether an unusual degree of imagination, or a love of fun pure and
simple, was the cause of very unusual conduct in a bull-terrier, I
will leave others to decide. Possibly both imagination and a fondness
of practical jokes were at the root of this strange creature’s love
of dressing up. Such a trait is not unusual in poodles, who have a
special aptitude for tricks of all kinds, but I have never heard of
another bull-terrier with the same taste. This dog delighted in showing
off, and the greater the laughter he excited, the better pleased he
was with his performance. His favourite articles of attire were a
bonnet and cloak, under which his grim face and broad shoulders were
very effective. During one of his exhibitions to a group of admiring
friends, whose laughter came as a pleasing evidence of success, he
suddenly saw a strange dog strolling over his private grounds. With
a fierce growl he sprang after the intruder. The latter, hearing the
growl, turned in the direction from whence it came, but the strange
sight that met his gaze was too much for his nerves. What could this
large bonnet and fluttering cape over the little flying legs mean?
With a howl of terror the stranger fled, and the terrier returned
complacently to take up his performance at the point at which it had
broken off.
A strange mixture of imaginative power and common sense was the
distinguishing mark of a Blenheim spaniel, named Sylvia. In birth and
appearance Sylvia was an undoubted aristocrat, and in character she was
haughty to the verge of snobbishness. From her early youth she showed a
detestation of poverty in any form. She would never go into a cottage
if she could help it, and her family declared that she showed much
greater pleasure in starting for a drive in a brougham or Victoria than
in a humbler pony cart.
Sylvia had a strong will in her fascinating, tiny form. If she did not
understand the reason of an order given to her, she would oppose it
with all her strength. So excited would she become, if the attempt to
exact obedience was persisted in, that it seemed as if a fit would be
the consequence of perseverance in correction, and the little culprit
usually had her own way. But she was not a disobedient dog on the
whole. It was only when the meaning of the correction was not clear to
her that she would die rather than give in to it. The easiest available
means of punishment for such acts of insubordination was to shut her
up in the travelling basket, in which she had arrived at her new home,
till she had recovered her normal state.
When a journey with her mistress was in prospect, the latter regretted
the use to which the travelling basket had been put. The probable
effect on Sylvia of attempting to put her in, when no disciplinary
effort was needed, was discussed in the family, and when the time came
for the attempt to be made, her mistress gave herself a clear hour for
the coming struggle.
The basket was brought out and stood in the big dark panelled hall,
and in low spirits her mistress called Sylvia to her side. But Sylvia
had realised that it would not do to run the risk of being left behind,
so throwing aside all past associations with the basket as a place of
correction, she disconcerted her mistress by running up and jumping
straight into it. Even then she wished to see the arrangements for
her departure complete, and would not be satisfied till the lid was
fastened down and she was left safely secured till the time of the
start arrived. It was not for a little dog possessed of common sense to
indulge in tantrums, when such unknown joys were at stake.
When travelling, Sylvia showed a similar self-restraint and
appreciation of the situation of the moment. She would be taken out of
her basket, and allowed to roam the railway carriage or amuse herself
at the window. But it was only necessary for her mistress to whisper
to her, “It is the next station, Sylvie,” and she would instantly
jump into her own special travelling carriage, so as to be ready to
accompany her party when they left the train. So effective was the
behaviour of this little red and white silken coated beauty that
strangers were much impressed by her sweetness and intelligence. A
fellow traveller once said to Sylvia’s mistress that he would willingly
give twenty pounds down for so sweet-tempered a dog, as he wanted her
to console a little Blenheim widower that he had at home. The bereaved
one went every day to howl at the grave of his lost love, but such a
vision of beauty and amiability as Sylvia could not fail to comfort
him. As the latter’s mistress refused the offer, she had visions of
her “sweet” dog bustling and snapping at the little widower, till
she had reduced him to the state of submission her imperious nature
demanded from her associates.
Sylvia was taught many of the usual tricks in her young days, but
she was by no means ready to show off whenever she was wanted to. If
her mistress called on her for a performance, which the little thing
foresaw might be a longer one than she felt ready for, she would dash
up when called, throw herself down, and do “dead dog” for a second,
jump up and thrust first one paw and then the other into her owner’s
hand, stand for a passing moment in trust attitude, then snap up an
imaginary biscuit and run away. After this no further calls could be
made on her complaisance by sensible folk.
In later life Sylvia turned instructor to her adoring family. She
devised a trick of her own for their benefit. When she wanted anything
to be done for her she lay down in a conspicuous position and did “dead
dog.” It was for her friends to find out what she required. One thing
after another was suggested, but there was no movement from the little
waiting form, till at last the right guess was made. Then Sylvia sprang
to her feet with a shrill bark, and demanded the instant carrying out
of the suggestion.
There was a strain of sentiment in Sylvia that showed itself in a
passionate affection for all young things. Babies, children, and even
young hares were equal objects of adoration to her. Though all the
early part of her life was passed in the country, Sylvia took to town
pleasures as if born to them. The tiny thing often went to concerts
and other entertainments safely perched in her mistress’s arms. She
never broke the rules of the strictest decorum. No bark or fussiness
disturbed the even calm of her manner, or the haughty indifference
she showed to the presence of strangers. Her special delight was to
be taken to one of the large confectioners, when tea was in question
for her friends. Here, seated on a chair at one of the small tables,
Sylvia’s eyes shone with delight when a sponge cake was put in front
of her, and she proceeded to make her own dainty meal in a way that
was sure to give her the respectful admiration and attention her soul
loved. On the occasions when she was left at home, the maids declared
that Sylvia would not take her milk unless it was brought to her in the
drawing room.
The extremity of passion into which Sylvia would throw herself on
occasions was counterbalanced by a surprising tenderness for, and
comprehension of, sickness or suffering in any form among her special
friends. No dog could be more fascinating in the gentle sympathy she
displayed than the little Blenheim. Her eyes had a wealth of tenderness
in them, while with the daintiest caresses she made her little efforts
at consolation. When the health of her mistress’s mother was failing,
she singled her out for special attentions. One of the ways in which
she showed her affection for the invalid was very charming. Taking up a
position at her feet, Sylvia would hold her feathery little paws firmly
in front of her, and wait to be asked to “give a paw.” To some the
invitation would be refused, while others had one paw daintily extended
to them, her own mistress coming in for no more attention at this time
than any one else. But directly the invalid asked gently for the favour
she would thrust both paws into her hand with an effusion of manner
that never failed to give pleasure to the sufferer.
But such soft moments only came to lighten the contrast of her ordinary
demeanour. To the end of her life she was passionate and headstrong,
and in her care of her mistress she was stern and unbending. I have
had more than one mark of resentment from her, when I unwarily came
up to take leave of her owner while she had Sylvia in her arms. Her
mistress might not be touched in her presence, and to the rule Sylvia
made no exception. In illness she was almost impossible to manage, for
she would fight against remedies like a wild animal. When an injury to
her leg required the attention of the veterinary surgeon, her doctor
never escaped from a dressing of the wounded member without at least
one bite to remind him of the occasion. There is no doubt that Sylvia’s
great personal beauty carried her over many rough places, where a less
favoured dog would have come to grief.
XIII
“_A dog is the only thing on this earth that loves you more than he
loves himself._”
Among the higher gifts of the dog that culminate in the devotion to his
owner that is an adumbration of the religious sense in ourselves, the
discrimination between right and wrong takes an important place. If
the dog succumbs to sudden temptation it does not need an expression
of anger or even the presence of his owner to make him feel shame at
his lapse from virtue. Those who can have no fear of harsh or hasty
correction will show it to the full as much as others to whom the
unconsidered blow is one of the daily experiences of their life. While
the effects of past training must of course account for much in the
dog’s attitude, it is not possible that in the unusual circumstance or
unforeseen emergency that has put the dog in the way of temptation,
such training can be the only cause of the moral sense he shows. It is
because he has failed in the performance of one of the simple virtues
that bound his knowledge of ethics that he feels shame for his failure.
I was much struck with a sense of right and wrong _as such_ that a
wire-haired fox-terrier, named Bosky, showed. This little dog is a
charming pet, gentle, affectionate, and dainty in her ways, but not
even by her best friends can she be said to shine in intelligence. Her
beautiful form and her show points have indeed been secured by much
inbreeding, and it is to this that Bosky owes a nervous temperament
that entirely unfits her for any of the rougher give and take of
life. If a cat even looks at her round a corner she is paralyzed with
fright, and if she comes across one at closer quarters she will scream
herself almost into a fit with terror. Even in her home, where she is
a favourite with all the household, Bosky will never leave the safe
shelter of her mistress’s room, whenever the latter is absent. If any
one comes in at the front door while her owner is out, a little white
head will be seen peeping through the railing halfway down the stairs,
but unless Bosky is sure her mistress is there she will go no further,
and will fly back to her usual shelter if any one comes up to speak to
her.
Yet this little dog, whose brain power is of the smallest, has a clear
idea of right and wrong. It is the custom of the maid to take a cup of
Benger’s food to her mistress’s bedroom after the latter has gone up to
bed. Bosky, who by that time is already in the place where she passes
the night, always has a few spoonfuls given her in the saucer as soon
as her mistress has finished. One day when I was staying in the house,
my hostess came with me to my room and stayed talking for some time. In
the meantime the maid had put the cup in her room as usual, and then
gone away. When my friend was leaving me, a startled scream from Bosky
echoed through the silent house as soon as my bedroom door was opened.
The little thing had been lying on the mat outside, and directly her
mistress appeared she opened her lips with a cry of terror, and fled
downstairs into the darkness of the front hall.
[Illustration: BOSKY]
When her mistress entered her room she saw what had happened. The
tempting cup had been standing on a table beside the bed. Its contents
had long since grown cold, and Bosky had taken her share from the top
of the cup instead of waiting for her usual portion. But repentance
had followed swiftly on the crime, and she fled from the room and took
up her station at my door, to put herself out of reach of further
temptation. The most striking point about her conduct was that, though
nothing but a few words of reproach came as a punishment for her theft,
Bosky would never again be left alone in the room with the cup of
Benger. She generally came with her mistress into my room; but if she
had gone straight to bed when we came upstairs, she would always jump
up when the maid came in with the cup, and take refuge by my door.
Such conduct seems to show, as I have said, an appreciation of
wrong-doing as being contrary to the line of conduct that ought to
be followed. For, though in this particular case the dog could not
have feared punishment at the hands of her mistress, she yet showed
undoubted terror at her theft being found out. It is hard to know what
thought could have been present in her mind. When we see a little
street Arab instinctively lift his arm across his face to ward off a
possible blow at any unexpected or sudden word from a stranger, the
action tells us a pitiful tale of the child’s experience. But if in the
dog there is no such individual experience to cause his fright, may
not the sense of impending misfortune following a lapse from virtue
be an instance of tribal memory? In the history of his forbears,
punishment has followed swiftly on wrong-doing. Has it become an
instinct of the race that this should be so?
Even this, however, does not explain the sense of wrong-doing that is
at the root of his conduct. In the case of the terrier, she might well
have looked on a portion of her mistress’s food as being her right; for
she knew she had it given to her unfailingly. Yet she recognised that
she might not take it herself, and the enjoyment of the coveted dainty
was soon clouded by a sense of guilt.
From my own point of view, and with a full recognition of the part
that training and tribal memory may play in the ordering of the
dog’s conduct, I think that such an instance shows the dawning of a
moral sense that gives the dog the very highest claims to humane and
considerate treatment at our hands. Although to some this will appear
too high a line to take, we can but feel that whatever the solution may
be, it brings us face to face with something in the dog’s mind that
causes him to act in a manner altogether worthy of a human.
And when we turn to the passionate devotion a dog is capable of, we
again find things that are hard to fathom. The most striking case, in
some ways, that I have met with is that of a clever little cross-bred
terrier. This little dog, Jimmy by name, belonged to one of the
daughters of the house, where the father was a confirmed invalid
and the mother in delicate health. The latter took little notice of
the dog, though she was kind and gentle to him, as she was to all
animals. When the master of the house died suddenly his widow was
quite broken down with grief, and nothing that her daughters or her
medical attendant could do would rouse her from the state of collapse
into which she fell. In her fragile state it seemed that the shock
would kill her. But Jimmy was struck by her suffering, and he showed
such passionate distress at her misery that the gentle sufferer gained
self-control as she strove to comfort him.
From that time, during the remaining years of her life, Jimmy never
left her. He would even turn on his mistress if she offered to remove
him from her mother’s side. When his chosen friend was confined to her
bed, as she often was for weeks at a time, Jimmy would not be separated
from her, and if he found the bedroom door shut against him, he would
fling himself against it and beat it with his paws in a fury, till it
was opened. Then, after only one day when the invalid was not able to
take her usual place in her family circle, she died, and Jimmy seemed
instantly to recognise what had happened. He was still faithful to his
visits to her room in the days that followed, but instead of demanding
admittance he would lie down and quietly wait to be let in. When he was
admitted there was no mad rush to the bed, but he crept in and took
his place with the watchers beside the coffin. What happened during
those silent watches, I must give in the simple words of Jimmy’s
mistress. “As I used to sit with Jimmy on my knee in the darkened room,
he seemed to be following something I could not see with wistful eyes.
Naturally you will think it was a fly on the wall, or some such thing
that Jimmy’s gaze was following. But I assure you, I tried every test
I could think of, and there was nothing. Yet the awe-stricken look in
Jimmy’s eyes as they gazed out over the room, I can never forget. How
much I would have given to see what he saw!”
What made Jimmy’s conduct the more remarkable was that he had never
before been known to keep quiet for any length of time together. He was
an active, excitable little dog, full of strength and movement, and
giving play to his enjoyment of life with noisy exuberance of spirits.
But after the death of his chosen friend he fretted silently and with
such faithful memory that his mistress at one time feared she would
lose him. In time, however, he turned to her for consolation, and the
loving care that had always been his was now intensified by the memory
of his love for one whom his owner mourned deeply.[9]
[Illustration: JIMMY]
The following instance of a dog’s devotion I take from the charming
appreciation of the late Lord Lytton that has recently been brought
out by his daughter, Lady Betty Balfour.[10] The charm of the story,
as told by the dog’s master, is the cause of my breaking through the
rule I have followed in this book, of only giving anecdotes that I have
collected at first hand.
The hero of the story was a Pyrenean dog named Goblin, who was Lord
Lytton’s constant companion during the last years of his life. Only a
few months before our ambassador died at his post in Paris, he took
a short holiday on the seacoast of the North of France. With him, of
course, went Goblin, and his master, in a letter to a friend, gives the
following account of an incident that touched him deeply.
“I must tell you that Goblin has an invincible dread and horror of
water. Never yet have I been able, by any persuasion or threat, to
induce him to dip his paw into lake or river, sea or pond. Well
yesterday, as soon as I got here, I went to take a bath in the sea,
and I took Goblin with me. As the bathing place is just in front of
the hotel, I made sure when I got into the sea he would either find
his way home or else wait for me on the beach, and I did not concern
myself about him. The tide was flowing in, and I was therefore able to
swim out some distance from shore without risk of being drifted too far
by the tide. When I was already a good way out and had just turned my
face landwards to swim back, imagine my surprise to perceive that the
faithful beast was swimming out to me in a very fussy, floppy style.
He, too, was already some way from shore, but he made slow progress
against the waves, though his poor little paws beat them with desperate
rapidity. He was panting and snorting loudly, and there was a look of
unutterable anguish in his yellow eyes, which were all the while fixed
steadily on me. He had evidently fancied I was going to be drowned,
and that it was his duty to save me or perish with me, or else that I
was meanly and cruelly abandoning him and at any risk he would not be
left behind. This moral agony had conquered his physical horror of the
water, as Aaron’s rod swallowed up those of Pharaoh’s magicians, and
affection had cast out fear.
“Now, three weeks before leaving Paris, I had dreamt a bad dream which
made a great impression on me, and in my dream I had seen Goblin
drowned. Suddenly the thought rushed upon me that this bad dream was
about to be fulfilled, and I think that in that moment my own fears
became greater than Goblin’s. I made for him as fast as I could, took
him in my arms, and holding him before me like a baby, swam back with
him till we were in shallow water again.
“Ever since he has been in tearing spirits, cocks his tail higher than
before, and is evidently proud of his exploit, which appears to have
greatly raised him in his own opinion, as it has certainly done in
mine; I believe he is persuaded that he saved my life. However, when
I went to bathe again this morning, I took Todd, my valet, with me,
and whether it was Todd’s reassuring presence, or the certainty he had
acquired from yesterday’s experience, that I should presently return,
I can’t say. But this time nothing would induce Goblin to go after me
again into the water. Every time I called to him, or Todd urged or
coaxed him forward, he shook his head knowingly, as if to say ‘No, no;
I am not to be taken in a second time. I see through your tricks now!’”
The faithful dog, we read, “long survived his master and was a beloved
friend to the family.”
Noble Goblin. He loved and enjoyed his life, but was ready to sacrifice
it in his master’s service, or to save himself from the deeper horror
of long years to be spent without him.
Once again I break through my rule to give an old, old version of the
story that in modern form tells of the dying service of Gelert to his
master. Who has not been touched by the simple recital of the dog’s
devotion, that was so misjudged by man?
It is in the Folk Tales of the Himalayas[11] that we find the far-off
echo of Gelert’s story, which still lives among the fireside legends of
the hill tribes of Northern India. These stories were, as Mrs. Dracott
tells us, taken down as they were told to her by the Paharee women, and
she gives them as nearly as possible in the words of the narrators. The
temple built on the slopes of those far-off, snow-capped mountains,
keeps alive in the hearts of the simple village folk the history of a
dog’s fidelity that met with bitter injustice at the hands of his owner.
“About eleven miles from Raipur, near the village of Jagasar, is a
temple built to the memory of a faithful dog of the Bunjara species,
and this is the story of how it came to be built.
“Many years ago a Bunjara Naik, or headman of the class of Bunjaras, or
wandering traders, owed money to a ‘Marwari,’ or money-lender at Raipur.
“When pressed for payment, the Bunjara, who was then standing near
the Marwari’s shop, said, ‘Here is my gold necklace, and here is
my faithful dog; keep both till I return to my camping ground near
Jagasar, and fetch you the money.’
“The necklace and the dog were then left as security, and the man went
his way.
“That night the Marwari’s shop was broken into by thieves, and many
valuables stolen, among them the golden necklace; but before the
thieves could get clear away with their stolen property, the dog got
up and barked and leaped about, and made so much noise that the Marwari
and his men got up, caught the thieves, and recovered the property,
which was of considerable worth.
“The Marwari was very pleased, and out of gratitude for what the dog
had done determined to cancel and forgive the debt of his master, the
Bunjara. So he wrote a paper to cancel it, tied it to the dog’s neck,
and let it go, saying, ‘Carry the tidings to your owner.’
“Early next morning the dog trotted off, and was nearing the camping
ground which was his home, when the Bunjara saw him, and, very
displeased, he took a stick and struck the poor dog across the head,
saying, ‘You brute, you could not remain even twenty-four hours with
the Marwari, though my honour was at stake.’
“The blow killed the dog on the spot, and as he fell the Bunjara
noticed the slip of paper round his neck, and on reading it found what
joyful news his dog had brought to him. Not only was the debt forgiven,
but the reason for it was also stated on the paper.
“The grief of the Bunjara was great, for in spite of his hasty temper
he loved his dog, as all Bunjaras do. He repented his hasty act, and
wept most bitterly over his favourite, vowing that he would try and
expiate his deed by building a temple to the faithful dog’s memory with
the money he had recovered.
“The small temple now standing on the spot where this took place
testifies to the fulfilment of that vow, and a small dog carved in
stone indicates why the Dog Temple was built.
“To this day it is deeply revered by all the villagers around, and the
story of that faithful dog is often repeated to show how intelligent
and true a dog can be.”
Yes; faithful, true, loving to the death, understanding our moods and
sorrows, and sympathetic in all the troubles as well as the joys of
life, the dog has proved himself to be. Shall not our recognition of
his many virtues be at least on a plane with the simple faith in his
powers of heart and mind that the little hill temple is a witness to,
among the untutored natives of the wild tribes of Northern India?
XIV
“_Are we devils? Are we men?
Sweet St. Francis of Assisi, would that he were here again!
He that in his Catholic wholeness used to call the very flowers
Sisters, Brothers--and the beasts whose pains are hardly less than
ours._”
If the foregoing studies of dog life make clear the right of a dog to
be treated as a being whose powers of mind are nearly akin to our own,
how should this affect our behaviour towards him? Not to pamper him,
assuredly, and thus check the free exercise of his higher powers and
qualities and encourage the selfishness and greed, the germs of which
are to be found as well in canine as in human nature. The dog has his
own place in the natural order of things, and our aim should be to give
to the higher and better part of his nature the fullest development and
training our powers enable us to do. When we hear of a lonely woman
whose sole friend was her dog taking her own life in despair at her
companion being reft from her, and brought to an untimely end, we pity
her in that her views of life had been warped and distorted by the
dreary loneliness of her lot. But apart from such an extreme example
of putting our faithful little friend on a platform to which he has no
right, there are many who might take to heart with advantage, both to
themselves and to the animals under their care, the quaint indictment
of an old writer: “These dogges are ... pretty, proper and fyne, and
sought for to satisfie the delicatenesse of daintie dames’ ... wills,
instruments of folly for them to play and dally withal, and tryfle away
the treasure of time, to withdraw their mindes from more commendable
exercises and to content their corrupted concupiscences with vain
disport (a selly shift to shunne yrcksome ydlenesse).” As the book from
which these words are taken is said to be the earliest one on dogs
written in the English language, it shows that it is no new thing with
us for women to err on the side of foolish spoiling of the intelligent
creatures who are worthy of a better fate.
It is often asserted that animals as a body have no “rights,” properly
so called, that must be taken into consideration in our dealings with
them. Such a dictum, as it is often understood, I would combat with
every means in my power. But here there must be a clear understanding
of what we mean by the word “rights.” It cannot, I think, be better
expressed than in the following lines, written by a member of that
body who has been unjustly accused of not giving its support to the
protection of animals from cruel and unfair treatment: “It is true that
they [animals] have not human rights; but as there is in them a nature
demanding a treatment quite above that accorded to wood or iron, plants
and shrubs (as St. Francis says), so it is reasonable to claim for them
rights--animal rights.”
And what are the “animal rights” that the dog, as a fellow citizen
of the animal world, can claim at our hands? Not the cramping
restrictions of excessive and foolish fondness, but a temperate and,
above all, humane appreciation of the fact that his span of life is
given him from the same source as our own. Whence it comes and whither
it goes are questions that all the science of the world, so far, can do
no more than speculate upon. As Christians, the faith that is in us is
not shaken by the difficulties that confront us, when we think of the
beginning and end of our life on the earth; but we know that the gift
of life carries with it grave responsibilities and duties, for the due
performance of which we are each personally accountable. But our duties
and responsibilities towards our fellow men do not limit the ties that
bind us. The same laws that govern our intercourse with our fellows
govern also, in their degree, our relations with the animal world.
The dog, who is brought nearer to us in the intimate relations of
our home than any other animal except the cat, suffers most from any
failure of duty on our part. For the ordering of his whole life from
puppyhood to old age, and from dawn to dark of each day as it comes, is
subject to the influence we bring to bear on it. If we fail to bring an
intelligent comprehension of his wants and of his powers of mind and
body to act on the surroundings we give him, we lessen his joy in life,
or bring untold suffering upon him, in proportion to our own failure in
our duties towards him.
What, then, can be said of those who bring wanton cruelty to bear
on the sensitive body and delicate mental organisation that make him
a trusted friend and companion of the human race? The dog-fights, of
which I have spoken in an earlier part of the book, are now happily
objects of horror and disgust to all but the hopelessly brutal minded.
But much, I fear, still remains to be done in bringing the force of
the law to bear on those who offend in secret, and with but a partial
recognition of the enormities they perpetrate.
Of the far worse horrors of vivisection I am not happily here called on
to deal, with more than a passing notice. Whatever science may have to
say to excuse them, the scenes of the vivisecting room are too dark and
horror-striking to be reproduced for general reading. We know that some
eminent members of the medical profession have pronounced against their
value to the spread of scientific knowledge. We may hope, then, that
such pronouncement of undoubted authorities may have due and speedy
effect in the general recognition of dogs and other animals to the
right to be spared all unnecessary suffering.
The highest claim a dog possesses to the full recognition of his
rights--animal rights--to consideration at our hands, is, from my point
of view at least, his possession of the dawning of a moral sense. Such
a power of discrimination between right and wrong, and the consequent
results of a feeling of satisfaction and elation, or of shame and
regret, as he gives way to behaviour that contravenes his sense of
moral rectitude, or in spite of temptation refuses to listen to the
suggestion of passion or appetite, is, or so it appears to me, proved
abundantly by a sympathetic study of the dog’s actions. A striking
instance of such conscious choice was shown by the little Bosky[12]
when she first fell from the paths of honesty in the presence of a
tempting dainty, then fled from the scene of her lapse from virtue and
from her beloved mistress’s presence; and still more when she refused
to allow herself to be put in the way of temptation a second time. The
Skye[13] showed unmistakable shame and sorrow when he brought to light
the kitten’s dead body. The fox-terrier pups[14] in their Indian home
had an appreciation more or less clear of their infant enormities in
the matter of destroying their guardian’s property, and every dog-lover
from his own experience can recall some instance of the same nature.
We have seen that in the primitive tribal conditions of the dog’s
ancestors, the sympathy, that is the foundation on which all community
life rests, must have been present in those members of the old-world
packs, or the very existence of the tribes, as such, would have been
imperilled. Sympathy with their fellows gave to each member of the
tribe an appreciation of the needs of his fellow members as well as of
his own. Such needs must be respected and cared for, and in the simple
give and take of the rough life of the wandering packs, we find, I
think, the first faint foreshadowing of the moral sense that reaches
its highest expression in the animal world, in our dog friend as he is
to-day. In saying this I do not for a moment claim for our dog more
than the very simplest ideas of duty, as they appear to him in his
relations to his owner and to his fellow dogs, or other animals, for of
the conception of ethics in the abstract he is clearly incapable. To
make such a claim for him would be to place him on our own level in the
possession of mental and moral gifts.
The simplest expression of the knowledge of right and wrong presupposes
no inconsiderable power of memory and of reflection. Of both these I
believe the dog to show himself capable. If he is not, no faintest
adumbration of the moral sense can be his. For before any ethical
appreciation can be shown there must be not merely the memory of a
past event, but a power of reflection on the many converging lines
of presentment to his mind, not only as these affect some person or
thing outside himself, but as they impress his own consciousness.
Such an effort of mind, aided by his affections and other powers that
may be brought into play by the circumstances of the case, give to
the dog the sense of right or wrong-doing that he displays in his
consequent actions. In such simple manifestations of the moral sense,
shame and the fear of detection, or on the other hand self-gratulation
and elation, may be expected to play their part, though without
obscuring the true ethical consciousness that lies at the root of
the expression of feeling. As the dog’s mind knows no higher form of
devotion than that excited by his faulty owner, why should we quarrel
with the crude evidences of a moral feeling our presence excites in
him? Before we played the part of deity to him, he recognised his
duties to his fellows, and in his own manner and degree lived up to
the responsibilities the circumstances of his life demanded. The
fuller blossoming of the possibilities of life for him came with the
companionship of man, and with us it lies to bring these to a full
fruition, or to starve them into a premature blight.
From the earliest times men who have taken a view of their
responsibilities that is not limited to their own kind, have lifted
their voice with no uncertain sound to plead with their fellow men for
a more humane regard for animal life. In the dangerous exhibitions of
the Roman Circus it was men who risked their lives for the passing
gratification of their fellows. These games were followed in a later
age by the bull fights that still linger to the disgrace of the
civilised nations who enjoy them. In the old times St. Augustine,
St. Chrysostom, and others were eloquent in their denunciation of
the gladiatorial combats, and soon after the middle of the sixteenth
century Pope Pius V forbade the faithful in any land to take part in or
attend the bull baiting that was then a favourite form of amusement.
The Pope declared such exhibitions to be “contrary to Christian duty
and charity,” and if any in defiance of his command should lose their
lives in contending with “bulls or other beasts,” they were to be
“deprived of Christian burial.”
We may be thankful that in later times such teaching has been given
by the authorities of the Church in England, in America, and in every
Christian country in the world. Among the Catholic dignitaries, who in
our own country have taken a leading part in inculcating a due respect
for animal rights, Cardinal Manning came prominently forward. In one of
his many addresses on the subject, he says:--
“It is perfectly true that ... the lower animals are not susceptible
to those moral obligations which we owe to one another; but we owe a
seven-fold obligation to the Creator of those animals. Our obligation
and moral duty is to Him who made them, and if we wish to know the
limit of the broad outline of our obligation, I say at once it is _His_
nature and His perfections, and among those perfections one is most
profoundly that of eternal mercy.... And, in giving a dominion over His
creatures to man, He gave it subject to the condition that it should be
used in conformity to His own perfections, which is His own law, and,
therefore, our law.”
Archbishop Bagshawe in speaking on the subject, said: “We have the
duty to imitate the Creator; but the Creator is infinite Mercy, and
to cultivate in ourselves habits of cruelty, when He is infinite
Mercy, is assuredly not fulfilling that duty.” In another land, an
eminent Cardinal has asserted, that “Peccatum est crudelitas etiam in
bestias ponit actionem dissonam a fine et ordine Creatoris.” (Cruelty
to animals is a mortal sin, because it is contrary to the purpose
and rule of the Creator.) From another Catholic theologian come the
words “... in animals there is a something--call it right or call it
claim--which is an intrinsic bar to cruelty, and renders that cruelty
a sin. In other words, there is a real objective counterpart to the
acknowledged sin of cruelty to animals and that is to be found in the
animal’s nature.... That animals are meant, in the Providential order
of things, to educate both the thought and affection of man, is proved
by the fact that they have that influence. The wrong treatment of them
must produce a distorted character, as experience shows. No one will
deny that great and habitual cruelty in a child towards animals is
rightly looked on everywhere as a very bad augury, and is a proof of a
depraved disposition.”
From the pen of one whose historical studies have brought him a
world-wide reputation--the Right Rev. Abbot Gasquet--we learn that
early in the fifteenth century, when the art of printing was still
in its infancy, a book was brought out that, among other duties,
inculcated that of kindness to animals. The book was called “Dives
et Pauper,” and was announced as being “a compendious treatise ...
fructuously treating upon the Ten Commandments.” To quote from the
modernised form in which the Abbot gives the passages, we find the
following: “For God that made all, hath care of it all, and he will
take vengeance upon all that misuse His creatures.” And again, “... so
men should have thought for birds and beasts, and not harm them without
cause, in taking regard that they are God’s creatures.”
And since those far-off days Englishmen and Americans, of all ranks and
various professions, have been ready to urge the rights of our dumb
friends to consideration and humane treatment at the hands of all. The
eloquent words of Canon Wilberforce, from the pulpit in Westminster
Abbey and elsewhere, have in stirring tones brought these duties home
to large bodies of attentive listeners. The terrors of vivisection have
been the theme of his pen in articles contributed to our monthly press;
and in one of them, that appeared in the New Review in the year 1893,
he asks the stern question, “What victory over diseases known to be
fatal can scientific experts point to as the result of vivisection?”
“Meanwhile,” the writer adds, “evidence accumulates that untold
sufferings have been inflicted upon the human race from the erroneous
conclusions adduced from experiments on animals.” Could any darker
picture be drawn of suffering on the part of those who are powerless in
the hands of man, and its hideous reflection on the members of the race
who are responsible for it?
But it is vain to attempt to give complete instances of those who
have done their best to bring the fuller light of a more perfect
understanding on the true relationship of man towards the lower
animals. Their name is legion, even without going beyond the bounds
of our English-speaking land. Poets, churchmen, men of science and of
literature, have all contributed to the noble work of rousing their
fellow men to a fuller realisation of their duties towards their dumb
friends. From France, from Spain, from Italy, and from Austria and
other countries, earnest voices have been raised in the same cause.
Few Englishmen have done more good work in the study of the habits,
dispositions, and nature of animals, than Dr. Lauder Lindsay. In his
most interesting work on “Mind in the Lower Animals” we find the
following passage, which it would be well if the young of the rising
generation were taught to appreciate.
“At least those animals with whom we have most to do, think and feel as
we do; are effected by the same influences, moral or physical; succumb
to the same diseases, mental or bodily; are elevated or degraded in
the social scale, according to our treatment; may become virtuous
and useful, or vicious and dangerous, just as we are appreciative,
sympathetic, kindly disposed towards them.”
If such teaching were given to those who are starting on their way
through life, we might look for a rich harvest of appreciative and
kindly treatment for our dog friend and his companions, in the years
that are to come.
That loving heart, that patient soul,
Had they indeed no longer span
To run their course and reach their goal
And teach their homily to man?
That liquid, melancholy eye
From whose _pathetic_ soul-fed springs
Seemed surging the Virgilian cry,
The sense of tears in mortal things.
That steadfast, mournful strain, consoled
By spirits gloriously gay,
And temper of heroic mould--
What!--was _four_ years their whole short day?
INDEX
INDEX
Amora (fox-terrier), 124, 125
Badger baiting, 121
Bagshawe, Archbishop, quoted, 262
Balfour, Lady Betty, quoted, 249-251
Bandy (Dandie Dinmont),
accidents to, 47, 55, 61, 62
call paid by, 64
characteristics of--
balls, attachment to, 48, 55, 56
games, passion for, 45, 46, 51;
fielding, 46-48
human companionship, preference for, 46
ridicule, distaste for, 65, 66
time-reckoning, capacity for, 53, 113
death of, 66, 113
episcopal procession incident, 61
hunting by, 62
illnesses of, 51, 58
photographs of, 53, 54
rifle corps, interest in, 45, 56-58
Swain, Mr., encounters with, 49, 57, 58
thrashings of, 65
verses on, 44, 49-51, 58-60, 67, 68
Bettina Corona (terrier), 210-215
Billy (fox-terrier), 187-190
Bob (retriever), 83, 84
Bobbins (cattle dog), 204-206, 213-215
Bobby (Maltese and Pomeranian), 179-181
Bone on a string experiment, 19, 20
Bosky (fox-terrier), 213, 243-245, 259
Boy (mongrel), 208, 209
Bruce (collie),
appearance of, 32
characteristics of--
independence, 107, 112
manners--politeness, 32-35, 112
practical joking, appreciation of, 37, 38
pugnacity to collies, 37
death of, 33
homes of, 40-42
stealing of, 41
train-meeting episode, 39, 40
Bull-baiting, 261
Buzz (Skye terrier), 228-230, 259
Collies, reasoning powers exhibited by, 200-202
Cruiser (retriever), 161, 162
Dash (pointer), 157
Dog-fighting;
_see_ Fighting
Dracott, A. E., quoted, 252-254
Dressing up, bull-terrier’s fondness for, 237
Druid (foxhound), 157, 158
Environment, influence of, 105
Fighting of dogs, 71-74, 81, 82, 258;
strategy in, 128
Floss (terrier), arrival of, 119-121;
badger baiting by, 121;
friendship of, with Whankey, 170, 171;
sense of duty shown by, 190-192
Fox-hunting;
_see_ Hunting
Frampton, Mr. Featherstonhaugh, 178
Gasquet, Abbot, quoted, 263, 264
Gilyak tribe, belief held by, 248 _note_
Goblin (Pyrenean dog), 249-251
Grief, expression of, in dogs, 117, 118, 171
Gubbins (Skye terrier),
appearance of, 3, 30
arrival of, 4
blindness of, 30
characteristics of--
courage, 20
devotion and affection for his mistress, 6, 7, 11, 13, 15, 16, 22,
106, 117
intelligence, 21-25
joyousness, 6, 9, 29
manners, 10, 26
memory of friends, 29
mischievousness, 21, 26, 112
nervousness and sensitiveness, 4, 5, 9, 112
shame, sense of, 25-27
time reckoning, capacity for, 27-29
wilfulness, 11-12
choice of mistress by, 109-112
early hardships of, 5
illnesses of, 7, 13-15, 27
nicknames of, 30
show experience of, 7, 8
sign and sound system of, 17-19
Guest, Mr. Merthyr, 133, 158, 178
Hawes, Charles, quoted, 248 _note_
Holland, Sir Henry, 223
Homing instinct, 175-180
Hounds,
Blackmore Vale pack, 133, 158
corporate life of, 127, 129, 130, 135, 141
development of characteristics of, 131
donkey line episode, 146
enmities among, 135, 136
heredity among, 132, 133
hunting, joy in, 137
huntsman’s influence on, 130, 141, 144
kennel life of, 126, 129, 135, 136, 144
“Ladies first!” 145
locality sense among, 177
methods of, at work, 142, 143
Press, John, anecdotes of, 144, 145
relationship ties recognised among, 131, 132, 165, 166
stag-hounds, 143, 144
training of, 127, 145
Hunting,
cruelties in, 138-140
discipline among hunt servants, need for, 146, 147
hounds’ joy in, 137;
their individuality displayed in, 142, 143
huntsmen, influence of, 130, 141, 144
killing of the quarry, 137
M. F. H., influence of, 139
stag-hunting, 143, 144
Imaginative power in dogs, 234, 237
Individuality in dogs, 105, 106, 109, 142, 143, 149, 163, 187
Inherited qualities, 123, 124, 128, 131
Instinct, 116, 117;
homing instinct, 175-180
Jack (bull-terrier),
appearance, strength, and size of, 69, 74
Bob, encounters with, 83, 84
boxing games with, 84, 85
characteristics of--
courage, 69, 108
devotion to his mistress and her mother, 75, 76, 108
gentleness, 69
obedience, 78, 82, 108, 113
cow incident, 79, 80
death of, 86
early life of, 70-73
tramp incident, 76-78
Jack (Yorkshire terrier), 166-170
Jealousy in dogs, 228, 230
Jell (mongrel), 118, 119
Jet (King Charles spaniel),
appearance of, 87
bull-terrier, encounter with, 90
burglar incident, 101
characteristics of--
artistic finish and cleverness of acting, 89, 95, 96, 100, 107
book-destructiveness, 88, 89
epicureanism and selfishness, 91, 113, 114
joking, love of, 92, 93
locality, sense of, 98
manners toward strangers, 98
thievishness, 88, 89, 94, 97, 100
chicken-driving episode, 99
death of, 102
Jim (cat), 211, 212
Jimmy (cross-bred terrier), 246-248
Jokes appreciated by dogs, 37, 38, 92, 93
Jubilee, 170
Kennel life;
_see under_ Hounds
Lassie (collie), 34, 38
Lindsay, Dr. Lander, quoted, 265
Lion (bulldog), 4, 110, 223-228
Locality, sense of, 98, 174;
bowing instinct, 175-180
Looking-glasses, dogs’ attitude towards, 234-236
Lytton, 1st Earl of, anecdote of dog of, 249-251
Manning, Cardinal, quoted, 262
Maternal affection in dogs, 171-173
Memory in dogs, 29, 215, 260
Mental powers in dogs, 117, 159, 200-204, 255, 270
_Mind in the Lower Animals_ quoted, 265
Mirrors, dogs’ attitude towards, 234-236
Moral sense in dogs, 125, 163, 246, 258, 260, 261;
_see also_ Shame
Muff (cat), 85
Muzzling order defied by dog, 217
Nanky Poo (spaniel), 202-204
Nugent, Lord, 223
Outlook on life, canine and human, differences in, 115, 122, 123
Pat (Scotch terrier), 181, 182
Peter (Ruby Blenheim), 88
Pictures, dogs’ attitude towards, 236, 237
Pointers and setters,
bad shots resented by, 156
cruelties to, 153, 154
dead grouse incident, 160
maternal affection of Black Prince pointer, 172, 173
methods of, at work, 157-159
retrieving by, 159
training of, 148, 149, 151, 152
Pratt, Mr., 5
Press, John, 144, 145
Primeval qualities transmitted, 123, 124, 128, 131
Prince (setter), 154, 155
Quarrelsomeness of dogs, 128
Rakish (hound), 178
Raleigh (foxhound), 134
Rama (foxhound), 133-135
Ratler (fox-terrier), 165, 166
Reasoning and reflecting powers;
_see_ Mental
Responsibility and duty, sense of, 187, 190, 191
Retriever and ducklings, 161, 162
Rica (Basset hound), 4, 110, 111
Right and wrong, sense of;
_see_ Moral
“Rights” of animals, 256-258, 262-264
Rover (greyhound), 183-186
Roy (fox-terrier), 206-208
Roy (King Charles spaniel), 166-169
Royal (fox-terrier), 165, 166
Running of dogs with carriage or bicycle, 16, 42, 80
Serrell, Miss A. F., cited, 132;
quoted, 133-135, 144, 145, 158, 178, 205, 230, 232
Setters;
_see_ Pointers and setters
Shakespeare on dogs, 222, 223
Shame, sense of, 25-27, 163-165, 243, 245, 246, 258
Shooting, cruelties in, 154
Shot (pointer), 150, 151
Shows, 7, 8, 35, 36
_Simla Village Tales_ quoted, 252-254
Smell, sense of, 123
Stag-hunting, 143, 144
Stella (fox-terrier), 174, 175
Strangers, attacks on, 218, 219
Sylvia (Blenheim spaniel), 237-242
Thornton, Col., 157
Time sense in dogs, 27-29, 53, 113
Tip (Dalmatian), 208
Tip (lurcher), 182
Training,
gentle methods of, 165
hounds, of, 127, 145
pointers and setters, of, 148, 149, 151, 152
Tyke (fox-terrier), 192-199
Venus (fox-terrier), 217-221
Verses on dogs, 44, 49-51, 58-60, 67, 68
Vivisection, 258, 264
Whankey (black and tan rough terrier), 170, 171, 230-233
Wilberforce, Canon, quoted, 264
_With Hound and Terrier in the Field_ quoted, 133-135, 144, 145, 158,
178, 205, 230-232
UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.
FOOTNOTES:
[1]
Lament, ye boys, and mourn, O Common Room,
Ye gentle ladies, weep for Bandy’s doom
If dogs ye love; for he, alas! has died,
The darling of this College and its pride;
He who with almost a House Master’s might
Guided the boys of Littlefield aright.
But yet he loved not Littlefield alone,
All things Marlburian had he made his own;
His kindly presence would encourage all
Who threw, or hit, or kicked the flying ball;
Were they but keen and vigorous in their play
His wagging tail would urge them to the fray,
While his example was a mute reproof
To all whom sloth or slackness kept aloof.
Sometimes defiant, resolute, and bold,
In straining jaws four racquet balls he’d hold;
Sometimes with sportive bark to greater speed
And wily nip he’d urge the panting steed.
So would he wander at his own sweet will
From Clump or Cricket Field to Granham Hill;
But when confined by sickness and ill luck,
He could not brook th’unworthy bonds of Duck:
The twisted noose that brought to him relief
O’erwhelmed his master with unending grief.
F. B. MALIN.
[2] With Hound and Terrier in the Field, pp. 229 _et seq._
[3] With Hound and Terrier in the Field, pp. 52, 53.
[4] With Hound and Terrier in the Field, by Alys F. Serrell, p. 226.
[5] With Hound and Terrier in the Field, p. 231.
[6] With Hound and Terrier in the Field, p. 193.
[7] Recollections of My past Life, by Sir Henry Holland, p. 254.
[8] With Hound and Terrier in the Field, pp. 182 _et seq._
[9] While writing this book, I have been struck by the curious faith
of the Gilyaks, one of the tribes to be found on that dark spot on the
face of the earth, the Island of Sakhalin. Mr. Charles Hawes, in his
book, _In the Uttermost East_, says that the Gilyaks believe that the
spirits of the dead hold communication with their living relatives.
They may come to give counsel, or to warn of impending misfortune. No
human eye can see them, nor can the senses of the living detect their
presence. Only to dogs is it given to know of their approach, and this
knowledge they show by a peculiar howling. Mr. Hawes, who in normal
health was, as his book shows, a man of strong common sense and iron
nerves, as any visitor to Sakhalin needs to be, thus tells of his
experience. “My conversion took place ... on the Okhotsk coast, where
my interpreter and I lay awake one night in the tent of an Orotchon....
At about 2 A. M. a low howl began, echoed and varied by thirty
or forty other members of the canine race, a low peculiar cry of pain
growing into a long, drawn-out wail, rising and swelling until at last
it ended in almost a scream.” “An unholy, ill-omened proceeding which
surely nought earthly could account for,” is Mr. Hawes’ reflection on
the occurrence, but he adds, “perhaps the fact that we were ill with
ptomaine poisoning may have predisposed us to thoughts of _Inligh-vo_”
(a village in the centre of the earth to which the spirits of the
departed go). It is curious to note that in the beliefs of these wild
people, the spirits of the murdered and suicides fly to _tlo_ (heaven)
direct, without a preliminary sojourn in the happy hunting grounds of
_Inligh-vo_.
[10] Personal and Literary Letters of Robert, 1st Earl of Lytton,
edited by Lady Betty Balfour.
[11] Simla Village Tales, by Alice Elizabeth Dracott.
[12] See p. 243.
[13] See p. 228.
[14] See p. 164.
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or alternate spelling which may have been in use at the time
of publication has been retained from the original.
On page 13, the word “with” was inserted so the sentence reads, “But
there could be no doubt in the mind of any one who was with him ...”