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_DOG STORIES._
DOG STORIES
_FROM THE "SPECTATOR"_
BEING ANECDOTES OF THE INTELLIGENCE, REASONING
POWER, AFFECTION AND SYMPATHY OF
DOGS, SELECTED FROM THE CORRESPONDENCE
COLUMNS OF "THE SPECTATOR"
_WITH AN INTRODUCTION_
BY
J. ST. LOE STRACHEY
NEW YORK: MACMILLAN AND CO.
MDCCCXCV
"Sir, to leave things out of a book, merely because people
tell you they will not be believed, is meanness."
(_Dr. Johnson._)
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 7
SYLLOGISTIC DOGS 15
THE REASONING POWER OF DOGS 49
EMOTION AND SENTIMENT IN DOGS 99
DOGS AND THE ARTS 119
DOG FRIENDSHIPS 131
CURIOUS HABITS OF DOGS 155
THE SENSE OF HUMOUR AND CUNNING IN DOGS 165
USEFUL DOGS 177
MISCELLANEOUS 193
INTRODUCTION.
I.
The following Dog Stories are taken from the pages of the _Spectator_,
with the permission of the editors and proprietors. It was suggested to
me by Mr. Fisher Unwin that the many strange and pleasant stories of
dogs which from time to time are sent to the _Spectator_ by its
correspondents would, if put together, form a volume of no little
entertainment for all who love dogs, or are interested in stories of
animal intelligence. Up till now the _Spectator_ dog stories, after the
week of their publication, have practically been inaccessible to the
general reader; for he is a bold man who will attack a bound volume of a
newspaper in search of amusement. Though I at once agreed that the
suggested book would be a very readable one, and likely to please
dog-lovers all the world over, I did not, till the selection was nearly
made, realise how much the stories gain by being grouped together. A
single story of a clever dog may amuse, but it is liable to be put aside
as an accident, a coincidence, a purely exceptional circumstance which
proves nothing. If, however, instead of a single story we have half a
dozen illustrating the same form of intelligence, the value of the
evidence is enormously increased, and a collection of dog stories may
become of very great value in determining such questions as the power of
dogs to act on reason as well as on instinct, or their ability to
understand human language. The solution of these problems is, I cannot
help thinking, materially advanced by the stories in the present book.
Take, again, the group of stories which I have labelled Purchasing Dogs.
One sample of this kind might, as I have noted above, be put off as a
case of imperfect observation, or as a curious coincidence; but when we
get a whole group of stories it becomes very difficult to doubt that
dogs may learn the first principles of the science of exchange. The
Italian dog (page 59) which did the narrator a service by fetching him
cigars, demanded payment in the shape of a penny, and then used that
penny by exchanging it for a loaf, was far advanced in the practice of
Political Economy. He not only understood and acted on an implied
contract, but realised the great fact at the back of the currency. "What
are guineas," said Horne Tooke, "but tickets for sheep and oxen!" The
Italian dog did not, like a savage, say, "What is the use of copper to
me, I cannot eat it?" Instead, he perceived that the piece of copper was
a ticket for bread. It should be noted too that this dog, the dog called
Hardy (page 57) and others, were able to distinguish between the pieces
of copper given them. Again, the Glasgow story (page 53) shows that a
dog can learn to realise that a halfpenny will buy not merely one thing
but several things--in fact, that the great advantage of exchange by
currency over barter is that it gives you a choice. While on the subject
of purchasing dogs, it is curious to reflect how very little is wanted
to convert the dog that is able to purchase into a free agent. If a dog
can exchange his faculty for cigar carrying or his tricks against
half-pence, why should he not exchange useful services, such as guarding
a house or herding sheep, and so become self-supporting? Imagine a
collie paid by the day, and, when his work was over, receiving twopence
and going off to buy his supper. But the vista opened is too
far-reaching. One sees down it dogs paid by the hour and by the piece,
and then dogs asking for better pay and shorter hours, and, finally,
dogs on strike, and dog "black-legs," or "free dogs."
II.
A word should be said as to the authenticity of the stories in the
present volume. It is a matter of common form for the evening newspapers
to talk of the _Spectator_ dog stories as hoaxes, and to refer in their
playful, way to "another _Spectator_ dog." It might not then unnaturally
have been supposed that a person undertaking to edit and reprint these
stories would have found a considerable number that showed signs of
being hoaxes. I may confess, indeed, that I set out with the notion of
forming a sort of Appendix to the present work, which should be headed
"Ben Trovato," in which should be inserted stories which were too
curious and amusing to be left out altogether, but which, on the other
hand, were what the Americans call a little "too tall" to be accepted as
genuine. The result of my plan was unexpected. Though I found many
stories in which the inferences seemed strained or mistaken, and others
which contained indications of exaggeration, I could find but two
stories which could reasonably be declared as only suitable for a "Ben
Trovato." I therefore suppressed my heading. The truth is that the
animal stories are much more carefully sifted at the _Spectator_ office
than our witty critics and contemporaries will admit. No stories are
ever published unless the names and addresses of the writers are
supplied, and all stories are rejected which have anything clearly
suspicious about them. What the editors of the _Spectator_ do not do is
to reject a dog-story because it states that a dog has been observed to
do something which has never been reported as having been done by a dog
before, or at any rate, something which is not universally admitted to
be doable by a dog. Apparently this willingness to print stories which
enlarge our notions of animal intelligence is regarded in certain
quarters as a sign that the _Spectator_ will swallow anything, and that
its stories must be apocryphal. I cannot, however, help thinking that
all who care for the advancement of knowledge in regard to animals
should be grateful to the editors of the _Spectator_ for not adopting
the plan of excluding all dog stories that do not correspond with an
abstract ideal of canine intelligence. Had they acted on the principle
of putting every anecdote that seemed _prima facie_ unlikely into the
waste-paper basket, they would certainly have missed a great many
stories of real value. In truth, there is nothing so credulous as
universal incredulity. An attitude of general incredulity means a blind
belief in the existing state of opinion. If we believe that animals have
no reasoning power, and refuse to examine evidence that is brought to
show the contrary, we are adopting, the attitude of those who disbelieve
that the earth goes round the sun because they seem daily to see a proof
of an exactly opposite proposition. If people are to refuse to believe
anything of a dog that does not sound likely on the face of it, we shall
never get at the truth about animal intelligence. What is wanted is the
careful preservation and collection of instances of exceptional
intelligence.
III.
Before I conclude this Introduction, I should like to address a word of
apology to the correspondents of the _Spectator_ whose letters form the
present volume. Though the copyright of the letters belongs to the
editors and proprietors of the _Spectator_ I should have liked to ask
the leave of the various writers before republishing their letters.
Physical difficulties have, however rendered this impossible. In the
case of nearly half the letters the names and addresses have not been
preserved. In many instances, again, only the names remain. Lastly, a
large number of the letters are ten or twelve, or even twenty years old,
and the writers may therefore be dead or out of England. Under these
circumstances I have not made any effort to enter into communication
with the writers before including their letters in this book. That their
permission would have been given, had it been asked, I do not doubt. The
original communication of the letters to the _Spectator_ is proof that
the writers wished a public use to be made of the anecdotes they relate.
As long, then, as the letters are not altered or edited, but produced
verbatim, I may, I think, feel assured that I am doing nothing which is
even remotely discourteous to the writers.
_SYLLOGISTIC DOGS._
A DOG ON LONG SERMONS.
[_Aug. 4, 1888._]
During a recent journey in Canada, I met with a striking instance of
reason in a dog. I was staying at the Mohawk Indian Institution,
Brantford, Ontario. The Rev. R. Ashton, superintendent of the school, is
also incumbent of the neighbouring Mohawk Church (the oldest Protestant
church in Canada). Mr. Ashton is very fond of animals, and has many
pets. One of these, a black-and-tan terrier, always accompanies the
ninety Indian children to church on Sunday morning. He goes to the
altar-rails, and lies down facing the congregation. When they rise to
sing, he rises; and when they sit, he lies down. One day, shortly before
my visit, a stranger-clergyman was preaching, and the sermon was longer
than usual. The dog grew tired and restless, and at last a thought
occurred to him, upon which he at once acted. He had observed that one
of the elder Indian boys was accustomed to hand round a plate for alms,
after which the service at once concluded. He evidently thought that if
he could persuade this boy to take up the collection, the sermon must
naturally end. He ran down to the back seat occupied by the boy, seated
himself in the aisle, and gazed steadfastly in the boy's face. Finding
that no notice was taken, he sat up and "begged" persistently for some
time, to Mr. Ashton's great amusement. Finally, as this also failed, the
dog put his nose under the lad's knee, and tried with all his strength
to force him out of his place, continuing this at intervals till the
sermon was concluded.
Did not this prove a distinct power of consecutive reasoning?
A. H. A.
A COMMERCIAL TREATY BETWEEN A DOG AND A HEN.
[_July 7, 1888._]
Your dog-loving readers may be interested in the following instance of
animal sagacity. Bob is a fine two-year-old mastiff, with head and face
of massive strength, heightened by great mildness of expression. One day
he was seen carrying a hen, very gently, in his mouth, to the kennel.
Placing her in one corner, he stood sentry while she laid an egg, which
he at once devoured. From that day the two have been fast friends, the
hen refusing to lay anywhere but in "Bob's" kennel, and getting her
reward in the dainty morsels from his platter. There must have been a
bit of canine reasoning here. "Bob" must have found eggs to his liking,
that they were laid by hens, and that he could best secure a supply by
having a hen to himself.
THOMAS HAMER.
A DOG NURSE.
[_Feb. 20, 1875._]
A patient recently consulted me who was blind and subject to fits. I
pointed out to her friends the danger to which she was exposed in case a
fit came on when she was in the vicinity of a fire, and they informed me
that she incurred little or no risk, because a favourite dog ran at once
and fetched assistance the moment a fit came on. This intelligent animal
would rush into the next house barking eagerly, would seize the dress of
the woman who lived there, and drag her to the assistance of his
mistress. If one did not go, he would seize another, and exhibited the
most lively symptoms of distress until his object was accomplished.
CHARLES BELL TAYLOR, M.D., F.R.C.S.
INSTINCT, OR REASON?
[_Sept. 1, 1888._]
The following incident in dog-life may perhaps find a place in the
_Spectator_. I quote from a letter received a few days ago from my
nephew, "T. G. T.," resident in South Africa:--"Johannesburg,
Traansvaal.--My dog Cherry has had three great pups, and I had to leave
her behind at the Grange. When I was going away, Cherry and the pups
were located in some stables. She came out and watched the tent-truck
and my things packed up. Presently I went away, and when I came back I
found Cherry had carried all the pups on to the top of my luggage, and
evidently had not the least intention of staying behind."
T. W. T.
HOSPITAL DOGS.
[_June 26, 1875._]
Dr. Walter F. Atlee writes to the editor of the _Philadelphia Medical
Times_:--
"In a letter recently received from Lancaster, where my father resides,
it is said:--'A queer thing occurred just now. Father was in the office,
and heard a dog yelping outside the door; he paid no attention until a
second and louder yelp was heard, when he opened it, and found a little
brown dog standing on the step upon three legs. He brought him in, and
on examining the fourth leg, found a pin sticking in it. He drew out the
pin, and the dog ran away again.' The office of my father, Dr. Atlee, is
not directly on the street, but stands back, having in front of it some
six feet of stone wall with a gate. I will add, that it has not been
possible to discover anything more about this dog.
"This story reminds me of something similar that occurred to me while
studying medicine in this same office nearly thirty years ago. A man,
named Cosgrove, the keeper of a low tavern near the railroad station,
had his arm broken, and came many times to the office to have the
dressings arranged. He was always accompanied by a large, most
ferocious-looking bull-dog, that watched me most attentively, and most
unpleasantly to me, while bandaging his master's arm. A few weeks after
Cosgrove's case was discharged, I heard a noise at the office door, as
if some animal was pawing it, and on opening it, saw there this huge
bull-dog, accompanied by another dog that held up one of its front legs,
evidently broken. They entered the office. I cut several pieces of wood,
and fastened them firmly to the leg with adhesive plaster, after
straightening the limb. They left immediately. The dog that came with
Cosgrove's dog I never saw before nor since."
Do not these stories adequately show that the dogs reasoned and drew new
inferences from a new experience?
B.
[_April 6, 1889._]
Knowing your interest in dogs, I venture to send you the following
story. A week or two ago, the porter of the Bristol Royal Infirmary was
disturbed one morning about 6.30 by the howling of a dog outside the
building. Finding that it continued, he went out and tried to drive it
away; but it returned and continued to howl so piteously, that he was
obliged to go out to it again. This time he observed that one of its
paws was injured. He therefore brought it in and sent for two nurses,
who at once dressed the paw, and were rewarded by every canine sign of
gratitude, including much licking of their hands. The patient was
"retained" for two days, during which time he received every attention
from those inside the house, and from the neighbours outside, who
quickly heard of the case. As no one appeared to claim the dog, he was
sent to the Home for Lost Dogs in the city, where so interesting an
animal was, of course, not long in finding a purchaser. The dog was one
of those called "lurchers."
I have myself called on the porter of the infirmary for confirmation of
the story, and am assured by him of its truth. How did an apparently
friendless dog know where to go for surgical aid? The case differs from
that of the dog which took its friend for treatment to King's College
Hospital in London, for I understand that the King's College dog had
previously been taken to the hospital for treatment itself; but in this
case there is no such clue.
HELEN M. STURGE.
FEATURES IN THE CHARACTER OF A DOG.
[_June 10, 1876._]
For some time past I have noticed in your journal letters and articles
referring to the wonderful powers of dogs. As I was myself much struck
by many features in the character of a dog which I knew, illustrating,
as I think, not only affection, but reasoning faculties, I shall
acquaint you with a few of these, believing that they may be
_interesting_, at least to all admirers of that noble animal.
The dog of which I speak was a terrier. It showed its affection in the
most marked manner in several ways. Every morning, as soon as it got out
of the kitchen, it came to its master's door, and if not admitted and
caressed about the usual hour, gave evident signs of impatience. It
would lie quiet till it thought the time had arrived, but never longer.
Afterwards it went to the breakfast-room, and occupied its master's
chair till he arrived. On one occasion a visitor was in the house, who,
coming first into the room, ordered the dog to come off the best chair.
To this it paid no attention, and when threatened with expulsion, at
once prepared for defence. But as soon as its master appeared it
resigned its place voluntarily, and quietly stretched itself on the rug
at his feet.
At another time it was left for three weeks during its master's absence
from home. It saw him leave in a steamer, and every day until his return
it repaired to the quay upon the arrival of the same boat, expecting him
to come again in the one by which he had gone. It distinguished between
a number of boats, always selecting the right one and the right hour.
One evening it accompanied its master when he went to gather mussels for
bait. As the tide was far in, few mussels remained uncovered; and after
collecting all within reach, more were required. A large bunch lay a few
feet from the water's edge, but beyond reach; yet as the dog was not one
of those who take the water to fetch, its master had no expectation that
it would prove useful on the present occasion. Seeing him looking at
the mussels, however, it first took a good look at those in the basket,
and then, without being directed at all, went into the water. Selecting
the right bunch from amongst the stones and wreck with which it was
surrounded, it brought it to land, and laid it at its master's feet.
This, I think, is a proof of _reason_, rather than of instinct. The dog
had never been trained to go into the sea, and would not probably have
brought out the mussels had it not seen that they were wanted.
It showed wonderful instinct, however, just before the death of one of
its pups, and before its own death. Its pup had not been thriving, and
the mother gave unmistakable proof that she foresaw its death. She dug a
grave for it and put it in. Nor, when it was removed, would she let it
lie beside her, but immediately dug another grave, where she was less
likely to be disturbed. Upon the day of her own death, also, she used
what strength she had to dig her grave, in which she lay, preferring to
die in it, than in what would seem to most a place of greater
comfort.[1]
These may not be singular incidents, but they are still remarkable and
worthy of notice. They serve to show us the wonderful nature of man's
faithful friend, the dog, and how he has many traits of character fitted
to make him the worthy receiver of kindness and respect.
T.
[Footnote 1: It is difficult to accept T.'s explanation of the dog's
object in digging. Possibly its aim was to obtain warmth or shelter.]
BULLY'S SHORT CUT.
[_Aug. 29, 1874._]
I see that you welcome all notes of interest upon our fellow-beings, the
dogs. Here is one that seems to prove they have a sense of time and of
distance as measured by time.
I was walking with my bull-terrier, Bully (seven years old last
Christmas), during a hot afternoon this month homewards along the Bund
(Shanghai), and I suddenly missed him. I turned back for twenty or
thirty yards, and, not finding him, I gave up the search, saying, "He
knows the way home well enough." Presently I saw him on my right,
dripping with water, cantering on at a round pace, without looking about
him, homewards. I watched him, curious to see whether he would go
straight home. No. He kept on till he reached the distance of about 150
yards, and looked ahead, _not_ smelling the ground. He then deliberately
walked back, catching sight of me in about twenty yards after his
turning back, and wagged his tale recognisingly. He had evidently been
to cool himself in the river (thirty yards to the right, it being low
tide), and, thinking I would go on at the ordinary pace without him, he,
after his bath, struck directly at a long diagonal for the point I would
have reached if I had not turned back to look for him. He did not seem
to have the slightest misgiving as to his sense of the distance I
_ought_ to have walked during the time of his bath. His turning was done
seemingly with a calm assurance of certainty. I may add that there were
twenty to thirty foot-passengers scattered over the portion of road in
question at the time, whose footsteps might have effaced my scent on the
_watered_ granite macadamised roadway, even supposing the dog to have
tried his sense of smell, _which he did not_, as far as I could see, and
I noticed him carefully.
W. G. S.
CANINE INTELLIGENCE.
[_July 24, 1886._]
You often give us pleasant anecdotes of our four-footed friends. You may
think the following worthy of record. I have a little dog, a not
particularly well-bred fox-terrier. He is much attached to me, and shows
by his obedience, and sometimes _in_ his disobedience, that he
understands a good deal. Yesterday I was away all day, and he, I am
told, was very uneasy, and searched everywhere for me. Every day at 5
p.m. I go to church. Toby seems to know this is not an ordinary walk,
and never offers to come with me. But yesterday, when the bell began, he
started off and took up his position by the vestry door. I believe he
reasoned with himself, "There goes the bell; now I shall catch the
Vicar."
WILLIAM QUENNELL.
THE DOG AND THE FERRY.
[_April 4, 1885._]
Reading from time to time many pleasant anecdotes in the columns of the
_Spectator_--which, by the way, I receive as regularly, and read as
eagerly, as when resident in England many years ago--relative to the
sagacity of dogs, I send the following, thinking it possible you may
deem it worthy of insertion.
Some three years ago I was "having a spell" in Brisbane, after a
lengthened sojourn on a sheep station in the interior of Queensland.
During my stay in the city I had the good fortune to gain the friendship
of a gentleman who owned a magnificent collie. My friend, his dog Sweep,
and myself, were frequently together, engaged either in yachting among
the islands of Moreton Bay, or 'possum hunting under the towering
_eucalypti_ which fringe the banks of the river Brisbane. Naturally
"Sweep" (who was a most lovable animal) and myself soon began to
entertain a warm friendship for one another, which friendship gave rise
to the anecdote I am about to relate. Returning to my hotel about
midnight from the house of a friend, I was not a little startled at
finding my hand suddenly seized from behind by a dog, which, however, I
at once recognised as my handsome acquaintance, Sweep. I patted him, at
the same time endeavouring to withdraw the hand which he held firmly,
but gently, between his teeth. It was of no use, as, in spite of all my
endearments, he insisted on retaining his hold, wriggling along by my
side, and vigorously wagging his tail, as though he would say, "Don't be
afraid; it's all right." We soon reached a point in the main street down
which we were walking, where a side avenue branched off towards the
river. My way lay right ahead. Sweep, however, insisted on my taking the
road which lay at a right-angle to my course. I felt some annoyance at
his persistence, as I was both tired and sleepy; but, having no choice
in the matter, I followed his lead. Having walked some two or three
hundred yards down _his_ street, he released his hold, dancing round
me, then running on for a few yards and looking back to see if I were
following. Becoming interested, I determined to see what he was after,
so, without further resistance, I followed submissively. At last, having
reached the river, which at this place was about four hundred yards
wide, he, with many joyous barks, ran down the ferry steps, and jumped
into the empty boat of the ferryman. At last I was able to guess at his
motive for forcing me to follow him. His master, who lived across the
river, had accidentally lost sight of his dog returning from his office
in the city; and Sweep appeared to understand perfectly that unless the
boatman received his fare he, Sweep, would not be carried over, my
friend frequently sending the dog over by himself when wishing to attend
concerts, &c., invariably paying the fare as of an ordinary passenger.
The ferryman, who at once recognised my canine friend, laughed heartily
when I told him how I had been served, took my penny, and set off at
once for "Kangaroo Point," Sweep gaily barking "good-night" until he
reached the opposite bank. I heard subsequently that he used to swim the
river when left behind; but having had two narrow escapes from sharks,
his nerves had become somewhat shaken so far as water was concerned.
J. WM. CREIGHTON.
THE REASON OF DOGS.
[_Nov. 13, 1875._]
Having often read, with great pleasure, the anecdotes about dogs which
from time to time appear in the _Spectator_, I venture to send you one
which has come under my own observation, and which, it seems to me,
shows an effort of reasoning implying two distinct ideas--one the
consequence of the other--more interesting than many of those clever
performances of educated dogs which may or may not be merely mechanical
actions.
The dog who performed the following trick was then a great, half-grown,
awkward puppy, whose education, up to that time, had been much
neglected. It has been better attended to since, and now, although
sportsmen probably consider such an animal sadly thrown away upon a
lady, he is a very pleasant friend and companion. My two dogs, Guy and
Denis, form as capital a pair, for contrast's sake, as one need wish to
see. They are both handsome dogs of their kind--Guy, a fine black
retriever, with no white hair upon him, and, I believe, in the eyes of
sportsmen, as well as those of his mistress, a very desirable
possession, good-tempered, clever, and affectionate; Denis, as naughty
and spoilt a little fellow as ever existed, and a great pet, also black,
except for his yellow paws and chest, but covered with long, loose
locks, instead of Guy's small, crisp curls.
Denis is exceedingly comic, and a constant source of amusement. He is
very faithful to his mistress, whose bedside during illness he has
refused to leave, even for food; but it must be confessed that he is not
amiably disposed towards most people, and is a perfect tyrant over the
other animals. Some account of the two dogs' character is necessary, to
explain the little scene which took place between them one evening about
a year ago. Guy, it must be premised, is at least twelve months younger
than Denis, consequently, when the former first arrived--a miserable and
very ugly little puppy, a few weeks old, more like a small black jug
than any known animal of the canine species, having had the mange, and
lost all his hair--Denis undertook his education, and ruled him so
severely that his influence lasted a long while; indeed, even after Guy
had grown so big that Denis almost needed to stand upon his hind legs in
order to snap at him, the great dog would crouch meekly at a growling
remonstrance from the little master, and never dared to invade his
rights--to approach his plate of food, or to drink before him. Now a
days Guy has discovered his own power, and although too good-natured an
animal ever to ill-treat the little dog, no longer allows any liberties,
but at the same time, when the scene which I am about to describe took
place, he was still under the impression that Denis's wrath was a
terrible and dangerous matter.
And now for my story, which, it seems to me, shows as much real
reasoning power in an untrained animal as any anecdote that I ever read.
One evening I took my two dogs to the kitchen, to give them the rare
treat of a bone apiece. (Dogs were certainly never intended to make
Natal their home, for, in order to keep them alive at all, they should
never be given anything that they like, especially meat, and even then
the most careful management often fails in preserving them from disease
and death.) One of my sisters was with me, and together we watched the
dogs over their supper. Guy, with his great mouth, and ravenous, growing
appetite, made short work with his, every vestige of which had vanished;
while little Denis was still contentedly sucking away at his small
share, not very hungry, and taking his pleasures sedately, like a
gentleman, as he is. And then Guy began to watch the other with an
envious eye, evidently casting about in his mind how he might gain
possession of that bone. He was even then, though not full grown, so big
and strong that he could have taken it by force with the greatest ease;
but such an idea did not cross his mind; he decided to employ stratagem
to win the prize. I must mention here, that amongst other naughty
practices of my dogs, is that of rushing out of the house and barking
violently upon the slightest sound without. This is Denis's fault,
which Guy, in spite of all my lessons, has contracted from him. With the
evident intention of sending Denis out, Guy suddenly started up, and
began to bark _towards_ the door in an excited manner, but not running
out himself, as he certainly would have done, had he really heard
anything. Down went Denis's bone, and out rushed he, barking at the top
of his voice. Did Guy follow him? Oh, dear no! he had no such
intentions; he sneaked up to Denis's bone immediately, picked it up, and
ran to the other end of the room. But when he had got it, he did not
know what to do with it; there was no hiding-place for him there, and he
dare neither await Denis's return openly, nor risk meeting him at the
door. My sister and I were, by this time, both sitting on a bench
against the wall, watching the scene between the dogs, and Guy, after
running once round the room, with the bone in his mouth, came and crept
in beneath my seat, where he was hidden by my dress, and where he lay,
not eating the bone, and in perfect silence. Presently Master Denis
trotted back, quite unconscious, and shaking the curls out of his eyes,
as much as to say, "My dear fellow! what a fuss you've made; there's
nothing there." He looked about for his bone for a few minutes, but soon
gave up the search, and began to amuse himself with other things. After
a while, I, forgetting the culprit beneath my seat, rose, and crossed
the room, leaving him exposed. Guy was in a great fright; he jumped up,
and running to my sister, who was still seated, he stood up with his
forepaws upon her lap, and the bone still untouched in his mouth, as
though begging her protection. Denis, however, did not observe him, and
after a few minutes, Guy's courage returned, and finally he ventured to
lie down, with the bone between his paws, and began to gnaw it, keeping
one eye fixed on Denis the while. This, however, was going a step too
far. Denis was attracted by the sound, and recognised his own bone the
moment that he looked round. He marched up to Guy (who immediately
stopped eating) and stood before him. Denis growled, and Guy slowly
removed one great paw from his prize. Denis advanced a step, with
another growl; Guy removed the other paw, and slunk back a little,
whereupon Master Denis calmly walked up, took possession of his bone,
and went off with it.
I am bound, however, to remark that after another half-hour's contented
amusement over it, he resigned the remainder, which was too hard for his
small mouth, to Guy, who finished the last morsel with great
satisfaction. Now that he is full grown, Guy still gives up to Denis in
many little ways, but it is evidently through generosity only, for he
has proved himself perfectly capable of taking his own part. But he is
very gentle with his little playmate, except at night, when he lies
across my door-way--entirely of his own accord--and will allow no one
and nothing to enter without my command.
FRANCES E. COLENSO.
A CANINE SIGHT-SEER.
[_May 20, 1876._]
As a subscriber to your journal, I have observed from time to time
discussion on the "reasoning power of dogs." I will tell you what I
observed to-day. In consequence of the Levee there was a great crowd in
Pall Mall. I was invited by a friend to accompany him in his carriage
from St. James's Palace down Pall Mall, when lo and behold, his dog,
which usually runs with the carriage, insisting on getting in also.
Nothing could induce him to get out, and whilst passing along Pall Mall
he amused himself looking out of window at the police, soldiers, and
crowd collected. When through, he was glad enough to get out again, and
readily followed through the most frequented streets. Now, I have no
doubt as to that dog's "reasoning power," respecting his ability to
follow his carriage safely through the dense crowd collected around St.
James's Palace and Marlborough House.
H.
THINKING OUT A PLAN.
[_March 3, 1888._]
Are animals able to think over and carry out a plan? The following
anecdotes will answer the question. When in India, I had a small rough
terrier who, when given a bone, was sent to eat it on the gravel drive
under an open porch in front of the bungalow. On several occasions two
crows had made an attempt to snatch the dainty morsel, but their plans
were easily defeated by Topsy's growls and snapping teeth. Away flew the
crows to the branch of a tree near by. After a few moments of evident
discussion, they proceeded to carry out the plan of attack. One crow
flew down to the ground and gave a peck at the end of the dog's tail.
Topsy at once turned to resent this attack in the rear, whilst the other
crow flew down and bore the bone away in triumph.
The same dog had a favourite resting-place in an easy-chair, and was
very often deprived of it by a dog which came as visitor to the house.
Topsy did not approve of this, and her attempts to regain her seat were
met with growls and bites. This justified an act of eviction, and the
busy little brain decided on a plan. The next day, as usual, the
intruder established himself in the chair, which was close to the open
door. Topsy looked on for a moment, and then flew savagely out of doors,
barking at a supposed enemy. Out ran the other dog to see what was up,
and back came Topsy to take possession of her coveted seat. The other
dog came slowly back, and curled himself up in a far-off corner. The
above I was an eye-witness to, and therefore can vouch for the truth of
what I relate.
K. P.
A PARCEL-CARRYING DOG.
[_Feb. 9, 1895._]
In illustration of the anecdotal letters about dogs and their habits, in
the _Spectator_ of February 2nd, and Mr. Lang's paper in this month's
_Nineteenth Century_, I send you the following story of a dog which I
had in 1851 and for three years afterwards. He was a handsome
Newfoundland dog, and one of the most intelligent animals with which it
was ever my good luck to meet. I was living in a village about three
miles from Dover, where I did all my shopping and marketing, being
generally my own "carrier." Sometimes Nep would carry home a small
parcel for me, and always most carefully. On one occasion Nep was with
me when I chose a spade, and asked the ironmonger to send it by the
village carrier. The spade was put by, labelled and duly addressed. I
went on to have a bathe, my dog going with me, but on finishing my
toilet in the machine, and calling and whistling for Nep, he was nowhere
to be seen. He was not to be found at the stable where I had left my
horse, but on calling at the ironmonger's shop I found he had been there
and had carried off the spade which I had bought, balancing it carefully
in his mouth. When I reached home, there Nep was, lying near his kennel
in the stable-yard looking very fagged, but wearing a countenance of the
fullest self-satisfaction, and evidently wishing me to think he had
fulfilled his "dog-duty." My friend Mr. Wood, who was a thorough lover
and admirer of dogs, was delighted to hear of his intelligent
performance.
"CANOPHILIST."
P.S.--I may add Nep always guarded me when bathing, and always went into
the water with me, too, often uttering a peculiar kind of "howl."
_THE REASONING POWERS OF DOGS._
PURCHASING DOGS.
[_May 26, 1877._]
Some time ago I sent you my recollections of a dog who knew a halfpenny
from a penny, and who could count up as far as two (see page 56). I have
been able to obtain authentic information of a dog whose mental powers
were still more advanced, and who, in his day, besides being celebrated
for his abilities, was of substantial benefit to a charitable
institution in his town. The dog I refer to was a little white
fox-terrier, Prin by name, who lived at the Lion Hotel, at
Kidderminster, for three or four years; but now, alas! he is dead, and
nothing remains of him but his head in a glass case.
I had heard of this dog some months ago, but on Saturday last, having to
make a visit to Kidderminster, I went to see him. The facts I give about
him are based on the statements of Mr. Lloyd, his master, and they are
fully substantiated by the evidence of many others. I have before me a
statement of the proceeds of "Dog Prin's box, Lion Hotel; subscriptions
to the Infirmary." The contributions began in September, 1874, and ended
on April 25th, 1876, and during that period the sum of L13 14s. 6d. was
contributed through Prin's instrumentality.
He began by displaying a fancy for playing with coins, not unusual
amongst terriers, and he advanced to a discovery that he could exchange
the coins for biscuits. He learnt that for a halfpenny he could get two
biscuits, and for a penny, three; and, having become able to distinguish
between the two coins, it was found impossible to cheat him. If he had
contributed a penny, he would not leave the bar till he had had his
third biscuit; and if there was nobody to attend to his wants, he kept
the coin in his mouth till he could be served. Indeed, it was this
persistence which ultimately caused poor Prin's death, for there is
every reason to fear that he fell a victim to copper-poisoning.
By a little training he was taught to place the coins, after he had got
the biscuits, upon the top of a small box fixed on the wall, and they
were dropped for him through a slot. He never objected to part with them
in this way, and having received the _quid pro quo_, he gave complete
evidence of his appreciation of the honourable understanding which is so
absolutely necessary for all commercial transactions.
An authenticated case like this is of extreme value, for just as the
elementary stages of any science or discovery are the most difficult and
the slowest in accomplishment, so are the primary stages of all mental
processes. To find the preliminary steps of the evolution of mathematics
and commerce in a dog is therefore a very important observation, and
everything bearing on these early phases of intellect should be
carefully recorded.
LAWSON TAIT.
[_Feb. 10, 1877._]
The _Spectator_ is always so kind to animals that I venture to send you
the following story of a dog's sagacity, which may be depended upon as
absolutely true:--
During the meeting of the British Association at Glasgow, a friend of
mine had occasion to go one day from that place to Greenock on business.
Hearing, on his arrival, that the person he wished to see was out, but
expected shortly to return home, he determined to take a stroll about
the town, to which he was a stranger. In the course of his walk he
turned into a baker's shop and bought a bun. As he stood at the door of
the shop eating his bun, a large dog came up to him and begged for a
share, which he got, and seemed to enjoy, coming back for piece after
piece. "Does the dog belong to you?" my friend asked of the shop-woman.
"No," she answered, "but he spends most of his time here, and begs
halfpennies from the people who pass." "Halfpennies! What good can they
be to him?" "Oh, he knows very well what to do with them; he comes into
the shop and buys cakes."
This seemed rather a remarkable instance of cleverness even for the
cleverest of animals, so, by way of testing its reality, my friend went
out of the shop into the street, where he was immediately accosted by
the dog, who begged for _something_ with all the eloquence of which a
dog is capable. He offered him a halfpenny, and was rather surprised to
see him accept it readily, and walk, with the air of a regular customer,
into the shop, where he put his forepaws on the counter, and held out
the halfpenny towards the attendant. The young woman produced a bun, but
that did not suit the dog, and he held his money fast. "Ah," she said,
"I know what he wants," and took down from a shelf a plate of
shortbread. This was right; the dog paid his halfpenny, took his
shortbread, and ate it with decorous satisfaction. When he had quite
finished he left the shop, and my friend, much amused, followed him, and
when he again begged found another halfpenny for him, and saw the whole
process gone through a second time.
This dog clearly had learned by some means the use of money, and not
merely that it would buy something to eat, but that it would buy
several things, among which he could exercise a right of choice. What is
perhaps most remarkable is that his proceedings were entirely
independent, and for his own benefit, not that of any teacher or master.
A. L. W.
[_Feb. 17, 1877._]
When a student at Edinburgh, I enjoyed the friendship of a brown
retriever, who belonged to a fishmonger in Lothion Street, and who was
certainly the cleverest dog I have ever met with. He was a cleverer dog
than the one described by "A. L. W." because he knew the relative value
of certain coins. In the morning he was generally to be seen seated on
the step of the fishmonger's shop-door, waiting for some of his many
friends to give him a copper. When he had got one, he trotted away to a
baker's shop a few doors off, and dropped the coin on the counter. If I
remember rightly (it is twelve or fifteen years ago), his weakness was
"soda scones." If he dropped a halfpenny on the counter he was
contented with one scone, but if he had given a penny he expected two,
and would wait for the second, after he had eaten the first, until he
got it. That he knew exactly when he was entitled to one scone only, and
when he ought to get two, is certain, for I tried him often.
LAWSON TAIT.
[_Feb. 17, 1877._]
In the _Spectator_ of the 10th inst. a correspondent describes the
purchase of cakes by a clever dog at Greenock. I should like to be
allowed to help preserve the memory of a most worthy dog-friend of my
youth, well remembered by many now living who knew Greenwich Hospital
some thirty or five-and-thirty years ago.
At that time there lived there a dog-pensioner called Hardy, a large
brown Irish retriever. He was so named by Sir Thomas Hardy, when
Governor (Nelson's Hardy), who at the same time constituted him a
pensioner, at the rate of one penny per diem, for that he had one day
saved a life from drowning just opposite the hospital. Till that time
he was a poor stranger and vagrant dog--friendless. But thenceforward he
lived in the hospital, and _spent his pension himself_ at the butcher's
shop, as he did also many another coin given to him by numerous friends.
Many is the halfpenny which, as a child, I gave Hardy, that I might see
him buy his own meat--which he did with judgment, and a due regard to
value. When a _penny_ was given to him, he would, on arriving at the
shop, place it on the counter and rest his nose or paw upon it until he
received _two halfpennyworths_, nor would any persuasion induce him to
give up the coin for the usual smaller allowance. I was a young child at
the time, but I had a great veneration for Hardy, and remember him well,
but lest my juvenile memory might have been in fault, I have, before
writing this letter, compared my recollections with those of my elders,
who, as grown people, knew Hardy for many years, and confirm all the
above facts. There, indeed, was the right dog in the right place. Peace
to his shade!
J. D. C.
[_Feb. 7, 1885._]
Have you room for one more dog story, which resembles one lately
reported in a French journal? A few years since I was sitting inside the
door of a shop to escape from the rain while waiting for a trap to take
me to the railway station in the old Etruscan city of Ferentino.
Presently an ill-bred dog of the pointer kind came and sat down in front
of me, looking up in my face, and wagging his tail to attract my
attention. "What does that dog want?" I asked of a bystander. "Signore,"
he answered, "he wants you to give him a soldo to go and buy you a cigar
with." I gave the dog the coin, and he presently returned, bringing a
cigar, which he held crossways in his mouth until I took it from him.
Sent again and again, he brought me three or four more cigars from the
tobacco-shop. At length the dog's demeanour changed, and he gave vent to
his impatience by two or three low whines. "What does he want now?" I
asked. "He wants you to give him two soldi to go to the baker's and buy
bread for himself." I gave him a two-soldo piece, and in a few minutes
the dog returned with a small loaf of bread, which he laid at my feet,
at the same time gazing wistfully in my face. "He won't take it until
you give him leave," said another bystander. I gave the requisite
permission, and the dear animal seized the loaf and disappeared with it
in his mouth, and did not again make his appearance before I left the
city. "He always does like this," said the standers-by, "whenever he
sees a stranger in Ferentino."
GREVILLE I. CHESTER.
CAUTIOUS DOGS.
INTELLIGENT SUSPICION IN A DOG.
[_July 7, 1888._]
The following instance of dog instinct (or reasoning?) will, I think,
interest some of your readers. About a fortnight ago, while crossing the
Albula Pass, our driver stopped for a few moments at the little
restaurant on the highest point of it. A rough kind of herdsman's dog,
of no particular breed, I suppose, came out and sat down by the carriage
and looked up at us. We happened to have a few Marie biscuits in the
carriage, so I threw half of one out to him. I suppose he had no
experience in Huntley and Palmer's make, for he looked at and smelled it
carefully, and then declined to eat it, but again looked up at me. I
then took the remaining half, bit off and ate a little bit of it, and
then threw over the rest to him. This time he ate it at once, then
turned and ate the first piece, which he had before refused, and at once
came and asked for more, which I had great pleasure in giving him. I
may add that I have several times tried a similar experiment with more
pampered dogs at home, but have never succeeded with it. Whether this
arises from the latter knowing, in most cases, from experience what they
like and what they do not like, or, as I am rather inclined to think,
from the superior intelligence of this Alpine dog, who really reasoned
that what I could eat he could, I leave your readers to decide for
themselves.
G. W. C.
AN ALPINE DOG.
[_July 21, 1888._]
I do not think that it was superior intelligence in the Alpine dog over
other intelligent dogs which induced him to wait to eat the biscuit till
he had seen the giver eat some of it. We have a very sagacious little
Highland terrier, and he in the same manner often refuses a new kind of
biscuit or cake until he has seen me bite off a small piece and eat it,
and then he will do the same. I have also found our boarhound
distrusting food occasionally, and declining to take it from his bowl
until I have given him some with my hand. Then he seems to feel that it
is all right, and comes down from his bench and eats it. This perhaps is
not exactly the same, but it is still a phase of a dog's distrust of
unaccustomed food, and his reasoning power respecting it. This wonderful
reasoning power any one accustomed to dogs soon discovers.
J. B. G.
DOGS AND LANGUAGE.
DO DOGS UNDERSTAND OUR LANGUAGE?
[_Aug. 4, 1883._]