"HIS DOG" Frontispiece
"ALAS!" Facing p. 192
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"MURPHY"
A MESSAGE TO DOG-LOVERS
I
Yes. He was born in the first week of June, in the year 1906. Quite a
short while ago, as you see--that is, as we men count time--but long
enough, just as a child's life is occasionally long enough, to affect the
lives--ay, more, the characters--of some who claimed to be his betters on
this present earth, with certainties in some dim and distant heaven that
might or might not have a corner here or there for dogs.
His parentage was that of a royal house in purity of strain and length of
pedigree, and he first saw the light in the yard of a mill upon the
river, where the old wheel had groaned for generations or dripped in
silence, according as the water rose or fell, and corn came in to be
ground.
There were others like him in appearance in the yard; on the eyot on
which the mill-buildings stood, gorgeous in many-coloured tiles; round
the dwelling-house, or in a large wired enclosure close by. His master,
the Over-Lord, bred dogs of his kind for the nonce, not necessarily for
profit, but because, with a great heart for dogs, he chose to, claiming
indeed the proud boast that not a single dog of his class walked these
Islands that was not of his strain--and claiming that, moreover, truly.
At one period there might have been counted, in and around this
mill-yard, no less than thirty-eight dogs, young and middle-aged, and all
more or less closely related. But while this number was much above the
average, the congestion that arose thereby was chargeable with the single
unhappy episode in Murphy's life, concerning which he often spoke to me
in after days, and the effect of which he carried to the end. Of this,
however, more later.
Life in the midst of such a company--Irishmen all--necessarily meant a
more or less rough-and-tumble existence, where the strongest had the best
of it, and the weaker ones were knocked out, when the Master was not
there to interfere. Each one had to find his own level by such means as
he could, and thus this great company, or school, of dogs resembled in
many particulars those other schools to which We are sent Ourselves, or
send those other sons of Ours. The training to be got here, as elsewhere,
developed primarily, indeed, and all unconsciously, the first and
greatest of requisites in life, whether for dog or man. And if, in some
instances, evil characteristics, such as combativeness, selfishness, and
the habit of bad language, became accentuated, in spite of the stern
discipline of the place, their opposites--good temper, a light and happy
disposition, and a civil tongue--received their meed of recognition even
from the bigger fellows, like Pagan I. or II., or that Captain of the
School, often spoken of with bated breath--Postman, Murphy's father,
mated afterwards to the great beauty, Barbara, both being of the bluest
of blue blood.
The young were taught their place, and that further quality, now dropping
out of fashion--how to keep it. Or each one had a lesson in yet another
virtue, still more out of date, being judged no longer necessary or
becoming in this very modern world, and as only showing a silly deference
if exhibited at all. Respect was, in truth, the chief of all virtues here
inculcated--respect for age, for old dogs are no longer to be challenged;
respect for strength and the great unwritten laws; respect for sex;
respect for those who had shown themselves to be the better men; respect
for such as neither fought nor swore but held their own by character
alone.
It was, for instance, not correct for the young to approach the older
members of the school and claim equality, for, strange as it may seem,
equality had no place here, save that all were dogs. Nor when a bigger
fellow had a bone, won, earned, or come by of his own enterprise, was it
deemed fitting that the young should do more than watch at respectful
distance, with ears drooped and envy curbed as well as might be. By such
methods the meaning of the sacredness of property was taught; and also,
that without due regard to this last there could be security for no one,
or for anything that he might own.
True, some of this company here, suffering from swelled-head, the
harebrained impetuosity of youth, or judging that to them alone had been
bequeathed the secret of all requisite reforms, advanced theories of
their own composing. Of course they found adherents, especially when gain
was scented, for to profit at another's expense is not unpopular, in some
directions, from the top to the bottom of the world. But, as a rule,
these theories were not long-lived. The company, so to speak, found
themselves, and the innate good sense they claimed to have came to their
aid, before the whole school was set generally by the ears, or the
Over-Lord was called upon to interfere.
Thus, where a fellow's own was concerned the cry with the really honest
was, "Hands off, there!"--blood being rightly spilt, if necessary, in
defence thereof, as it always will be, till the last of dogs and men lie
down and die. Of course if one or other left his own unguarded, or,
overcome by plethora, fell asleep, or grew fat and careless, then another
of his standing came and took that property away. In such an event, he
who had lost could do no more than whimper cur-like, while those lying
round the yard would look up to see what the shindy was about, and then
quietly remark, "_That's_ as it should be."
Then again, when, on a sultry afternoon in this first summer of Murphy's
life, some older members of the family betook themselves to such cool
places on the eyot as the shadows cast by the wide eaves of the mill, it
was ordered they were to be left in peace and not plagued by younger
folk, however good-natured they might be. Nor were others to be followed
when they stole away to the opening of the mill-race--where the water
came out at speed, brown and foaming, from the dark shadows under the
floors--to listen, maybe, half asleep, to the great wheel groaning its
solemn music, as the dripping green paddles threw off a cool mist to
refresh the jaded air.
However strange such a choice might seem to those of restless spirit, it
was not more so than that of others who, careless of themselves,
preferred a hole in the dust of the upper yard among the Buff Orpingtons,
and the grilling heat of the midsummer sun. There must be differences of
taste here as elsewhere. The spot chosen must be respected, not only
because it was the home for the time, however short, but also because
here was privacy, and it was not right that such should be at any time
invaded, if rightly and obviously sought--at least, so was it judged by
those who inhabited the island at this period.
That Murphy noticed all these things goes without saying. He kept them
mostly to himself, after the manner of his kind; but he watched
nevertheless closely, his black eyebrows moving continually just above
his eyes, as he lay in the rough grass in the shade of the pollard
willows, or beneath the whispering aspens.
At this time he had not long emerged from the limp stage, when
hind-quarters would continually give way, and there was nothing to be
done but rest on one haunch and try to look wise, being continually
bothered by the flies. After a while he began to grow stronger and more
comely, his ears darkened, and his eyes--put in, as they say, with a
dirty thumb--grew larger, taking on that exceeding brightness that made
passers-by look and look again. He was also allowed further afield when
his turn came. There were walks along the river-banks, in company with
half-a-dozen of the others; and before he was six months old he could run
a good distance with a horse and trap, ere he would come to the step and
look up with a laugh, saying, "Here, take me up; I'm blown!" The old
horse in the shafts knew the ways of the dogs well, and would shorten his
pace, and indeed pull up altogether, if a thoughtless one was likely to
be injured. It was probably from this that Murphy suffered all his life
from a mistaken notion that it was the duty of horses, as well as drivers
of all kinds, to get out of his way, and not he necessarily out of
theirs.
It was a happy life in a land of happiness and freedom, though discipline
was stern, and all had to pass their period of training. Sooner or later
each one was judged upon his merits, as well by his comrades as by the
great, tall Over-Lord, to whom primarily they owed allegiance. And if
such judgment was occasionally fallacious, as it frequently is, the world
over, when based upon such points alone, it worked out fairly when the
time arrived for an estimate to be made of the character that every one
here was entitled to--when the first home had to be left behind, and the
world faced in town or country, up or down the greater river of a common
life.
For such a temperament as Murphy's, a life like this was happiness
itself. He was sociable, and loved company intensely, though preferably
the company of Man. Solitude he abhorred; games were his delight; for
killing things, even were it a rat from one of the thousand holes he met
with when walking by the river, he never cared, and indeed appeared never
quite to understand. "Live and let live" was his motto, while playing
always the game of "catch-who-catch-can."
There was no reason to bring pain into the field at all. Life to him was
a condition full of smiles, or to be made so, though there was snarling
round the corner, as well as folk of difficult temperament to remain
puzzlers to the end. Those about, therefore, were to be reckoned friends,
and to be met in such way as better dogs themselves lay down. Their
society obviously had its rules, which, if occasionally broken, were yet
to be known and recognised, just as they themselves, though dogs, were
able to discern that the members of that other society, on to which they
were apparently grafted, had theirs.
These last and they themselves were nothing less than partners--so it
seemed to him--in a great game, to be played always in good heart and
with the spirit of true sportsmanship. Both moved according to law, the
only difference between the two being that Men held the power of the
Veto--and exercised it too often, he would add in his perfect, well-bred
manner, in a way that declared their ignorance. Men, he averred, would
always insist on assuming that their laws were right at all times, and,
furthermore, were always applicable to dogs, forgetting that, more often
even than themselves, dogs were moved by laws imperious.
Had he been as the majority of dogs, he would, when such thoughts
occupied his brain, have joined no doubt unhesitatingly in Puck's song--
"Lord, what fools these mortals be!"
But, then, this is where he differed from that majority. Man was his
friend. Friendship meant loyalty, and loyalty should be unstained.
There was much in what he said. On many an occasion a dog will show that
he knows better than a man, and can do things that transcend Man's
boasted powers. We all know that--or should do so--for the moment may
arrive when we find ourselves dependent on the judgment of a dog. To fail
to recognise it then is to create difficulties and to blunder badly,
causing the most tractable of our friends to look up with a puzzled
expression in their eyes, and the more head-strong and outspoken to go
ahead, with this sentence, flung back over the shoulder--"_You fools,
you; when will you understand!_"
And the fun of it all is that Man with his self-assurance, and that
limited vision of his of which he seems sometimes completely unaware,
thinks that he is training the dog, whereas the dog is perfectly capable,
as will be shown, of at least in some directions training him. Thus,
where differences arise, Man jumps to his conclusions and claims his
prerogative. It is a sorry business when an all-too-hasty punishment
follows, as it often does, for Man--so Murphy used to say--would find
himself very frequently to be wrong. But then Murphy, when he talked like
this in the after days, showing how easily We might make mistakes, and
explaining so much that was not wholly realised before, caused sundry
folk to wonder whether in some previous life he had in his spare time
studied Bentham. For dogs or men to make mistakes is not necessarily for
them to do wrong. "To trace errors to their source is often to refute
them."
He often quoted that; but on the only occasion on which he was asked about
his previous studies he remained silent. He and his Master were sitting on
the hillside, far away from the hum of men--as, in fact, they mostly were.
His eyes were ranging over the valley to the skyline. "That's the way to
look, my dear master," he appeared to be saying--"that's the way to look.
Never run heel way. For you and me there is a future. Look ahead, and cast
forward; never look behind!"
His remarks often, in this way, touched lightly on great questions.