dogs of mine, one showed a great fondness for music. She (though usually
my shadow) would always leave me to go to a room where a piano was being
played, and the more she liked the music, the closer she crept to the
player, even if a stranger to her. If, however, one began to play scales
or exercises, she would get up, walk to the door, sit down, and, after
waiting a bit, go away out of sight, but not out of hearing, for she
soon appeared again on the resumption of music to her taste. On the
other hand, mere "strumming" very quickly obliged her to go right away
out of hearing. I confess that I have many times plagued the poor dog
by thus sending her backwards and forwards. Her looks were often very
comical. The other dog evidently hated music--would try to push a player
from the piano, go out of hearing, and show other unmistakable signs of
dislike. A band would draw one dog out to listen, while the other rushed
away to hide. In one house the dog first mentioned had, for some reason
or other, a particular objection to the room where the piano was, and
never willingly stayed there. Music would bring her in, but only to sigh
and moan, evidently in great pity for herself at being obliged to listen
under such (to her) trying conditions. From these and other observations
I am convinced that there is the musical dog as well as the unmusical,
just as with human beings.
D.
RECOGNITION OF LIKENESSES BY DOGS.
[_May 5, 1894._]
In the _Spectator_ of April 21st there is an article on Apes, in which
the following occurs:--"Monkeys, we believe, alone among animals can
recognise the meaning of a picture." It may interest some of your
readers to hear that certain other animals can also do this, two
instances having come under my own observation. A cat belonging to a
little girl I know was on the child's bed one morning, and made a spring
at a picture of a thrush, about life-size, which was hanging near. The
other case is that of a dog--a female Irish terrier--who is in the habit
of running with her mistress's pony carriage. When she sees the pony
being harnessed, she often shows her delight by jumping up at its head
and barking. In a certain shop to which she sometimes goes with her
mistress there is a picture of a horse hanging. The dog invariably
behaves in exactly the same manner to this, jumping up and barking at
it, thus showing unmistakably that she recognises its meaning.
JULIA ANDREWS.
_May 19, 1894._
The following instance bears on the subject discussed in the _Spectator_
of May 5th. We had for a newcomer to our circle a little terrier dog. I
was informed it had been seen in the library facing a large-sized
portrait of myself, and barking furiously. I was somewhat sceptical
until a day or two later I saw it repeat the performance. I have
wondered whether it was because the dog thought it a good or bad
representation of the original, and so was complimenting or otherwise
the artist.
FRANK WRIGHT.
[_May 19, 1894._]
Apropos of the recognition of pictures by dogs (_Spectator_, May 5th), I
think you may be interested in the two following facts which came under
my notice a few years ago. A sagacious but quite uneducated old terrier
came with his master to call for me, and coiled himself on the hearthrug
while we talked. Turning himself round in the intervals of slumber, his
eye caught an oil-painting just over his head (a life-size half-length
of a gentleman). He immediately sat up, showed his teeth, and
growled--not once, but continually--as both angry and mortified that
neither eyes nor nose had given him notice of the arrival of a stranger!
The next instance was similar, except that the chief actor was a young,
intelligent collie, who, on the sudden discovery of a man looking at him
from the wall, barked long and furiously. In both instances, after their
excitement had subsided, I led the dogs to look at another picture
similar in size, and also of a gentleman, but neither of them would take
the smallest notice of it. I need only add that the picture which the
dogs appreciated was painted by Sir Henry Raeburn--the other was not.
Might not a few sagacious canine members be a useful addition to the
Royal Academy Hanging Committee?
B. THOMSON.
[_May 26, 1894._]
Many years ago I had a similar experience to Mr. Frank Wright. A
likeness of myself, head and shoulders, drawn in chalk from a
photograph, and enlarged to nearly life size, hung on the dining-room
wall of a house I then occupied. One evening my wife silently called my
attention to a young English terrier, who had not been very long with
us, looking up at it very steadfastly. He regarded it for about a minute
in silence, and at last broke out into a loud bark, which I supposed to
mean that in his opinion the wall was not my proper place, and that only
an evil genius could have set anything like me in such a position.
G.
[_June 2, 1894._]
You were so good as to insert my little account of the politeness of a
parrot in the _Spectator_, will you now allow me also to bear witness to
the recognition of a likeness by a dog? Some time ago I was painting two
portraits in the country, and one day by chance I placed the picture of
my hostess on the ground. Immediately her old spaniel came and gazed
intently at the face for several seconds. Then he smelt at the canvas,
and, unsatisfied, walked round and investigated the back. Finally,
having discovered the deception, he turned away in manifest disgust, and
nothing that we could do or say, on that day or on any other, would
induce that dog to look at that picture again. We then tried him by
putting my portrait of his master also on the ground, but he simply gave
it a kind of casual contemptuous side-glance and took no further notice
of it. We attributed this not to any difference in the merits or
demerits of the two portraits, but simply to the fact that the dog felt
he had been deceived once, but was not to be so taken in again.
LOUISA STARR CANZIANI.
RECOGNITION BY ANIMALS OF PICTURES.
[_Sept. 7, 1889._]
Thirty years ago I was staying at Langley, near Chippenham, with a lady
who was working a large screen, on which she depicted in "raised" work
(as it was then called) a life-sized cat on a cushion. The host, a
sportsman now dead, was much struck with the similarity to life of the
cat, so he fetched his dog (alas! like too many of the species), a
cat-hater. The animal made a dead set at the (wool) cat, and but for the
master's vigorous clutching him by the collar, the cushion would have
been torn into atoms. I related this tale lately in Oxford, and my
hearer told me that a friend in the Bevington Road had just painted a
bird on a fire-screen, and her cat flew at it.
My own old dog, Scaramouch (a pet of the Duke of Albany's in his
undergraduate days), disliked being washed, and when I showed him a
large _Graphic_ picture of a child scrubbing a fox-terrier in a tub, he
turned his head away ruefully, and would not look at his brother in
adversity.
J. M. HULBERT.
_DOG FRIENDSHIPS._
DOG FRIENDS.
[_Feb. 16, 1889._]
The following story of friendship between two dogs may, I think,
interest some of your readers. Some time ago I used often to stay with a
friend in Wiltshire, whose park is separated from the house by a lake
which is about a hundred and fifty yards broad at the narrowest part.
Being extremely fond of animals, I soon became intimate with two
delightful dogs belonging to my hostess, a large collie, called Jasper,
and a rough Skye terrier, Sandie. The pair were devoted friends, if
possible always went out together, and, sad to relate, even poached
together. One afternoon I called them, as usual, to go for a walk, and
making my way to the lake, I determined to row across and wander about
in the deer-park. Without thinking of my two companions, I got into the
boat and pushed off. Jasper at once jumped into the water and gaily
followed the boat; half way across he and I were both startled by
despairing howls, and stopping to look back, we saw poor little Sandie
running up and down the bank, and bitterly bewailing the cruelty of his
two so-called friends in leaving him behind. Hardening my heart, I sat
still in silence, and simply watched. Jasper was clearly distressed; he
swam round the boat, and looking up into my face, said unmistakably with
his wise brown eyes, "Why don't you go to the rescue?" Seeing, however,
that I showed no signs of intelligence, he made up his mind to settle
the difficulty himself, so turned and swam back to forlorn little
Sandie; there was a moment's pause, I suppose for explanations, and
then, to my surprise and amusement, Jasper stood still, half out and
half in the water, and Sandie scrambled on to his back, his front paws
resting on Jasper's neck, who swam across the lake and landed him safely
in the deer-park! I need not describe the evident pride of the one, or
the gratitude of the other.
ROY.
FRIENDSHIPS OF DOGS WITH OTHER ANIMALS.
A LESSON.
[_Feb. 23, 1889._]
Your correspondent "Roy's" very interesting account of "A Canine
Friendship" tempts me to send you the following about two Dandy Dinmonts
in this neighbourhood.
Friends of mine in Dumfriesshire had in their house two Dandie Dinmont
dogs who were inseparable friends and constant companions in all that
was going on. One day one of these dogs disappeared unaccountably, and
nothing was seen of it for a week. His owners were very vexed, thinking
he must have got within the range of some keeper's gun or met with some
other accident.
But the absentee's home-keeping companion was greatly distressed; he
moped about, and would not touch any food for several days; till,
unexpectedly on my friend's part, the truant suddenly reappeared and
showed himself in the house. The dog who had remained at home, when he
saw the arrival of his former friend, looked steadily at him for a few
seconds, and then, without further parley, went at him and gave the
truant a thoroughly sound thrashing. I always explain this to myself by
supposing that the home-keeping dog decided that the truant had caused
him for several days needless anxiety and abstinence from food, and that
the truant must learn by painful experience that such behaviour could
not be lightly condoned by his inseparable companion.
J. G.
CONSCIOUS AUTOMATA.
[_July 31, 1875._]
I have lately heard a story that I hope you may think worthy of a place
among your illustrations of the thoughtful intelligence of "Conscious
Automata." Many years ago, a family having a house in Grosvenor Square,
and a place in the country (I think in Warwickshire), owned a terrier,
who, in the country, made great friends with a large Newfoundland. When
they came to town they brought the terrier, and he resided in a mews
where he was much annoyed by a cur who lived next door, and attacked him
whenever he came out. One day the terrier disappeared, but after a
little time returned, bringing with him his big friend, who gave the
vulgar bully a satisfactory thrashing--not attempting to kill him. This
has been told me by an old servant, who was then a young man, living in
service in London, close to the owners of the dogs. He answers for the
facts of the story as he heard them at the time.
F. C.
DOG AND PIGEON.
[_Sept. 22, 1888._]
The _Spectator_ does not disdain anecdotes of dogs and their doings, and
I think the following history, to which I can bear personal testimony,
may be found not uninteresting to your readers. At this delightful house
in Perthshire, where I am on a visit, there is a well-bred pointer,
named Fop, who, when not engaged in his professional pursuits on the
moor, lives chiefly in a kennel placed in a loose-box adjoining the
other stables attached to the house. Nearly a year ago there were a pair
of pigeons who lived in and about the stable yard. One of the birds
died, and its bereaved mate at once attached itself for society and
protection to the dog, and has been its constant companion ever since.
On the days when the sportsmen are not seeking grouse the dog is in his
kennel, and the pigeon is always his close attendant. She roosts on a
rack over the manger of the stable, and in the day-time is either
strutting about preening her feathers, taking her meals from the dog's
biscuit and water tin, or quite as often sitting in the kennel by his
side, nestling close to him. Fop, who is an amiable and rather
sentimental being, takes no apparent notice of his companion, except
that we observe him, in jumping into or out of his kennel while the
pigeon is there, to take obvious care not to crush or disturb her in any
way. The only other symptom Fop has shown of being jealous for the
pigeon's comfort and convenience is that when of late two chickens from
the stable-yard wandered into the apartment where the dog and pigeon
reside, he very promptly bit their heads off, as if in mute intimation
that one bird is company, and two (or rather three) are none.
The story is rather one of a pigeon than a dog, for it is quite evident
that she is the devoted friend, and that he acquiesces in the
friendship. On the days when Fop is taken, to his infinite delight, on
to the moor, the pigeon is much concerned. She follows him as far as she
dare, taking a series of short flights over his head, until a little
wood is reached, through which the keeper and dogs have to take their
way. At this point her courage fails her, and she returns to the stable,
to wait hopefully for her comrade's return.
This singular alliance is a great joy and interest to the keepers,
coachmen, and grooms of the establishment, and as the keeper gave me a
strong hint that the story ought to be told in print, adding that he had
seen much less noteworthy incidents of animal life promoted to such
honour, I have ventured to send it to you. I may add that the pigeon is
of the kind called "Jacobin," and is white, with a black wing. Is there
any precedent for such close intimacies between animals so widely
separated in kind and habit?
ALFRED AINGER.
A HEN AND PUPPIES.
[_Sept. 29, 1888._]
In reply to Mr. Ainger's question as to there being "any precedent for
such close intimacies between animals so widely separated in kind and
habit" as the dog and pigeon mentioned in his interesting letter, I can
mention two cases which have come under my notice this last summer at my
farm in Berkshire. In one case the friendship existed between a pullet
and a pig. The pullet never left the farmyard to join in the rambles of
the other fowls, but kept near the pig all day, occasionally roosting on
its friend's back when taking its afternoon nap.
The other case was more remarkable. A hen, with strong motherly
instincts, but no family of her own, acted for several weeks as
foster-mother to eight spaniel puppies. The real mother, a very gentle
creature, soon acquiesced in the arrangement. The hen covered the
puppies with her wings just as though they had been chickens, and
remained with them day and night. When they began to walk she was still
their constant attendant; when they learned to lap and eat a little she
would "call" them and break up their food. As they grew older the poor
foster-mother had her patience sorely tried. They barked and capered
around her, leading her altogether a sad life. After the puppies
deserted her she was often seen sitting close to their mother, the pair
apparently quite understanding each other. My children were naturally
delighted to watch these strange sights, and the hen, though not at
other times very tame, maintained perfect equanimity while they played
with the puppies around her.
F. C. MAXWELL.
A DOG AND A RABBIT.
[_Sept. 29, 1888._]
Mr. Ainger, in giving his interesting incident of strange friendships
between animals, asks if there are any precedents for such incongruous
intimacy as he saw between a dog and a pigeon. To most close observers
of animals, such curious cases, though always noteworthy, are well
known; naturalists like Buckland and many others have frequently
recorded them.
With the view of adding to the lore on this matter, permit me to cite
the following. Two Scotch terriers are lying before the fire. Prince is
an amiable sort of dog; Jack is rather surly; both good vermin-killers
and fond of hunting. I bring in a common buck rabbit, and place it
beside the dogs, with the intimation they were not to touch it. Trust,
and then alliance, quickly grew between it and Prince, whilst Jack shows
unmistakable hatred. In a few days the two friends, with their paws
absurdly clasping each other's necks, sleep happily on the rug; they
play together, they chase each other up and down the stairs and all over
the house at full speed, and when tired come back to the rug. Jack
refusing all this sort of thing, makes the rabbit look at him with a
sort of awe. Does Bunny make no mess in the house? None whatever; he
goes into the garden as the dogs do, and like them, scratches at the
door when he wants to return. All this he does without any instruction
from us. After a while, being very fond of him, we put on the floor a
pretty pink-eyed doe as a present. He stares, sniffs her all over, kills
her on the spot, and goes for a romp with his dear Prince. Jack always
sleeps under my bed from choice, and just before I put out the light as
I lie, stands up against the bed for his last pat and "good-night."
Bunny has observed all this, and quietly creeps into the room, which he
refuses to leave; then likewise always asks for his "good-night," and
sleeps somewhere near his great "ideal."
Another instance, published in "Loch Creran" by my friend Mr. Anderson
Smith. I punished my cat for killing a chicken. The next day he is seen
to carry a live chicken in his mouth and lay it down to the hen he had
previously robbed. He and the chicken afterwards were frequently
observed leaving the orchard together, and travelling through the
courtyard and back passages, find their way to the kitchen fireplace,
where they would sleep in good fellowship. This chicken, I discovered,
had been stolen nearly two miles away. It is important to remark that
the cat, though a cruel bird-killer, never touched another chicken. Was
the idea of compensation in the cat's mind? If not that, all the
circumstances are singularly coincident. And why did the chicken prefer
the cat's companionship to that of its fellows?
E. W. PHIBBS.
ANOTHER PIGEON STORY.
[_Oct. 6, 1888._]
Mr. Ainger's letter in the _Spectator_ of September 22nd reminds me of
an almost identical friendship that existed some years ago at Grove
House, Knutsford. A long-haired mastiff was kept chained as a watch-dog,
and when a white fantail pigeon's mate died, it attached itself to the
mastiff, and was continually with it in the kennel. When the dog had its
breakfast of porridge and milk, the pigeon would eat out of the bowl at
the same time; and when the dog had finished, it would lie flat on its
side while the pigeon perched on its head and pecked off the grains of
oatmeal that stuck to the long hair round its mouth. The only danger to
the pigeon seemed to be that when the dog rushed out of the kennel
suddenly to bark, it seemed to forget the pigeon, and we used to fear
that the heavy chain might hurt it; but it never was hurt. This
friendship lasted many years, till one of the two, I forget which, died.
ISABEL JAMISON.
DOG AND KITTENS.
[_July 1, 1893._]
The following story may, perhaps, interest some of your readers:--Willie
is a small, rough-haired terrier, a truculent and aggressive character,
the terror of tramps, in a skirmish with one of whom he has lost an
eye. He rules the kitchen with a rod of iron, the inmate there admiring
and fearing him. Next to tramps, Willie hates cats; he has been flogged
again and again for chasing the neighbour's "Tom"; nothing can stop him
rushing at the alien cat, however. But for his own domestic "Tabby" he
has tolerance and a certain amount of affection; if another dog were to
attack her, dire would be the warfare. A while ago, this cat had three
kittens; two were taken by the maid and placed in a bucket of water, and
left to their fate. Before that fate had come Willie perceived them; he
snatched them from the bucket one by one, and carried them to his
kennel. The maid attempted to get them away, but Willie flew at her with
fury, and then returned to lick first one and then the other, to shove
them up together, and lie down near them, and in every way to give the
poor half-dead things a chance. This went on for some time; but when at
last there was no sign of breath, and he saw that they were hopelessly
dead, he marched out of the kennel, shook himself, and indicated to the
maid that she might now proceed to bury them, that they were past
intelligent treatment. He treats the remaining and living kitten with
the indifference of the scientific for the normal.
L. H.
A CANINE NURSE.
[_May 18, 1895._]
Being a frequent reader of anecdotes of the sagacity of animals in your
paper, I think you may consider the following trait of character in a
dog worthy of notice. Jack, a rough-haired fox-terrier of quiet
disposition, but a good ratter, and an inveterate enemy to strange or
neighbouring cats, of whom, to my sorrow, he has slain at least one,
became without effort the attached friend of a minute kitten introduced
into the house last November. This friendship has been continued without
intermission, and is reciprocated by the now full-grown cat. She,
unfortunately, got caught in a rabbit-trap not long ago, but escaped
with no further injury than a lacerated paw, which for some time caused
her much pain and annoyance. Every morning Jack was to be seen tenderly
licking the paw of the interesting invalid, to which kind nursing no
doubt her rapid recovery may be attributed; and though she is now more
than convalescent and able to enjoy her usual game of play, he still
greets her each morning with a gentle inquiring lick on the injured paw,
just to see if it is all right, before proceeding to roll her over in
their accustomed gambols. This seems to me a marked instance of
individual affection overcoming race-antipathy.
BLANCHE ROCHFORT.
A CURIOUS FRIENDSHIP.
[_Feb. 6, 1875._]
I have two dogs, two cats, and a kitten. Many years of experience have
shown me, in the teeth of all proverbs, that cats and dogs, members of
the same household, live together quite as amicably as human beings.
Only, like human beings, they have their dislikes and preferences for
each other. At the present time, my dog Snow is on terms of hearty
friendship with my grey cat Kitty, but of polite indifference with my
black cat Toppy.
Toppy, for some years back, has been subject to fits, owing, it is
considered, to the lodgment of some small shot near her spine, whilst
out trespassing (or poaching).
Yesterday Snow rushed into the kitchen with face so anxious and piteous
that my servants both exclaimed that something must have happened; gave
signs, as he can do, that somebody was to go with him, and was followed
into the drawing-room, where Toppy, left alone, had fallen under the
grate in a fit, and was writhing amid the ashes and embers. She was
rescued, and beyond a little singeing, does not seem much the worse.
To reach the kitchen, Snow must have pushed open a red-baize door, which
he has never been known to open before, and before which he will stay
barking for ten minutes at a time to be let through.
If any biped, supposing himself to be endowed with reason, humanity, and
articulate speech, tells me that Snow is a conscious automaton, can I
give him any other answer than, "You're another"?
J. M. L.
AN ACT OF CANINE FRIENDSHIP.
[_Nov. 6, 1880._]
I have read from time to time in the pages of the _Spectator_ instances
of canine sagacity furnished by your correspondents, which have, no
doubt, interested many others besides myself. The following incident
occurred last Saturday, in my walk from the beach, which, perhaps, may
amuse your readers, as it did me.
My curiosity was excited by seeing a young retriever on his hind legs
licking very ardently the face of a nice-looking donkey, who was
tethered on the bank. After licking his face all over for a long time,
he began to frisk around him, evidently anxious to have a trot together;
but, finding that his friend was tied by a rope, he deliberately began
to gnaw it, and in a very short time succeeded in setting him free! The
owner of the donkey, who happened to be at work close by, then
interfered, and put a stop to their little game, or otherwise Master
Neddy would, no doubt, have been seduced to join in a scamper. From the
warmth of the dog's salutes, I imagine that he and the donkey were old
friends.
S. RICHARDS.
DOG AND CANARY.
[_Nov. 20, 1880._]