and unmistakably begged him to follow her going just in front, and
continually looking round to see if he was following. The sheep led him
at last to some rocks, where he found a lamb fast wedged in between two
pieces of rock. He was able to liberate the lamb, to the evident joy of
the mother.
I myself once saw a cat "broodling" and taking care of a very small
chicken, which, being hatched first of a brood, had been brought into a
cottage and placed in a basket near the fire. It managed to get out of
the basket, and hopped up to the cat, who immediately adopted it.
WM. WALSHAM WAKEFIELD.
HAVE ANIMALS A FOREKNOWLEDGE OF DEATH?
[_April 30, 1892._]
In a recent _Spectator_ there is a quotation from Pierre Loti to the
effect that "animals not only fear death, but fear it the more because
they are aware that they have no future." Pierre Loti is a brilliant
novelist, but I am not aware that he is a scientific naturalist, and I
trust his idea is a mere chimera. Loti would take from the brutes the
one privilege for which men may envy them, and endows them with a
knowledge of the aftertime that we have only by revelation. However, two
common-sense naturalists have published their belief that the lower
animals have a foreknowledge of death, and one of them goes so far as to
give an account of an old horse committing suicide. He says the animal
frequently suffered from some internal disease, and that it deliberately
walked into a pond, and, putting its nostrils under water, stood thus
till it dropped dead from suffocation. The incident, I think, is easily
explained. Many horses drink in the manner described, and in old horses
heart-disease is not uncommon. I imagine the stoppage of respiration
caused a sudden and natural death from heart-disease.
I should like to ask naturalists who think animals know that they must
die, where they draw the line. They must stop somewhere between a dog
and a dormouse. Poets have made far more frequent allusion to the
subject than naturalists, and they may be quoted on both sides. Philip
James Bailey, in illustration of his contention that hope is universal,
says: "and the poor hack that sinks down on the flints, upon whose eye
the dust is settling, he hopes to die." But we have on the other hand
Shelley's Skylark, with its "ignorance of pain," because it differs from
men who "look before and after." Wordsworth's little girl of eight knew
less than her dog, if she had one, for, says the poet, "what could she
know of death?" I admit that when the carnivora have crushed their prey
to death they cease to mangle them; but I fancy that is only because
there is no more resistance; and a bull will trample on a hat and leave
it when it becomes a shapeless mass. The nearest thing I ever saw to an
apparent foreknowledge of death, was in the case of that least
intelligent of dogs, a greyhound. I had to shoot it to prevent useless
suffering from disease. It followed me willingly, but when I led it to a
pit prepared as its grave it instantly rushed off at its best speed. I
suggest that it saw instinctively something unpleasant was about to
happen, but it does not follow that death was present to its mind.
Domestic poultry will furiously attack one of their number that
struggles on the ground in its death-agony. They do not dream of death;
they think its contortions are a challenge to combat.
R. SCOTT SKIRVING.
OUR FOUR-FOOTED FRIENDS, BIG AND LITTLE.
[_Nov. 8, 1873._]
May I be permitted to question, in the most friendly way, the assumption
of "Lucy Field," in your last issue, that the lives of small dogs are in
constant jeopardy from "a race of giant dogs, and exceptionally large
dogs," at Muswell Hill? If it be so, then, surely the "giant dogs" of
that region are exceptions. My experience goes to confirm the truth
taught by Sir Edwin Landseer's "Dignity and Impudence," a fine print of
which adorns my portfolio. I had a broken-haired friend, weight about
eight pounds, learned in two languages, canine and English, who rejoiced
in the name of Teens, given him by babes with whom he condescended to
play, because he was a "tiny, teeny dog." I must confess that my late
friend--alas! that I should say late--who was chivalrically brave in
killing rats and carrying on war with cats, was a very bully, a kind of
Ancient Pistol towards big dogs. To see him meet a Newfoundland or
large retriever was as good as a play. Teens, with his tail curled like
the spring of an ancient watch, his broken-haired back stiffened with
indignation, would stand and give the pass-word all dogs seem to know,
and be overhauled and examined as he walked round the giant like an
English gunboat by a Spanish fifth-rate; but when once the enemy turned
his back, Teens exploded like a cracker, running under the big dog's
nose, and often springing at his lip. His gigantic, but generous foe (or
friend) always fled, or walked away, followed by a torrent of abusive
barks, which, from their peculiar intonation, I took for dog-slang, and
Teens returning with an impudent smile on his countenance, wiped his
feet on the pavement as a sign of triumph. I have seen him do this a
hundred times, and never saw a big dog attempt to punish his impudence.
Jeems, a black-and-tan of smaller weight, who seemed to walk upon
springs, and who on work-a-days was called Jim, and James on Sundays,
which day he perfectly well knew, was more like Parolles. He bullied
big dogs at a distance, and seldom stood up to them like the truculent
Teens, and, although he ran away, was seldom pursued and never hurt,
while the Claimant (he was for his size unwieldly in fatness as a pup),
who (or which) still lives with me, is now bullying a shambling
retriever pup, full-grown, but, like Cousin Feenix, uncertain as to his
gait, who good-naturedly submits to it. Here, perhaps, there is danger;
for very big pups will pursue any little thing that runs away, and one
of their large paws, which they put down as if they wore heavily clumped
boots, might certainly crush the life--a very noisy, fussy, busy life it
is--out of my small and impertinent, pretentious Tichborne. This dog, by
the way, brings down his mistress her boots, as a hint for her to take a
walk, and blows like a trumpet or young walrus under the door to be let
in, having been corrected for scratching the panel. I end as I began, by
assuring you that my experience, no less than that of my friends, lies
in the direction of extreme generosity exhibited by large dogs towards
small ones; I would not deny that a large dog may now and then punish an
impudent and aggressive toy-terrier, but, as a rule, we can only wonder
at the providential wisdom which makes them so generous and forbearing;
having a giant's strength, they seldom indeed use it like a giant.
HAIN FRISWELL.
DOG CONSCIOUSNESS.
[_Nov. 2, 1872._]
Our terrier Crib took upon himself yesterday to add his testimony to
your view of "dog-consciousness," as expressed in the _Spectator_ of the
19th ult. Crib verges on perfection, save that he is frantically jealous
of any other animal who may receive attention, but yesterday he rebelled
against the injustice of being compelled to eat all his dinner, and
refused to swallow one special piece of bread; but finding that his
refusal was not accepted, apparently made a virtue of necessity, and
gulped down the bread with a look and wag of the tail, giving me to
understand that I ought to be satisfied, which I was not, as I observed
a slight swelling in one cheek. So concealing my suspicion I furtively
watched. Crib also occasionally eyed me, lying down and then walking
round the room, and sniffing in the corners, as he is wont to do. In a
few minutes, and when I appeared safely absorbed in my paper, he made
his way slowly to where pussy was lapping her saucer of milk; passing
her without stopping, he cleverly discharged the hated mouthful into
pussy's milk, and continuing his walk to the rug, laid himself down and
slept the sleep of the just.
C. S.
A DOG STORY.
[_June 1, 1895._]
Perhaps you will allow me to add another to your interesting list of dog
stories. In a house where I once boarded there was a large and
remarkably sagacious St. Bernard mastiff, who used to come into my
sitting-room and give me his company at dinner, sitting on the floor
beside my chair, with his head on a level with the plates. His master,
however, fearing that he was being over-fed, gave strict injunctions
that this practice should no longer be permitted. On the first day of
the prohibition the dog lay and sulked in the kitchen; but on the second
day, when the landlady brought in the dishes, he stole in noiselessly
close behind her, and while for the moment she bent over the table, he
slipped promptly beneath it, and waited. No sooner had she retired than
he emerged from his hiding-place, sat down in his usual position, and
winked in my face with a look which seemed to say, "Haven't I done her!"
In due course, the good woman came to change the plates, and as soon as
he heard her step, he slunk once more under the table; but in an
instant, ere she had time to open the door, he came out again, as if he
had suddenly taken another thought, and threw himself down on the rug
before the fire--to all appearance fast asleep. "Ah, Keeper; you there,
you rascal!" exclaimed his mistress, in indignant surprise, as she
caught sight of him. The dog opened his eyes, half raised his body,
stretched himself out lazily at full length, gave a great yawn as if
awakened from a good long sleep, and then, with a wag of his tail, went
forward and tried to lick her hand. It was a capital piece of acting,
and the air of perfect guilelessness was infinitely amusing.
GEO. MCHARDY.
WOW: A STORY OF A CAT'S PAW.
[_March 23, 1872._]
I think you will be interested in the following anecdote of a
distinguished foreigner. One of the happiest results of that abandonment
of their ancient exclusiveness which has rendered us familiar with the
Japanese, has been the arrival on these shores of a very pretty fluffy
little dog, a born subject of the Mikado, who hails or rather barks from
Nagasaki, and who is happily domiciled with a friend of mine, of a
sufficiently elevated mind to esteem at its proper value the privilege
of being the master of a clever and refined dog. The child of the sun
and the earthquake has been named Wow, an ingenious combination of the
familiar utterance of his kind with the full-mouthed terminals of the
language of the merely human inhabitants of his country. My own
impression is that Wow smacks rather of the melodious monosyllabic
tongue of the Flowery Land than of that of the Dragon country; but this
is a detail, and, as a young naval officer newly come from Nipon
remarked to me lately, with much fervour, "Thank God! a fellow isn't
obliged to learn their lingo." Wow has made himself at home and happy in
his Northern residence with all the courtesy and suavity of a true
Japanese, and has attached himself to his master with apparent
resignation to the absence of pigtail and petticoat, articles of attire
replaced in this case by the wig and gown of a Q.C. About this
attachment there is, however, none of the exclusiveness which
characterises the insular dog. Wow is a politician, or at least a
diplomatist, and he desires to maintain friendly relations, with
profitable results to himself, with everybody. He succeeds in doing so
to an extraordinary extent, of which fact his master lately discovered
evidence. Very strict orders, including the absolute prohibition of
bones, had been issued with regard to Wow's diet. The ideas of a country
in which little dogs eat, but are not eaten, require liberality in his
opinion, and Wow made up his mind he would have his bones without
incurring the penalties of disobedience, which his master, in the
interests of the delicate foreigner, was determined to inflict. A
commodious and elegant residence was fitted up in the study for Wow, and
he was permitted free access to the upper floors of the house, but the
line was drawn at the kitchen staircase. That way lay bones and ruin,
and its easy descent was interdicted by stern command, which Wow
understood as clearly as did its utterer, though he at first affected a
simple and unconscious misapprehension. Then Wow was reproved and gently
chastised, an administration of justice performed with the utmost
reluctance by his master, but with the happiest results. Nothing could
be more admirable than Wow's submission, more perfect than his
obedience. He never looked towards the kitchen stairs, and would attend
at the family meals without following the retiring dishes with a wistful
gaze, or betraying a longing for the forbidden bones by so much as a
sniff. Attached to the lower department of the household is a humble
cat, a faithful creature in her way, but not cultivated by my friend as
I could wish. With this meek and useful animal Wow contracted a
friendship regarded by his master as a proof of his amiability and
condescension. (In my capacity of narrator I am compelled to use the
latter somewhat injurious term--as a private individual with an undying
recollection, I repudiate it). But the single-minded Q.C. had something
to learn of the four-footed exile from the Far East concerning this
intimacy. Coming into his study one day at an unusual hour, he saw the
cat--I do not know her name, I am afraid she has not one--stealthily
depositing a bone behind a curtain. Presently she went downstairs, and
returned with a second bone, which she conveyed to the same place of
concealment, whence proceeded a gentle rustling and whisking, suggestive
of the presence of Wow, whose house, or pagoda, was empty. Then arose
the Q.C., and cautiously peeped behind the curtain, where he beheld Wow
and his humble friend amicably discussing their respective bones, Wow's
being the bigger and the meatier of the two.
Thus did the Japanese exile illustrate the cosmopolitan story of the
catspaw (with the improvement of making it pleasant for the cat), and
accomplish the proverbially desirable feat of minding both his meat and
his manners. If we could be secured against their imitation, it would be
pleasant to ask our own domestic pets the problems:
"What do you think of that, my cat?"
"What do you think of that, my dog?"
A CONSTANT READER AND DISCIPLE.
THE BIOGRAPHY OF SPRIG.
[_Jan. 20, 1872._]
I dare not hope to equal the eloquent and most touching biography of
Nero, with whom I had the honour of a slight acquaintance. But I was the
possessor of an animal who, in his way as a dog, not a cat, for
originality of character, reasoning power, talent, and devoted affection
I have never seen equalled in his species, and you and your readers may
possibly be interested by a sketch of his biography.
Where Sprig was born I do not know, nor had I any acquaintance with his
parents. One morning several years ago I chanced to go down stairs
early, and found the milk-boy at the hall door, delivering his daily
supply to the cook. In the courtyard before my house was a
bright-looking rough terrier of small size, frisking about very
cheerfully, trying to catch the small stump of a tail which some cruel
despoiler had left him. As he was engaged in this pastime, a large brown
retriever entered the gate, to look on, I suppose, for he had an amused
expression of face, and was wagging his tail amicably. Sprig, however,
though but a mite in comparison, decidedly resented the intrusion, and
flew at the retriever's throat, from which he had to be choked off by
his owner, who brought him back in his arms. The little fellow was in
the highest state of excitement and anger, his bright, intelligent eyes
flashing, and his hair bristling. He was indeed most amusingly fierce,
but was soon calmed when he was shown, and told, that his enemy had
fled, whereupon the following colloquy ensued between myself and his
owner: Myself: "And where did you get that dog, boy? You did not steal
him, I hope?" Boy, in a rich Dublin brogue: "Ah, now! would I stale
anythin', yer honner, an' me the poor milk-boy? Is it stale him? Bedad,
it's my father's cuzin that's at the Curragh! Sure he's a corporal, so
he is. He brought him, and he sez, 'Yez'll get me a pound for him, and
no less.' So it's a pound I want for him, sur, and nothin' less. An'
sure John Lambert knows me well--so he does!" When John, my servant,
was sent for, he gave a good account of the lad, and as he entirely
approved of Sprig, I gave the sovereign, showing it to the dog, whose
wondering eyes were glancing from one to the other. Then I said to the
boy, "Put him into my arms, and tell him he belongs to me;" and he did
so. The little fellow looked curiously and wistfully at the lad, who, to
do him justice, had tears in his eyes, and then nestled into my breast,
licking my hands and face. When my daughter came down stairs, I took up
Sprig and placed him in my youngest daughter's arms, a process he
appeared to comprehend perfectly, and told him she was his mistress; nor
to the day of his death did he ever falter in his devoted allegiance to
her. He was very fond of me and of us all, but his deepest love was for
his mistress, and on many occasions was most affecting to see. She was
often delicate, and once had a sharp attack of typhus fever. In this
illness Sprig never left her. He would lie at the foot of her bed
watching her, and would sometimes creep gently up to her, put his paws
round her neck, and lick her hands softly, while the pleading of his
large eyes looking from his mistress, in her unconscious delirium, to
her sister and me, was touching in the extreme. Indeed, there were then
many sad illnesses, but Sprig was always the same. As my child grew
stronger and better her little friend would amuse her by the hour
together; sit up, beg, preach, play with his ball, and try in humble
doggie fashion to beguile her of her pain. But I am anticipating.
Sprig was, I believe, what is called a Dandie Dinmont, and as he grew up
he became, for his class, a very handsome, as he was a sturdy, little
fellow, with great strength for his size. He was a reddish-brown colour,
more dark-red than brown, like a squirrel, with white below, and a
delightfully fuzzy head, and a breast of long soft white hair. His eyes
were that peculiar bright liquid "dog" brown which is capable of so much
expression, and he grew to have a long moustache and beard. Even the
most un-observant of dogs admired him, for he resembled no terrier I
have ever seen. I think he would have won the prize of his class at the
Dublin Dog Show, had it not been for a terrible accident he met with in
being wounded by a large foxhound in a neighbouring orchard. His neck
was then torn open, and he was rescued by John only in time to prevent
his being killed. As it was, it was weeks before he could walk--and how
patient he was all the time! and as the wound healed it left a
thickening of his skin which had an awkward look. Sprig was, however,
"highly commended." In his youth he was perhaps rather short in his
temper, and always resented in the most distinct manner any liberty that
was taken with him. To tread upon his foot was perilous, but he was at
once pacified if an apology was made that it was accidental; but to pull
his tail wilfully was an insult which he resented bitterly, and for
which much atonement was necessary, or he would go under the sofa and
cry in his peculiar manner when offended.
As he grew up, Sprig developed various talents which were highly
cultivated. His greatest pleasure, perhaps, was in an india-rubber ball,
with which his gambols were indescribably pretty and constant. It was a
great distress when he lost or mislaid his ball, and he was miserable
till he found it, or another was brought him. It was a cruel thing to
say, when one of us went to town, "Sprig, I will bring you a new ball,"
and as sometimes happened, to forget to do so. On return he would sniff
about the person who had gone, poke his nose into his or her pockets,
and if disappointed could hardly be soothed, but would go away and have
his quiet cry to himself. Sometimes a kind friend who knew him might
bring him a new ball; but it very much depended on who presented it
whether it was accepted or not, and I am afraid that too frequently for
his good manners he turned it over contemptuously with his nose and left
it for the old one, which, gnawed, bitten, and broken, was still the
favourite. I used sometimes to make a ball squeak by pressing the hole
against my hand, and I believe he thought it was in pain, for he would
whine piteously, and would not let me rest till he had it again in his
possession. It was most amusing to see him when a parcel of new balls
arrived, he having been told beforehand that one was coming. He would
find out directly who had it, and become impatient and cross indeed if
he did not get it directly. When the parcel was given him, his great
delight was to open it himself and select _one_. A red ball was usually
preferred, but not always. All were subjected to the most varied
trials--gnawed, smelt, and rolled, till the one which pleased his fancy
was finally selected; of the rest he would take no notice whatever.
Sprig was thoroughly a gentleman, and on most occasions he was most
attentive to lady visitors. He never noticed gentlemen. On one occasion,
when my daughters were out, a dear friend called (Nero's mistress). She
told us afterwards that Sprig had been a most attentive beau. He met her
at the hall door, welcomed her in his odd fashion, trotted before her
into the drawing-room, looking behind him to see if she followed. He
then jumped upon the ottoman, inviting her to sit down; when she was
seated he brought his ball and went through all his tricks with it, sat
up on his hind legs, begged with his paws, preached to her in his own
queer way, and kept her amused till, no longer able to remain, she bid
him good morning and left, evidently to his disgust. "Could he have
spoken," she said afterwards, "he would have told me to wait, for his
mistresses would soon be back; the look was in his face, but the words
were wanting." His attention to visitors was never omitted. When we had
a ball or evening party, he would await, with John Lambert, the several
arrivals at the hall door, welcome each new party, and usher them in a
solemn manner into the drawing-room or tea-room, returning for a new set
to his former place. Nor did he want for an occasional cake or biscuit
at the tea-table; "he was so amiable," said the young ladies, "he could
not be resisted."
As an instance of how perfectly he understood what was said to him, I
may relate that one hot day I had walked out from town, and being
thirsty went into the dining-room for a drink of water. I saw Sprig's
ball under the table, and when I went into the garden where my girls
were sitting they said, "Sprig has lost his ball, and is perfectly
miserable." After I had sent him to look about for it, I said, "Now,
Sprig, I know where it is; I saw it in the dining-room under the table;
go fetch it." He looked brightly at me, and I repeated what I had said.
He trotted off, and while we were wondering whether he had understood
me, he returned with it in his mouth quite delighted. I have mentioned
his preaching, which may sound rather irreverent, but it was an
accomplishment entirely of his own invention. When seated in a chair
after dinner, and requested to preach, he would sit up, place his
forepaws gravely on the table, and then lifting up one paw as high as
his head, and then the other, deliver a discourse to the company in a
sort of gurgling, growling manner, with an occasional low bark, which
was indescribably ludicrous to see and hear. What he meant by it we
could never find out, but I question whether he prized any of his
accomplishments more than this.