between the young retriever and the donkey whom he released by gnawing
the rope. The little incident I send of another retriever may also
interest your readers. A friend of mine had a pet canary, while her
brother was the owner of a retriever that was also much petted. One day
the canary escaped from the house, and was seen flying about the grounds
for a few days, and when it perched was generally on high elm-trees. At
last it vanished from view, and this dear little pet was mourned for as
lost or dead. But after the interval of another day or so, the
retriever came in with the canary in his mouth, carrying it most
delicately, and went up to the owner of the bird, delivering it into her
hands without even the feathers being injured. Surely nothing could
illustrate more beautifully faithful love and gentleness in a dog than
this.
E. TILL.
CAT-AND-DOG LOVE.
[_April 13, 1878._]
Would you allow me, as a cat fancier of nearly thirty years' standing,
to corroborate, by a personal experience, Mr. Balfour's testimony in
your last issue to the possibility of a genuine attachment between a cat
and a dog? A few weeks ago, I called upon a bachelor friend who has two
pets, a handsome black female cat, of the name of Kate, and a bright
little terrier, responding to the call of David. My friend assured me
that they lived on the most affectionate terms. They were certainly not
demonstrative, but they were importations from Scotland, and refrained
from "spooning" before folk. The character of the attachment was soon
tested. Another acquaintance entered the room, accompanied by a terrier
of about the same size as David, although not of the same variety. This
dog made at once for the cat, then resting in front of the fire. She
backed against the wall, and prepared for a fight, in which, if I may
judge from her size, she would have been victorious. But she was saved
the trouble of using her claws. Before she could utter a feline
equivalent for "Jack Robinson," before the door could be closed, David
rushed at the intruder, and literally ran him out of the room and down
two flights of stairs, with a rapidity worthy of a member of the Irish
Constabulary. By the time he returned, his Dulcinea had arranged herself
for another nap, but she opened one eye as her companion took his place
by his side, and--
"Betwixt her darkness and his brightness,
There passed a mutual glance of great politeness."
I witnessed a similar scene some years ago in a country inn in the north
of Scotland. On that occasion, one dog defended against another a
favourite cat and a favourite hen.
Speaking of cats, can any one say what has become of the late Pope's
black cat, Morello? Did he die before his master, or has some one
adopted him? Chateaubriand, as everybody knows, adopted Micetto, the
grey favourite of Leo XII.
WILLIAM WALLACE.
_CURIOUS HABITS OF DOGS._
THE DOG THAT BURIED THE FROGS.
[_Feb. 2, 1895._]
Knowing your love of animals, and the interest so often shown in your
columns in their ways, I venture to send you the following story I have
lately heard from an eye-witness, and to ask whether you or any of your
readers can throw any light upon the dog's probable object. The dog in
question was a Scotch terrier. He was one day observed to appear from a
corner of the garden carrying in his mouth, very gently and tenderly, a
live frog. He proceeded to lay the frog down upon a flower-bed, and at
once began to dig a hole in the earth, keeping one eye upon the frog to
see that it did not escape. If it went more than a few feet from him, he
fetched it back, and then continued his work. Having dug the hole a
certain depth, he then laid the frog, still alive, at the bottom of it,
and promptly scratched the loose earth back into the hole, and friend
froggy was buried alive! The dog then went off to the corner of the
garden, and returned with another frog, which he treated in the same
way. This occurred on more than one occasion; in fact, as often as he
could find frogs he occupied himself in burying them alive. Now dogs
generally have some reason for what they do. What can have been a dog's
reason for burying frogs alive? It does not appear that he ever dug them
up again to provide himself with a meal. If, sir, you or any of your
readers can throw any light on this curious, and for the frogs most
uncomfortable, behaviour of my friend's Scotch terrier, I should be very
much obliged.
R. ACLAND-TROYTE.
AN EXPLANATION.
[_Feb. 9, 1895._]
I think I can explain the puzzle of the Scotch terrier and his interment
of the frogs, for the satisfaction of your correspondent. A friend of
mine had once a retriever who was stung by a bee, and ever afterwards,
when the dog found a bee near the ground, she stamped on it, and then
scraped earth over it and buried it effectually--presumably to put an
end to the danger of further stings. In like manner, another dog having
bitten a toad, showed every sign of having found the mouthful to the
last degree unpleasant. Probably Mr. Acland-Troyte's dog had, in the
same way, bitten a toad, and conceived henceforth that he rendered
public service by putting every toad-like creature he saw carefully and
gingerly "out of harm's way," underground.
A great number of the buryings and other odd tricks of dogs must,
however, I am sure, be considered as Atavism, and traced to the
instincts bequeathed by their remote progenitors when yet "wild in the
woods the noble _beastie_ ran." Such, I believe, is generally admitted
to be the explanation of the universal habit of every dog before lying
down to turn round two or three times and scratch its intending
bed--even when that bed is of the softest woollen or silk--apparently to
ascertain that no snakes or thorns lurk in its sleeping-place.
A dog which I once possessed exhibited such reversion to ancestral
habits in a noteworthy way. She was a beautiful white Pomeranian; and
when a litter of puppies was impending, on one occasion she scratched an
enormous hole in our back-garden in South Kensington, where her leisure
hours were passed--a hole like the burrow of a fox. It was not in the
least of the character of the ordinary circular punch-bowl so often
scooped out by idle or impatient dogs, but a long, deep channel running
at a sharp angle a considerable way underground. Obviously, it was
Yama's conviction that it was her maternal duty to provide shelter for
her expected offspring, precisely as a fox or rabbit must feel it, and
as we may suppose her own ancestresses did on the shores of the Baltic
some thousand generations ago. When the puppies were born, Yama and the
survivor were established by me in a most comfortable kennel in the same
garden, with a day nursery and a night nursery (covered and open) for
the comfort and safety of the puppy. But one fine morning, when the
little creature had begun to crawl over the inclosure of its small
domain, I happened to go into the garden while Yama was absent in the
house, and discovered that my little friend was missing. The puppy had
disappeared altogether; and at the same time I noticed that the
flower-bed in which Yama had made her excavation had been nicely
smoothed over by the gardener, who was putting the place in order. A
suspicion instantly seized me, and I exclaimed, "You have buried my
puppy!" I ran to the spot where the hole had been made, and, having
swept aside the gardener's spadeful of soil, found the deeper part of
the hole, running slanting underground, still open. I knelt down and
thrust in my arm to its fullest stretch, and then, at the very end of
the hole, my fingers encountered a little soft, warm, fluffy ball. The
puppy came out quite happy and uninjured, freshly awakened from sleep,
having shown that his instinct recognised the suitability of holes in
the ground for the accommodation of puppies; just as the hereditary
instinct of his mother had led her to prepare one for him, even in a
South Kensington garden!
FRANCES POWER COBBE.
A DOG AND HIS DINNER.
[_Feb. 16, 1895._]
I knew a dog in Ireland--a large retriever--who had been taught always
to bring his own tin dish in his mouth, to be filled at the late dinner.
For some reason his master wished to make a change, and to feed him
twice a day instead of once, to which he had always been accustomed. The
dog resented this, and when told to bring his dish, refused, and it
could nowhere be found; on which his master spoke angrily to him, and
ordered him to bring the dish at once. With drooping tail and sheepish
expression he went down the length of the garden, and began scratching
up the soil where he had buried the bowl deep down, to avoid having to
bring it at an hour of which he did not approve.
A LOVER OF DOGS.
DOGS AND LOOKING-GLASSES.
[_June 23, 1894._]
You are fond of odd actions of dogs, so perhaps the following may be
acceptable. I have two fox-terriers--young dogs--Grip and Vic. In the
morning, at early tea in our bedroom, Vic gets angry with Grip's
reflection in the long glass of the wardrobe, barks at him furiously as
he moves about, and scratches at the glass, quite regardless of her own
face between her and his reflection. And when he assaults her from
behind, to make her play with his real self, she turns round and snaps
at him viciously, and then returns to her attack on his reflection. He
jumps upon the window-sill, and fancies he sees a squirrel in the
garden, and dashes past her to the door; she follows the motion of the
reflection till she is past the edge of the glass, and loses it, when
she dashes back to the glass again. This has occurred several days in
the last week, and seems to me almost absurd. The dogs are just about a
year old, and so beyond puppy folly, though very lively and playful
still.
A. M. B.
_THE SENSE OF HUMOUR AND CUNNING IN DOGS._
DOGS' SENSE OF HUMOUR.
THE POWER OF IMITATION IN DOGS.
[_Oct. 22, 1882._]
The following anecdote may interest those of your readers who are
accustomed to observe the characteristic actions of dogs. I can vouch
for its accuracy, as I was an amused eye-witness, and several members of
my family were also present, and have often told the story.
A friend of ours and his wife were spending a musical evening with us,
and an old, black, English terrier, who belonged to the house, had been
in the drawing-room, which was upstairs. The dog had been kindly noticed
by our friend, who was partially lame from paralysis. On leaving the
drawing-room the dog followed him to the top of the staircase (we, with
his wife, were waiting below in the hall), and with cocked tail and
ears stood gravely watching his slow, limping descent. When the invalid
was nearly at the foot of the stairs the dog began to follow, limping on
three legs (he was quite sound), in humorous imitation of our poor,
afflicted friend, and this assumed lameness was gravely kept up till he
arrived on the mat. It was impossible to repress a smile, though our
politeness was at stake, and the unconsciousness of our friend added to
the difficulty.
A. R.
SENSE OF HUMOUR IN DOGS.
[_July 28, 1888._]
A recent anecdote from one of your correspondents about a dog and a hen
brought to my mind an incident, related to me by an eye-witness, of a
dog who had a constant feud with the fowls, which were prone to pilfer
from the basin containing his dinner. On one occasion he was lying in
front of his kennel, quietly watching a hen as she made stealthy and
tentative approaches to his basin, which at length she reached and
looked into, finding it perfectly empty. The dog wagged his tail.
J. R.
A DOG'S SENSE OF HUMOUR.
[_March 9, 1895._]
Does the following dog-story show a sense of humour? A retriever was in
the habit of leaving his bed in the kitchen when he heard his master
descending the stairs in the morning. On one occasion a new kitchen-maid
turned him out of his bed at a much earlier hour than usual. He looked
angrily at her, but walked out quietly. Time passed, and he was nowhere
to be found. At last, in going to her bedroom, the kitchen-maid found
him coiled up in her own bed.
B. B.
CUNNING DOGS.
A DOG AND A WHIP.
[_May 18, 1889._]
You have lately published several dog stories. Allow me to send you
another for publication should you think it worthy. It was told me
to-day by a lady whom I cross-examined to get full details:--"Some
twenty years back we had a poodle--white, with one black ear. After the
manner of his race, he was never quite happy unless he carried something
in his mouth. He was intelligent and teachable to the last degree. The
great defect in his character was the impossibility of distinguishing
_meum_ from _tuum_. Anything he could get hold of he seemed to think,
according to his dogged ethics, to be fairly his own. On one occasion he
entered the room of one of the maidservants and stole her loaf of bread,
carefully shutting the door after him with his feet--the latter part
being a feat I had taught him. The woman--Irish--was scared, and thought
that the dog was the devil incarnate. The necessity of discipline on
the one hand, and of occupation on the other, induced me one day to
enter a saddler's shop, situated in a straight street about half a mile
from our house, and buy a whip. Shortly after my return home he
committed some act of petty larceny, so I gave him a beating with the
whip he had carried home. Going for a walk next day the dog, as usual,
accompanied me, and was entrusted with the whip to carry. Directly we
got outside the door he started off at his best pace straight down the
street, paying no attention whatever, to my repeated calls. He entered
the saddler's shop and deposited the whip on the floor. When I arrived
the saddler showed me the whip lying exactly where the dog had deposited
it."
HENRY H. MAXWELL.
A RUSE DOG.
[_March 21, 1885._]
A story which came to my knowledge a few months ago may be of interest
in connection with the _Spectator's_ series of anecdotes illustrating
the intelligence of animals.
One summer afternoon a group of children were playing at the end of a
pier which projects into Lake Ontario, near Kingston, New York, U.S.A.
The proverbial careless child of the party made the proverbial backward
step off from the pier into the water. None of his companions could save
him, and their cries had brought no one from the shore, when, just as he
was sinking for the third time, a superb Newfoundland dog rushed down
the pier into the water and pulled the boy out. Those of the children
who did not accompany the boy home took the dog to a confectioner's on
the shore, and fed him with as great a variety of cakes and other sweets
as he would eat. So far the story is, of course, only typical of scores
of well-known cases. The individuality of this case is left for the
sequel.
The next afternoon the same group of children were playing at the same
place, when the canine hero of the day before came trotting down to them
with the most friendly wags and nods. There being no occasion this time
for supplying him with delicacies, the children only stroked and patted
him. The dog, however, had not come out of pure sociability. A child in
the water and cakes and candy stood to him in the close and obvious
relation of cause and effect, and if this relation was not clear to the
children he resolved to impress it upon them. Watching his chance, he
crept up behind the child who was standing nearest to the edge of the
pier, gave a sudden push, which sent him into the water, then sprang in
after him, and gravely brought him to shore.
To those of us who have had a high respect for the disinterestedness of
dogs, this story may give a melancholy proof that the development of the
intelligence, at the expense of the moral nature, is by no means
exclusively human.
CLARA FRENCH.
DOG DECEIVERS.
[_Feb. 9, 1895._]
Your fondness for dogs induces me to send you the following anecdote,
which shows their power of acting a part for purposes of their own. Some
years ago a fox-terrier of mine was condemned by a veterinary surgeon to
consume a certain amount of flour of sulphur every day. He was at all
times a fanciful and dainty feeder, and every conceivable ingenuity on
my part was exhausted in the vain endeavour to disguise the daily
portion and to give it a more tempting appearance. Each new device was
invariably detected. However hungry he might be he turned from the
proffered morsel in disgust, and it ended almost invariably in my having
to put it down his throat. One morning, after keeping him for many hours
without food, and having neatly wrapped the powder in a most appetising
piece of raw meat, I offered it him in the vain hope that hunger might
prevail over prejudice. But no. With averted head and downcast look he
steadily and determinedly declined to partake of it. I encouraged him in
vain. Deep dejection on his part; despair, but persistence, on mine. All
of a sudden his whole manner changed. He assumed a brisk and cheerful
demeanour, joyfully accepted the hitherto rejected offering, and running
merrily through the open door, disappeared swiftly a few yards off round
the corner of the building. Inside the room I ran as quickly to a
window, whence I could view his proceedings, and there watched him while
he deposited the hated morsel on the ground, dug a hole in the
flower-bed, and buried it. His jaunty, triumphant air as he returned I
shall never forget.
F. E. WYNNE.
_USEFUL DOGS._
GUARDIAN DOGS.
[_July 15, 1892._]
Having read for years your interesting letters and articles on animals
in the _Spectator_, I feel sure you will like to have a thoroughly
authentic account of a dog in this neighbourhood. I am allowed to give
the name of the owner, who is living at Lyme Regis, where I was staying
last week. The two incidents happened within a few weeks of each other.
Mrs. and Miss Coode were alone in their house (except the servants); and
one night Miss Coode was awakened by hearing two knocks at her door and
a slight whine. It was between three and four o'clock in the morning.
She rose and opened the door to find the dog there, and at the same time
noticed and heard a stream of water running down the stairs. She went up
the staircase to its source, and aroused the servants to attend to it.
As soon as the dog saw that the matter was being remedied, he quietly
went back to the mat in the hall and went to sleep again. The dog is a
large one, a cross between a retriever and a greyhound--a very beautiful
creature, resembling a poacher's lurcher.
The second incident occurred only last week, when Miss Coode was again
aroused. This time by a loud crash, as if a picture had fallen. Almost
immediately the dog bounded upstairs, threw himself against the door,
which happened to be ajar, burst into the room, panting and eyes
glistening,--this, at least, Miss Coode saw as soon as she struck a
light, for it was between twelve and one o'clock. She went out on to the
staircase and downstairs to look at the pictures in the drawing-room.
The dog would not follow. The cook, coming down from her room, called
him a coward not to go with his mistress, but Sheppard did not move.
Miss Coode found all safe below, and returned upstairs, and the dog went
with her to the top floor, where the ceiling of a small room had fallen
in. He then retired to his mat, having done his duty. He also showed his
sagacity in going to the daughter's room--the one most capable of seeing
to matters. Hoping, as a dog-lover, that this may interest all such, and
help to prove that dogs think and reason more than some human
beings--also to show that we often inferior beings have no right to
presuppose that the superior animals have no souls.
K. CLARKE.
A TRUE WATCH-DOG.
[_Aug. 5, 1893._]
The "dog" letter in the _Spectator_ of July 15th is wonderfully like my
experience, some years ago, with my little red Blenheim, Frisk. She
always slept in a basket, close to the hall door. One night she dashed
up the stairs, loudly barking, ran first to my eldest sister's room,
then through a swing-door to another sister's room, barking outside each
door, then upstairs again to my room at the top of the house, where she
remained barking till I got up and opened it, when she ran in, still
barking, and waited till I was ready to go down with her. She scampered
on before me, I following close, and when we both reached the hall she
dashed still barking to the door, to show me whence her alarm had
arisen. It was the policeman turning the handle of the door from the
outside to see if it was properly closed! One night, a long time after
the first adventure, I was wakened by a quiet scratch at the door of my
room. No barking this time; but, tiresome as it was to be disturbed on a
cold night, I got up and opened the door, and was conscious in the
darkness that Frisk was standing there. "Come in, Frisk," said I. But no
movement; Frisk stood waiting. "Come in, Frisk," I repeated, somewhat
sharply. No movement, no bark! Then, being sure that something must be
wrong, I lighted a candle, and there stood Frisk outside the door, never
offering to come in. She trotted quietly down before me, not speaking a
word. When we were both through the swing-door, and at the head of the
stairs, I saw that the inner door to the hall was open, and also that
of the morning-room, from which shone a bright light. My heart went
pit-a-pat for a moment; then seeing Frisk run quietly down the stairs, I
followed her, when she calmly jumped into her basket again, and I,
venturing into the morning-room, found that my brother-in-law had left
the lamp burning by mistake--a proceeding which Frisk plainly knew was
wrong, and had therefore come upstairs to inform me, but had not thought
it necessary to disturb the rest of the household this time! She had
come straight up to my room without disturbing any one else, to tell me
of the irregularity of a light burning when every one was in bed, and
that being done, jumped into bed again, conscious of having performed
her duty.
GEORGINA A. MARSH-CALDWELL.
[_Aug. 12, 1893._]
I can give an instance as convincing as that of Miss Marsh-Caldwell of
the way in which a true watch-dog will measure the extent of his
duties. I lived for many years opposite a wood, in which the game at
first was preserved. I had a dog named Prin, who had begun by being a
gardener's dog, but having caught the distemper and been unskilfully
treated by his master he remained nearly blind, and was left on my hands
by the man when he quitted my service. The dog was a great coward, but
good-tempered and affectionate, and the partial loss of sight seemed to
have developed greatly the senses both of hearing and smell, so that he
was recognised as a capital watch-dog. He was promoted to the kitchen,
and would have been promoted to the drawing-room but for the
obstreperousness of his affection, which seemed to know no bounds if he
was admitted even into the hall. I slept at that time in a room over the
kitchen, fronting the road. One night I was awakened by Prin growling,
and, after a time, giving a snappish bark underneath me. I got out of
bed and throwing up the sash, listened at the window, where, after a
time, I heard slight noises, which convinced me that some one or more
persons were hiding in the shrubbery between the house and the road,
whom I supposed to be burglars. I called out, "Who's there?" without, of
course, eliciting any answer, and, after a time, I heard the click of
the further gate (there being two, one opposite my house, the other
opposite its semi-detached neighbour, and out of my sight), after which
all was quiet. But I had noticed that from the moment of my getting out
of bed Prin had not uttered a sound. The same thing happened seven or
eight times, and always in the same way, Prin growling or barking till
he heard me get out of bed, and then holding his tongue, as feeling that
he had fulfilled his duty in warning his master, and that all
responsibility now devolved upon me. The secret of the matter I
discovered to be that poachers, with no burglarious intentions towards
me, used the shrubbery as a hiding-place before getting over the
opposite paling into the wood.