THE DOG.
There is a great deal of sorrow in the world: perhaps, through the
goodness of God, you have been kept from suffering much yourselves, but
you must have seen trouble among your friends and neighbours; sickness
and death, perhaps. And it often happens that great distress comes on
people, so as to keep them hungry and cold, for want of what would buy
enough food and fuel. Besides this, how often the bad conduct of one in
a family will make the rest unhappy! A single drunkard, or thief, or
violent person, will bring shame and misery on all the rest. The world
is full of troubles; but I do not think that we often find, even among
those of our own nature, men, women, boys, and girls, not related to us,
a person with so little selfishness as to be always sorry and sad when
we are so, and because we are so. When we meet with any one so
kind-hearted, we love that person, and would do a great deal to serve or
oblige such a feeling friend.
Now, I always observed that a dog, when kindly treated and taken care
of, will show his concern for the troubles of his master or mistress, in
a wonderful way. Indeed, I never, in my life, had a dog that would not
do so; and seeing this has convinced me that it is worse than cruel to
treat a dog ill--it is most ungrateful. It does sometimes happen that a
dog has a bad and violent temper, even from a puppy; and if very careful
treatment does not soon cure this, I should say that such a dog ought to
be destroyed, by a quick and easy death; not making the poor brute
suffer for what it cannot help. But in ninety-nine cases out of a
hundred, a dog's savageness is the fault of those who have brought him
up: and few things are more wicked than to teach or encourage a dog to
fight his own race, or to bark and fly at human beings. When the world
was as God made it, there was no hatred in it, no quarrelling, no wish
in any living creature to frighten or hurt any other living creatures;
but when Adam became a sinner, his sin broke through all this beautiful
order, and peace, and love, and set the animals against each other, and
against himself. I am trying always to remember this; for when they
alarm or distress me, and I am thinking to punish them, I ought not to
forget what first made the brutes vicious, and brought so much suffering
on them. It was man's sin alone: man should therefore do the best he can
to make them amends; and not increase their misery, as he often does, by
cruel severity. I think you will agree with me in this. Besides, it is a
certain truth, that God's eye is upon us and on the animals about us,
as much as it was on Adam and the living creatures that came to him to
be named; and though we and they are much changed for the worse, yet the
Lord God never does or can change. He is as righteous, as holy, as
merciful, and as just to-day, as he was then. How often has Jack, when
he saw a thoughtless boy hurting a dog, or any other animal, gone up to
him, and said, on his fingers, in a very quiet, gentle, but earnest
manner, "God see--God angry." He felt much for the dumb beast, suffering
pain; but more for the boy who was forgetting that the Lord's hand would
yet punish him, when he least expected it: for Jack very well knew that
the Bible says, "He shall have judgment without mercy that hath showed
no mercy."
Dogs have been a great amusement to me ever since I was a baby; and I
never have been without one in the house when I could keep one. Ladies
and gentlemen are not often willing to let their carpets be soiled by
dogs; but the poor people, who are not troubled with carpets, make
companions of them. I am writing this book in a room with a carpet and
good furniture, but I have my two dogs with me. There is little Fiddy,
the small spaniel, at my feet, where he has lain every day for eight
years; and there is Bronti, the fine big Newfoundlander, lying, where do
you think? Why the rogue has got upon the sofa, and when I shake my head
at him, he wags his long tail, and turns up his large bright eyes to my
face, as much as to say, "Pray let me stop here; it is so comfortable."
But no, Bronti, you must walk down, my fine fellow, or some lady coming
to see me may have her gown soiled, which would not be fair. We have no
right to make our pets a plague to other people, and, perhaps, a means
of injuring them too.
That was enough for Bronti; no need of a loud, cross, or threatening
voice. He saw that I wished him to leave the sofa, and he wags his tail
as contentedly on the carpet. I can manage him with a word, almost with
a look, because he was born in the house, and has never been away from
me; but master Fiddy was a year or two old when I had him, and some
things he will do in spite of me. He will hunt a cat, kill a bird, and
growl most furiously over a bone. Bronti has the same nature, but his
love for us overcomes it all. He would live peaceably with a cat, it we
had one; he will let the chickens and pigeons perch upon him, or walk
between his feet; and last year I had half a dozen tame mice, which I
used to let out upon him, when they would nestle in his warm coat, run
races over and under him, and he would not move a limb, for fear of
hurting one. As to a bone, he will allow me to take it out of his mouth
at any time; and, what is more, he will readily give it up to Fiddy,
whose little teeth can only nibble off the meat; and when he has done
that, Bronti takes it, and munches the bone.
His mother was full grown when I had her, and she was very fierce: if
any workman came to the house, unless her master or I was by to
restrain her, she would put him in fear of his life; and would have
bitten him too, if she could have seized him. We gave her away to a
friend who would be kind to her, and keep her out of mischief; and we
brought up a puppy for ourselves, this same Bronti. Now he is more than
three years old; and though he will sometimes fight a big dog who
affronts him in the street, he never frightened anybody who came to the
house. He watches, and gives one single, deep, quiet bark, to let us
know that there is a stranger; and seeing that we are satisfied, he sits
with one ear thrown back, listening and watching. If he meets a workman
in the house, he does not even growl; only keeps him in sight, following
him about, but with such a sweet-tempered look, that the greatest
coward, if honest, could not contrive to be afraid of him. I might leave
a joint of meat under his care, if he were ever so hungry; he would not
touch it, because he is truly honest: and as to his sense, you would
hardly believe if I told you how sensible he is. When I am putting on
my boots, he comes up to me, and looks very eagerly in my face; if I say
"Yes," or, "Bronti shall go," he is just wild with joy, tearing about,
barking, and making no small riot. If I say "No," or shake my head
sorrowfully and say nothing, he steals away, lies down, and never
attempts to follow me: but he gets on a chair, and Fiddy on a table, to
see me go out at the gate; and then they both begin to cry and moan most
piteously, so that nobody can comfort them.
On Sunday morning, Bronti looks very melancholy; how he knows the day I
cannot tell. Of course, we all go to church, but he begins to be sad as
soon as we get up. Neither he, nor Fiddy would attempt to follow us
then, if the doors and gate were all set open: they seat themselves at
the window to see us go. And now I recollect one time when Bronti was as
savage as his mother. You shall hear about it.
One Sunday, when were all at church, a friend, just landed from a
voyage, came to the house. He opened the garden gate, and was walking
towards the door, when up jumped Bronti on a chair at window, barking,
growling, and behaving so violently, that he really dared not try to get
into a house where such a wild beast stood ready to seize him. So he
went off to the church, found us, and after service returned with us;
and Bronti, seeing him as a friend of the family, gave him an
affectionate welcome. Then he told us of his ferocious behaviour; and we
were very glad to find that our gentle dog knew how to protect our house
and property when it was left entirely to his care.
A book larger than this might be filled, all through, with stories about
the dog, besides what are already published; but any one of you may see
enough to delight you every day in the affectionate creature, it you
will only be patient and kind. It is too often the custom to punish a
dog when he does not do just what you like; and you may like things
quite different at different times. Now, the poor brute cannot tell
exactly what you wish; and if he is used to get a blow, or an angry
scolding, he will be so afraid of doing wrong, that what little sense
he has left will fail him, and he will be so confused as to make him do
wrong. An animal, or a boy either, living in constant fear of ill-usage
whether he deserves it or not, will get either so stupid or so careless,
as seldom to do what is required. Think a little, and you will
understand this. An angry tone and hard words agitate a dog very much.
Mr. Blaine, who wrote a book about their diseases and cures, says that
he has often known a dog, weakened by illness, to go into convulsions on
hearing another dog violently scolded. I tell you this to explain why
some dogs are hard to manage: they are frightened out of their senses;
to say nothing of the cruel pain that they are often made to suffer. I
have seen a person beat a dog one day for not following him when he
wished it, and the next day for following when he was not wanted. I have
seen a dog set at another to fight, being encouraged, and irritated, and
made savage on purpose; and soon after beaten for flying at some person,
or thing that he was not wanted to attack. No wonder if the poor
creature loses all his fine qualities under such treatment.
All that he wishes is to be allowed to love you, and follow you, and
serve you. He wants the help of your reason to keep him from doing
wrong; and he wants you to explain to him how he may please you. It has
made my heart ache, many a time, to see a poor dog obey his master's
call, coming up to him in a crouching, crawling way, trembling with
fear, and seeming to say, "Pray, pray do not hurt me! I am ready to do
what you wish, and to lay down my life for you; but you are going to
beat or to kick me, and I am a poor creature, without any one to take my
part. I _could_ bite you, I _could_ seize you by the throat, or tear the
flesh off your leg, but I will not do so. I come because you call me;
pray do not hurt me!" And I have seen the meek, obedient creature
struck, and put to cruel pain, without the smallest reason in the world.
And when I recollected the words of the Bible, "Verily there is a God
that judgeth in the earth," I have grieved the more to think what
punishment that cruel man or boy was bringing on himself.
If we call one of our dogs, even when at high play in the fields, he
instantly comes bounding up, puts his head on one side, pricks up his
ears, and looks full in our faces as if saying, "Well, here I am; what
do you want me to do?" A beating is the last thing that they would think
of. I am not now speaking of Bronti and Fiddy in particular, but all the
dogs that ever I had. The reason is, that the dog is the very fondest
creature that breathes; and any but a really ill-tempered dog may be
managed by means of this fondness; while, as I before remarked, a really
bad-tempered one should not be kept to be punished, but speedily
destroyed.
You know what a terrible thing the bite of a mad dog is. The wound may
be so small as hardly to leave a scar, and it may heal, and be
forgotten, perhaps for weeks and months; still, the deadly poison is in
the person's blood, and when it breaks out, a most fearful death
follows, after such sufferings as nobody, who has not seen them, can
have an idea of. But, perhaps, you do not know that the angry bite of a
dog, when teased or hurt, has often produced the same awful madness. I
remember a neighbour's son dying most horribly of it, who had only had
his finger wounded, as if by a pin's point, by the tooth of a little dog
which he was teasing and provoking in play. This shows us how very
dangerous it is to irritate an animal; for you never know what peril you
may run into. These things do not fall out by chance. The Lord God
orders them all; and sometimes he does very terrible things, in judgment
on those who knowingly transgress, and for an example to others. May
you, dear young readers, be loving, and merciful, and kind; and never
stand for a moment in the hateful character of oppressors, where it is
alike your duty and your happiness to help the defenceless and to
protect the weak!
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