Chapter XVI: The Dog (1)

THE intelligence of the dog is of special, and indeed of unique interest from an evolutionary point of view, in that from time out of record this animal has been domesticated on account of the high level of its natural intelligence; and by persistent contact with man, coupled with training and breeding, its natural intelligence has been greatly changed. In the result we see, not only a general modification in the way of dependent companionship and docility, so unlike the fierce and self-reliant disposition of all wild species of the genus; but also a number of special modifications, peculiar to certain breeds, which all have obvious reference to the requirements of man. The whole psychological character of the dog may therefore be said to have been moulded by human agency with reference to human requirements, so that now it is not more true that man has in a sense created the structure of the bull-dog and greyhound, than that he has implanted the instincts of the watch-dog and pointer. The definite proof which we thus have afforded of the transforming and creating influence exerted upon the mental character and instincts of species by long and persistent training, coupled with artificial selection, furnishes the strongest possible corroboration of the theory which assigns psychological development in general to the joint operation of individual experience coupled with natural selection. For thousands of years man has here been virtually, though unconsciously, performing what evolutionists may regard as a gigantic experiment upon the potency of individual experience accumulated by heredity; and now there stands before us this most wonderful monument of his labours--the culmination of his experiment in the transformed psychology of the dog.

In my next work I shall treat of this subject with the fulness that it deserves--especially in its relation to the origin of instincts and the development of the moral sense; but to enter upon this topic at present would demand more space than can be allowed.

To do full justice to the psychology of the dog a separate treatise would be required. Here I can only trace a sketch.

_Memory._

As regards memory, one or two instances will suffice. Mr. Darwin writes: 'I had a dog who was savage and averse to all strangers, and I purposely tried his memory after an absence of five years and two days. I went near the stable where he lived, and shouted to him in my old manner; he showed no joy, but instantly followed me out walking, and obeyed me, as if I had parted with him only an hour before.'[263]

It is not only persons or places that dogs remember for long periods. I had a setter in the country, which one year I took up with me to town for a few months. While in town he was never allowed to go out without a collar on which was engraved my address. A ring upon this collar made a clinking sound, and the setter soon learnt to associate the approach of this sound with the prospect of a walk. Three years afterwards I again took this setter up to town. He remembered every nook and corner of my house in town, and also his way about the streets, and the first time that I brought his collar, slightly clinking as before, he showed by his demonstrations of joy that he well remembered the sound with all its old associations, although he had not heard this sound for three years.

_Emotions._

The emotional life of the dog is highly developed--more highly, indeed, than that of any other animal. His gregarious instincts, united with his high intelligence and constant companionship with man, give to this animal a psychological basis for the construction of emotional character, having a more massive as well as more complex consistency than that which is presented even in the case of the monkey, which, as we shall afterwards see, attains to a remarkably high level in this respect.

Pride, sense of dignity, and self-respect are very conspicuously exhibited by well-treated dogs. As with man, so with the friend of man, it is only those whose lines of fortune have fallen in pleasant places, and whose feelings may therefore be said to have profited by the refining influences of culture, that display in any conspicuous measure the emotions in question. 'Curs of low degree,' and even many dogs of better social position, have never enjoyed those conditions essential to moral refinement, which alone can engender a true sense of self-respect and dignity. A 'low-life' dog may not like to have his tail pulled, any more than a gutter child may like to have his ears boxed; but here it is physical pain rather than wounded pride that causes the smart. Among 'high-life' dogs, however, the case is different. Here wounded sensibilities and loss of esteem are capable of producing much keener suffering than is mere physical pain; so that among such dogs a whipping produces quite a different and a much more lasting effect than in the case of their rougher brethren, who, as soon as it is over, give themselves a shake and think no more about it. As evidence of the delicacy of feeling to which dogs of aristocratic estate may attain, I shall give one or two among many instances that I could render.

A reproachful word or look from any of his friends would make a Skye terrier that I owned miserable for a whole day. If we had ever ventured to strike him I do not know what would have happened, for his sentiments were quite abreast of the age with respect to moral repugnance to the use of the lash. Thus, for instance, at one time when all his own friends were out of town, he was taken for a walk every day in the park by my brother, to whose care he had been entrusted. He enjoyed his walks very much, and was wholly dependent upon my brother for obtaining them. Nevertheless, one day while he was amusing himself with another dog in the park, my brother, in order to persuade him to follow, struck him with a glove. The terrier looked up at his face with an astonished and indignant gaze, deliberately turned round, and trotted home. Next day he went out with my brother as before, but after he had gone a short distance he looked up at his face significantly, and again trotted home with a dignified air. After thus making his protest in the strongest way he could, the dog ever afterwards refused to accompany him.

This terrier habitually exhibited a strong repugnance to corporal punishment, even when inflicted upon others. Thus, whenever or wherever he saw a man striking a dog, whether in the house or outside, near at hand or at a distance, he used to rush in to interfere, snarling and snapping in a most threatening way. Again, when driving with me in a dog-cart, he always used to hold the sleeve of my coat every time I touched the horse with the whip. As bearing upon this sensitiveness of feeling produced in dogs by habitually kind treatment, I shall here give an extract from the letter of one of my correspondents (Mrs. E. Picton). It relates to a Skye terrier which had a strong aversion to being washed:--

In process of time this aversion increased so much
that all the servants I had refused to perform the
ablutions, being in terror of doing so from the
ferocity the animal evinced on such occasions. I
myself did not choose to undertake the office, for
though the animal was passionately attached to me,
such was his horror of the operation, that even I was
not safe. Threats, beating, and starving were all of
no avail; he still persisted in his obstinacy. At
length I hit upon a new device. Leaving him perfectly
free, and not curtailing his liberty in any way, I let
him know, by taking no notice of him, that he had
offended me. He was usually the companion of my walks,
but now I refused to let him accompany me. When I
returned home I took no notice of his demonstrative
welcome, and when he came looking up at me for
caresses when I was engaged either in reading or
needlework, I deliberately turned my head aside. This
state of things continued for about a week or ten
days, and the poor animal looked wretched and forlorn.
There was evidently a conflict going on within him,
which told visibly on his outward appearance. At
length one morning he crept quietly up to me, and gave
me a look which said as plainly as any spoken words
could have done, 'I can stand it no longer; I submit.'
And submit he did quite quietly and patiently to one
of the roughest ablutions it had ever been his lot to
experience; for by this time he sorely needed it.
After it was over he bounded to me with a joyous bark
and wag of his tail, saying unmistakably, 'I know all
is right now.' He took his place by my side as his
right when I went for my walk, and retained from that
time his usually glad and joyous expression of
countenance. When the period for the next ablution
came round the old spirit of obstinacy resumed its
sway for a while, but a single look at my averted
countenance was sufficient for him, and he again
submitted without a murmur. Must there not have been
something akin to the reasoning faculty in the breast
of an animal who could thus for ten days carry on such
a struggle?

This strong effect of silent coldness shows that the loss of affectionate regard caused the terrier more suffering than beating, starving, or even the hated bath; and as many analogous cases might be quoted, I have no hesitation in adducing this one as typical of the craving for affectionate regard, which is manifested by sensitive dogs.

In this connection I may point out the remarkable change which has been produced in the domestic dog as compared with wild dogs, with reference to the enduring of pain. A wolf or a fox will sustain the severest kinds of physical suffering without giving utterance to a sound, while a dog will scream when any one accidentally treads upon its toes. This contrast is strikingly analogous to that which obtains between savage and civilised man: the North American Indian, and even the Hindoo, will endure without a moan an amount of physical pain--or at least bodily injury--which would produce vehement expressions of suffering from a European. And doubtless the explanation is in both cases the same--namely, that refinement of life engenders refinement of nervous organisation, which renders nervous lesions more intolerable.

As evidence of the idea of caste in a dog, I shall quote only one instance, although many others might be given: this also may be taken as typical. I extract it from St. John's 'Wild Sports of the Highlands,' where, speaking of his retriever, this very good observer states: 'He struck up an acquaintance with a ratcatcher and his cur, thoroughly entering into their way of business; but the moment he saw me he instantly cut his humble friends, and denied all acquaintance with them in the most comical manner.'[264]

Dogs likewise display in a high degree the feelings of emulation and jealousy. I once had a terrier which took great pains, and manifested paternal delight, in teaching his puppy to hunt rabbits. But in time the puppy outgrew his father in strength and fleetness, so that in the chase, in spite of straining every nerve, the father used to be gradually distanced. His whole demeanour then changed, and every time that he found his son drawing away from him he used in desperation to seize the receding tail of the youngster. Although the son was now much stronger than the father, he never used to resent this exercise of paternal authority, even though the rabbit were close under his nose.

Of jealousy in dogs innumerable instances might be given, but I shall merely quote one from my bulky correspondence on this head. It is sent me by Mr. A. Oldham:--

He had grown old, and having some affection in his
legs which made walking difficult to him, he had sunk
into a very stagnant sort of life, when a Scotch
terrier was brought to live with us, and treated with
much favour. All Charlie's old vigour revived upon the
advent of this rival. He exhibited agonies of
jealousy, and has since spent his life in following,
watching, and imitating him. He insists on doing
everything that Jack does. Although he had previously
given up walking, he now makes a point of going out
whenever Jack does so. Several times he has started
with us, but finding that Jack was not of the party,
has turned back and quietly gone home. In the same
way, although before he ate nothing but meat, he now
eats any food that is also given to Jack; and if Jack
is caressed he watches for some time, and then bursts
out whining and barking. I have seen the same rage
manifested by a fine cockatoo at the sight of his
mistress carrying on her wrist and stroking
affectionately a little green parrot. Such jealousy
seems to me a very advanced emotion, as it has passed
beyond the stage when it may be supposed to be caused
by a fear of other animals monopolising _material_
benefits which they desire for themselves; it is
excited solely by seeing _affection_ or _attention_
bestowed by those they love upon other animals. The
actions in which Charlie tries to participate--such as
walking far, plunging into cold water after sticks,
&c.--are in themselves extremely disagreeable to him,
and he performs them only that he may obtain a share
in the companionship and notice bestowed upon Jack.

Akin to jealousy is the sense of justice. If a master is not equal in his ways towards his dogs, the dogs are very apt to discover the injustice and to resent it accordingly. The well-known observation of the great Arago may be taken as a typical one in this connection. Having been detained by a storm at a country inn, and having ordered a chicken for his dinner, Arago was warming himself by the kitchen fire, when he saw the innkeeper put the fowl on the spit and attempt to seize a turnspit dog lying in the kitchen. The brute, however, refused to enter the wheel, got under a table, and showed fight. On Arago asking what could be the meaning of such conduct, the host replied that the dog had some excuse, that it was not his turn but his comrade's, who did not happen to be in the kitchen. Accordingly, the other turnspit was sent for, and he entered the spit very willingly, and turned away. When the fowl was half roasted Arago took him out, and the other dog, no longer smarting under the sense of injustice, now took his turn without any opposition, and completed the roasting of the fowl.

Deceitfulness is another trait in canine character of which numberless instances might be given; but here, again, it seems unnecessary to quote more than one or two cases as illustrative of the general fact. Another of my correspondents, after giving several examples of the display of hypocrisy of a King Charles spaniel, proceeds:--

He showed the same deliberate design of deceiving on
other occasions. Having hurt his foot he became lame
for a time, during which he received more pity and
attention than usual. For months after he had
recovered, whenever he was harshly spoken to, he
commenced hobbling about the room as if lame and
suffering pain from his foot. He only gave up the
practice when he gradually perceived that it was
unsuccessful.

The following instance, which I observed myself, I regard as more remarkable. It has already been published in 'Nature' (vol. xii., p. 66), from which I quote it:

The terrier used to be very fond of catching flies
upon the window-panes, and if ridiculed when
unsuccessful was evidently much annoyed. On one
occasion, in order to see what he would do, I
purposely laughed immoderately every time he failed.
It so happened that he did so several times in
succession--partly, I believe, in consequence of my
laughing--and eventually he became so distressed that
he positively _pretended_ to catch the fly, going
through all the appropriate actions with his lips and
tongue, and afterwards rubbing the ground with his
neck as if to kill the victim: he then looked up at me
with a triumphant air of success. So well was the
whole process simulated that I should have been quite
deceived, had I not seen that the fly was still upon
the window. Accordingly I drew his attention to this
fact, as well as to the absence of anything upon the
floor; and when he saw that his hypocrisy had been
detected he slunk away under some furniture, evidently
very much ashamed of himself.

This allusion to the marked effects of ridicule upon a dog leads to a consideration of the next emotion with which I feel certain that some dogs are to be accredited. I mean the emotion of the ludicrous. This same terrier used, when in good humour, to perform several tricks, which I know to have been self-taught, and which clearly had the object of exciting laughter. For instance, while lying on his side and violently grinning, he would hold one leg in his mouth. Under such circumstances, nothing pleased him so much as having his joke duly appreciated, while if no notice was taken of him he would become sulky. On the other hand, nothing displeased him so much as being laughed at when he did not intend to be ridiculous, as could not be more conclusively proved than by the fact of his behaviour in pretending to catch the fly. Mr. Darwin observes: 'Dogs show what may be fairly called a sense of humour, as distinct from mere play; if a bit of stick or other such object be thrown to one, he will often carry it away for a short distance; and then squatting down with it on the ground close before him, will wait until his master comes close to take it away. The dog will seize it and rush away in triumph, repeating the same manoeuvre, and evidently enjoying the practical joke.'[265]

_General Intelligence._

I have very definite evidence of the fact that dogs are able to communicate to one another simple ideas. The communication is always effected by gesture or tones of barking, and the ideas are always of such a simple nature as that of a mere 'follow me.' According to my own observations, the dogs must be above the average of canine intelligence, and the gesture they invariably employ is a contact of heads, with a motion between a rub and a butt. It is quite different from anything that occurs in play, and is always followed by a definite course of action. I must add, however, that although the information thus conveyed is always definite, I have never known a case in which it was complex--anything like asking or telling the way, which several writers have said that dogs can do, being, I believe, quite out of the question. One example will suffice. A Skye terrier (not quite pure) was asleep in the room where I was, while his son lay upon a wall which separates the lawn from the high road. The young dog, when alone, would never attack a strange one, but was a keen fighter when in company with his father. Upon the present occasion a large mongrel passed along the road, and shortly afterwards the old dog awoke and went sleepily downstairs. When he arrived upon the door-step his son ran up to him and made the sign just described. His whole manner immediately altered to that of high animation. Clearing the wall together, the two animals ran down the road as terriers only can when pursuing an enemy. I watched them for a mile and a half, within which distance their speed never abated, although the object of their pursuit had not from the first been in sight.

It is almost superfluous to give cases illustrating the well-known fact that dogs communicate their desires and ideas to man; but as the subject of the communication by signs will afterwards be found of importance in connection with the philosophy of communication by words, I shall here give a few examples of dogs communicating by signs with man, which for my purpose will be the more valuable the less they are recognised as unusual.

Lieutenant-Gen. Sir John H. Lefroy, C.B., K.C.M.G., F.R.S., writes me that he has a terrier which it is the duty of his wife's maid to wash and feed. 'It was her habit after calling her mistress in the morning to go out and milk a goat which was tethered near the house, and give "Button" the milk. One morning, being rather earlier than usual, instead of going out at once she took up some needlework and began to occupy herself. The dog endeavoured in every possible way to attract her attention and draw her forth, and at last pushed aside the curtain of a closet, and never having been taught to fetch or carry, took between his teeth the cup she habitually used, and brought it to her feet. I inquired into every circumstance strictly on the spot, and was shown where he found the cup.'

Similarly I select the following case from a great number of others that I might quote, because it is so closely analogous to the above. It is communicated to me by Mr. A. H. Baines:--

There is a drinking-trough for him in my sitting-room:
if at any time it happens to be without water when he
goes to drink, he scratches the dish with his
fore-paws in order to call attention to his wants, and
this is done in an authoritative way, which generally
has the desired effect. Another Pomeranian--a member
of the same family--when quite young used to soak
hard biscuits in water till soft enough to eat. She
would carry the biscuit in her mouth to the
drinking-trough, drop it in and leave it there for a
few minutes, and then fish it out with her paw.

One more instance of the communication of ideas by gestures will no doubt be deemed sufficient. It is one of a kind which has many analogies in the literature of canine intelligence.

Dr. Beattie relates this case of canine sagacity, of which the scene was a place near Aberdeen. The Dee being frozen, a gentleman named Irvine was crossing the ice, which gave way with him about the middle of the river. Having a gun, he was able to keep himself from sinking by placing it across the opening. 'The dog made many fruitless efforts to save his master, and then ran to a neighbouring village, where he saw a man, and with the most significant gestures pulled him by the coat, and prevailed on him to follow. The man arrived on the spot in time to save the gentleman's life.'

Numberless other instances of the same kind might be given, and they display a high degree of intelligence. Even the idea of saving life implies in itself no small amount of intelligence; but in such cases as these we have added the idea of going for help, communicating news of a disaster, and leading the way to its occurrence.

Having thus as briefly as possible considered the emotional and the more ordinary intellectual faculties of the dog, I shall pass on to the statement of cases showing the higher and more exceptional developments of canine sagacity.

Were the purpose of this work that of accumulating anecdotes of animal intelligence, this would be the place to let loose a flood of facts, which might all be well attested, relating to the high intelligence of dogs. But as my aim is rather that of suppressing anecdotes, except in so far as facts are required to prove the presence in animals of the sundry psychological faculties which I believe the different classes to present, I shall here, as elsewhere, follow the method of not multiplying anecdotes further than seems necessary fully to demonstrate the highest level of intelligence to which the animal under consideration can certainly be said to attain. But in order that any who read these pages for the sake of the anecdotes which they necessarily present may not be disappointed by meeting with cases already known to them, I shall draw my material mainly from the facts communicated to me by private correspondents, alluding to previously published facts only as supplementary to those now published for the first time. It may be well to explain to my numerous correspondents that I select the following cases for quoting, not because they are the most sensational that I have received, but rather because they either contain nothing sufficiently exceptional to excite the criticism of incredulity, or because they happen to have been corroborated by the more or less similar cases which I quote from other correspondents.

As showing the high general intelligence of the dog, I shall first begin with the collie. It is certain that many of these dogs can be trusted to gather and drive sheep without supervision. It is enough on this head to refer to the well-known anecdotes of the poet Hogg in his 'Shepherd's Calendar,' concerning his dog 'Sirrah.'

Williams, in his book on 'Dogs and their Ways,' says (p. 124) that a friend of his had a collie which, whenever his master said the words 'Cast, cast,' would run off to seek any sheep that might be cast, and on finding it would at once assist it to rise. He also knew of another dog (p. 102), which would perform the same office even in the absence of his master, going the round of the fields and pastures by himself to right all the sheep that he found to be cast.[266]

One of my correspondents (Mr. Laurie Gentles) sends me an account of a sheep-dog belonging to a friend of his (Mr. Mitchell, of Inverness-shire) which strayed to a neighbouring farm, and took up his residence with the farmer. On the second night after the dog arrived at the farm the farmer 'took the dog down to the meadow to see if the cattle were all right. To his dismay he found that the fence between his meadow and his neighbour's had got broken down, and that the whole of his neighbour's cattle had got mixed up with his. By the help of the dog the strange cattle were driven back into their proper meadow, and the fence put into temporary repair. The _next_ night, at the same hour, the gentleman started off to look after the cattle. The dog, however, was not to be seen. On arriving at the meadow, what was the gentleman's astonishment to find that the dog had preceded him! His astonishment soon changed into delighted approbation when he found the dog sitting on the broken fence between the two meadows, and daring the cattle from either side to cross. The cattle had during the interval between the first and second visits broken down the fence, and had got mixed up with each other. The dog had quietly gone off on his own account to see if all was right, and finding a similar accident to the one the previous evening, had _alone_ and _unaided_ driven back the _strange_ cattle to their proper meadow, and had mounted guard over the broken fence as I have already indicated.'

Colonel Hamilton Smith says that the cattle-dogs of Cuba and Terra Firma are very wise in managing cattle, but require to display different tactics from the cattle-dogs of Europe:--

When vessels with live stock arrive at any of the West
India harbours, these animals, some of which are
nearly as large as mastiffs, are wonderfully efficient
in assisting to land the cargo. The oxen are hoisted
out with a sling passing round the base of their
horns; and when an ox, thus suspended by the head, is
lowered, and allowed to fall into the water, so that
it may swim to land, men sometimes swim by the side of
it and guide it, but they have often dogs of this
breed which will perform the service equally well;
for, catching the perplexed animal by the ears, one on
each side, they will force it to swim in the direction
of the landing-place, and instantly let go their hold
when they feel it touch the ground, as the ox will
then naturally walk out of the water by itself.[267]

That this sagacity need not be due to special tuition, may be inferred from a closely similar display spontaneously shown in the following case. It is communicated to me by a correspondent, Mr. A. H. Browning. This gentleman was looking at a litter of young pigs in their sty, and when he went away the door of the sty was inadvertently left unfastened. The pigs all escaped into his garden. My correspondent then proceeds:--

My attention was called to my dog appearing in a great
state of excitement, _not_ barking (he seldom barks),
but whining and performing all sorts of antics (in a
human subject I should have said 'gesticulating'). The
herdmen and myself returned to the sty; we caught but
one pig, and put him back; no sooner had we done so
than the dog ran after each pig in succession, brought
him back to the sty by the ear, and then went after
another, until the whole number were again housed.

In Lord Brougham's 'Dialogues on Instinct' (iii.) there is narrated the story told to the author by Lord Truro of a dog that used to worry sheep at night. The animal quietly submitted to be tied up in the evening, but when everybody was asleep he used to slip his collar, worry the sheep, and, returning before dawn, again get into his collar to avoid suspicion. I allude to this remarkable display of sagacity because I am myself able fully to corroborate it by precisely similar cases. A friend of mine (the late Mr. Sutherland Murray) had a dog which was always kept tied up at night, but nevertheless the neighbouring farmers complained of having detected him as the culprit when watching to find what dog it was that committed nightly slaughter among their sheep. My friend, therefore, set a watch upon his dog, and found that when all was still be slipped his collar, and after being absent for some hours, returned and slipped his head in again.

A precisely similar case is given further back, and others are communicated to me by two correspondents (Mr. Goodbehere, of Birmingham, and Mr. Richard Williams, of Buffalo). The latter says:--

And here let me ask if you are aware of the cunning
and sagacity of these sheep-killing dogs, that they
never kill sheep on the farm to which they belong, or
in the immediate vicinity, but often go miles away;
that they always return before daylight, and before
doing so wash themselves in some stream to get rid of
the blood.

In Germany I knew a large dog that was very fond of grapes, and at night used to slip his collar in order to satisfy his propensity; and it was not for some time that the thief was suspected, owing to his returning before daylight and appearing innocently chained up in his kennel.

A closely similar case is recorded in Mr. Duncan's book on 'Instinct' of a dog belonging to the Rev. Mr. Taylor, of Colton. The only difference is that the delinquent dog slipped and afterwards readjusted a muzzle instead of a collar.

In connection with sly sagacity I may also give another story contained in my correspondence, although in this case I am specially requested by my correspondent not to publish his name. I can, therefore, only say that he occupies a high position in the Church, and that the dog (a retriever) was his own property:--

The dog was lying one evening before the kitchen fire
where the cook had prepared a turkey for roasting. She
left the kitchen for a few moments, when the dog
immediately carried away the turkey and placed it in
the cleft of a tree close to the house, but which was
well concealed by the surrounding laurels. So rapid
were his movements that he returned to his post before
the cook had come back, and stretching himself before
the fire, looked 'as innocent as a child unborn.'
Unfortunately for him, however, a man who was in the
habit of taking him to shoot, saw him carrying away
his prize and watched his progress. On coming into the
kitchen the man found the dog in his old place
pretending to be asleep. Diver's conduct was all along
dictated by a desire to conceal his theft, and if he
were a man I should have said that he intended, in
case of inquiry, to prove an alibi.

Mr. W. H. Bodley writes me of a retriever dog that belonged to him:--

Before he came to me he lived where another dog of
similar size was kept, and on one occasion they
fought. Having been chastised for this, on future
occasions when they quarrelled they used to swim over
a river of some breadth, where they could not be
interfered with, and fight out their quarrel on the
other side. What seems to me noteworthy in this
conduct is the _self-restraint_ manifested under the
influence of _passion_, and the mutual understanding
to defer the fight till they could prosecute it
unmolested; like two duellists crossing the Channel to
fight in France.

It is, of course, a well-known thing that dogs may easily be taught the use of coin for buying buns, &c. In the 'Scottish Naturalist' for April, 1881, Mr. Japp vouches for the fact that a collie which he knew was in the habit of purchasing cakes with coppers without ever having been taught the use of coin for such purposes. This fact, however, of a dog spontaneously divining the use of money requires corroboration, although it is certain that many dogs have an instinctive idea of giving peace-offerings, and the step from this to the idea of barter may not be large. Thus, to give only two illustrations, Mr. Badcock writes to me that a friend of his had a dog which one day had a quarrel with a companion dog, so that they parted at variance. 'On the next day the friend appeared with a biscuit, which he presented as a peace-offering.' Again, Mr. Thomas D. Smeaton writes to me of his dog that he 'has an amusing practice when he is restored to favour after some slight offence, of immediately picking up and carrying anything that is handiest, stone, stick, paper: it is a deliberate effort to please, a sort of good-will offering, a shaking hands over the past.'

I am indebted for the following to Mr. Goodbehere, of Birmingham; it may be taken as typical of many similar cases:--

My friend (Mr. James Canning, of Birmingham) was
acquainted with a small mongrel dog who on being
presented with a penny or a halfpenny would run with
it in his mouth to a baker's, jump on to the top of
the half-door leading into the shop, and ring the bell
behind the door until the baker came forward and gave
him a bun or a biscuit in exchange for the coin. The
dog would accept any small biscuit for a halfpenny,
but nothing less than a bun would satisfy him for a
penny. On one occasion the baker (being annoyed at the
dog's too frequent visits), after receiving the coin,
refused to give the dog anything in exchange, and on
every future occasion the latter (who declined being
_taken in_ a second time) would put the coin on the
floor, and not permit the baker to pick it up until he
had received its equivalent.

Mr. R. O. Backhouse writes to me:--

My dog is a broken-haired rabbit-coursing dog, and is
very intelligent. I took him one day to an exhibition
of pictures and objects of interest, among which were
statues and a bust of Sir Walter Scott. It was a local
exhibition, and as there was jewellery, some one had
to sit up all night with it as guard. I volunteered,
and as we were looking about and sitting on a stand of
flowers, my dog suddenly began to bark, and made as if
he had found some one hiding. On looking round I found
that it was the bust of Sir Walter Scott standing
among the flowers, and in which he evidently
recognised sufficient likeness to a human being to
think the supposed man had no business there at so
late an hour.

I adduce this instance because it serves as a sort of introduction to the more remarkable faculty which I cannot have the least doubt is manifested by some dogs--the faculty, namely, of recognising portraits as representing persons, or possibly of mistaking portraits for persons.

Mr. Crehore, writing to 'Nature' (vol. xxi., p. 132), says:--

A Dandie-Dinmont terrier, after the death of his
mistress, was playing with some children in a room
into which was brought a photograph (large) of her
that he had never previously seen. It was placed upon
the floor leaning against the wall. In the words of my
informant, who witnessed it, the dog, when he suddenly
caught sight of the picture, crouched and trembled all
over, his whole body quivering. Then he crept along
the floor till he reached it, and, seating himself
before it, began to bark loudly, as if he would say,
'Why don't you speak to me?' The picture was moved to
other parts of the room, and he followed, seating
himself before it and repeating his barking.

Mr. Charles W. Peach also gives an account in 'Nature' (vol. xx., p. 196) of a large dog recognising his portrait:--

When it (the portrait) was brought to my house, my old
dog was present with the family at the unveiling;
nothing was said to him, nor invitation given to him
to notice it. We saw that his gaze was steadily fixed
on it, and he soon became excited and whined, and
tried to lick and scratch it, and was so much taken up
with it that we--although so well knowing his
intelligence--were all quite surprised--in fact, could
scarcely believe that he should know it was my
likeness. We, however, had sufficient proof after it
was hung up in our parlour. The room was rather low,
and under the picture stood a chair: the door was left
open, without any thought about the dog; he, however,
soon found it out, when a low whining and scratching
was heard by the family, and on search being made, he
was in the chair trying to get at the picture. After
this I put it up higher, so as to prevent its being
injured by him. This did not prevent him from paying
attention to it, for whenever I was away from home,
whether for a short or a long time--sometimes for
several days--he spent most of his time gazing on it,
and as it appeared to give him comfort the door was
always left open for him. When I was long away he made
a low whining, as if to draw attention to it. This
lasted for years--in fact, as long as he lived.

From this account it appears that when in the first instance the dog's attention was drawn to the picture it was on the floor in the line of the dog's sight; the behaviour of the animal then and subsequently was too marked and peculiar to admit of mistake.

Another correspondent in 'Nature' (vol. xx., p. 220), alluding to the previous letter, writes:--

Having read Mr. Peach's letter on 'Intellect in
Brutes,' as shown by the sagacity he witnessed in his
dog, I have been asked to send a similar anecdote,
which I have often told to friends. Many years ago my
husband had his portrait taken by J. Phillips, R.A.,
and subsequently went to India, leaving the portrait
in London to be finished and framed. When it was sent
home, about two years after it was taken, it was
placed on the floor against the sofa, preparatory to
being hung on the wall. We had then a very handsome
black-and-tan setter, which was a great pet in the
house. As soon as the dog came into the room he
recognised his master, though he had not seen him for
two years, and went up to the picture and licked the
face. When this anecdote was told to Phillips, he said
it was the highest compliment that had ever been paid
him.

Similarly, in the same periodical (vol. xx., p. 220), Mr. Henry Clark writes:--

Some years ago a fine arts exhibition was held at
Derby. A portrait of a Derby artist (Wright) was thus
signalised:--'The artist's pet dog distinguished this
from a lot of pictures upon the floor of the studio by
licking the face of the portrait.'

Again, I learn from Dr. Samuel Wilks, F.R.S., that a friend of his, whom I shall call Mrs. E., has a terrier which recognised her portrait. 'The portrait is now (1881) hanging in the Royal Academy. When it first arrived home the dog barked at it, as it did at strangers; but after a day or two, when Mrs. E. opened the door to show the portrait to some friends, the dog went straight to the picture and licked the hand. The picture is a three-quarter length portrait of a lady with the hand at the bottom of the picture.'

Lastly, my sister, who is a very conscientious and accurate observer, witnessed a most unmistakable recognition of portraits as representative of persons on the part of a small but intelligent terrier of her own. At my request she committed the facts to writing shortly after they occurred. The following is her statement of them:--

I have a small terrier who attained the age of eight
months without ever having seen a large picture. One
day three nearly life-sized portraits were placed in
my room during his absence. Two were hung up, and one
left standing against the wall on the floor awaiting
the arrival of a picture-rod. When the dog entered the
room he appeared much alarmed by the sight of the
pictures, barking in a terrified manner first at one
and then at another. That is to say, instead of
attacking them in an aggressive way with tail erect,
as he would have done on thus encountering a strange
person, he barked violently and incessantly at some
distance from the paintings, with tail down and body
elongated, sometimes bolting under the chairs and
sofas in the extremity of his fear, and continuing
barking from there. Thinking it might be merely the
presence of strange objects in the room which excited
him, I covered the faces of the portraits with cloths
and turned the face of the one on the floor to the
wall. The dog soon after emerged from his
hiding-place, and having looked intently at the
covered pictures and examined the back of the frame on
the ground, became quite quiet and contented. I then
uncovered one of the pictures, when he immediately
flew at it, barking in the same frightened manner as
before. I then re-covered that one and took the cover
off another. The dog left the covered one and rushed
at the one which was exposed. I then turned the face
of the one on the floor to the room, and he flew at
that with increased fierceness. This I did many times,
covering and uncovering each picture alternately,
always with the same result. It was only when all
three paintings were uncovered at the same time, and
he saw one looking at him in whatever direction he
turned, that he became utterly terrified. He continued
in this state for nearly an hour, at the end of which
time, although evidently very nervous and apt to
start, he ceased to bark. After that day he never took
any more notice of the pictures during the three
months he remained in the house. He was then absent
from the house for seven months. On his return he went
with me into the room where the portraits were hung,
immediately on his arrival. He was evidently again
much startled on first seeing them, for he rushed at
one, barking as he had done on the first occasion, but
he only gave three or four barks when he ran back to
me with the same apologetic manner as he has when he
has barked at a well-known friend by mistake.

It will have been observed that in all these cases the portraits, when first recognised as bearing resemblance to human beings, were placed on the floor, or in the ordinary line of the dog's sight. This is probably an important condition to the success of the recognition. That it certainly was so in the case of my sister's terrier was strikingly proved on a subsequent occasion, when she took the animal into a picture-shop where there were a number of portraits hanging round the walls, and also one of Carlyle standing on the floor. The terrier did not heed those upon the walls, but barked excitedly at the one upon the floor. This case was further interesting from the fact that there were a number of purchasers in the shop who were, of course, strangers to the terrier; yet he took no notice of them, although so much excited by the picture. This shows that the pictorial illusion was not so complete as to make the animal suppose the portrait to be a real person; it was only sufficiently so to make it feel a sense of bewildered uncertainty at the kind of life-in-death appearance of the motionless representation.

If, notwithstanding all this body of mutually corroborative cases, it is still thought incredible that dogs should be able to recognise pictorial representations,[268] we should do well to remember that this grade of mental evolution is reached very early in the psychical development of the human child. In my next work I shall adduce evidence to show that children of one year, or even less, are able to distinguish pictures as representations of particular objects, and will point at the proper pictures when asked to show these objects.

Coming now to cases more distinctly indicative of reason in the strict sense of the word, numberless ordinary acts performed by dogs indisputably show that they possess this faculty. Thus, for instance, Livingstone gives the following observation.[269] A dog tracking his master along a road came to a place where three roads diverged. Scenting along two of the roads and not finding the trail, he ran off on the third without waiting to smell. Here, therefore, is a true act of inference. If the track is not on A or B, it must be on C, there being no other alternative.

Again, it is not an unusual thing for intelligent dogs, who know that their masters do not wish to take them out, to leave the house and run a long distance in the direction in which they suppose their masters are about to go, in order that when they are there found the distance may be too great for their masters to return home for the purpose of shutting them up. I have myself known several terriers that would do this, and one of the instances I shall give _in extenso_ (quoted from an account which I published at the time in 'Nature'); for I think it displays remarkably complex processes of far-seeing calculation:--

The terrier in question followed a conveyance from the
house in which I resided in the country, to a town ten
miles distant. _He only did this on one occasion_, and
about five months afterwards was taken _by train_ to
the same town as a present to some friends there.
Shortly afterwards I called upon these friends in a
different conveyance from the one which the dog had
previously followed; but the latter may have known
that the two conveyances belonged to the same house.
Anyhow, after I had put up the horses at an inn, I
spent the morning with the terrier and his new
masters, and in the afternoon was accompanied by them
to the inn. I should have mentioned that the inn was
the same as that at which the conveyance had been put
up on the previous occasion, five months before. Now,
the dog evidently remembered this, and, reasoning from
analogy, inferred that I was about to return. This is
shown by the fact that he stole away from our
party--although at what precise moment he did so I
cannot say, but it was certainly _after_ we had
arrived at the inn, for subsequently we all remembered
his having entered the coffee-room with us. Now, not
only did he infer from a single precedent that I was
going home, and make up his mind to go with me, but he
also further reasoned thus:--'As my previous master
lately sent me to town, it is probable that he does
not want me to return to the country; therefore, if I
am to seize this opportunity of resuming my poaching
life, I must now steal a march upon the conveyance.
But not only so, my former master may possibly pick me
up and return with me to my proper owners; therefore I
must take care only to intercept the conveyance at a
point sufficiently far without the town to make sure
that he will not think it worth his while to go back
with me.'

Complicated as this train of reasoning is, it is the simplest one I can devise to account for the fact that slightly beyond the _third_ milestone the terrier was awaiting me, lying right in the middle of the road with his face towards the town. I should add that the second two miles of the road were quite straight, so that I could easily have seen the dog if he had been merely running a comparatively short distance in front of the horses. Why this animal should never have returned to his former home on his own account I cannot suggest, but I think it was merely due to an excessive caution which he also manifested in other things. However, be the explanation of this what it may, as a fact he never did venture to come back upon his own account, although there never was a subsequent occasion upon which any of his former friends went to the town but the terrier was seen to return with them, having always found some way of escape from his intended imprisonment.

The Rev. J. C. Atkinson gives an account ('Zoologist,' vol. vii., p. 2338) of his terrier, which, on starting a water-rat out of reeds into the running stream, would not plunge directly after it, knowing that the rat would beat him at swimming. But the moment the rat plunged, the dog ran four or five yards down the bank, and there waited till the water-rat, being carried down stream, appeared upon the surface, when he pounced upon it successfully.

Cases of this kind might be multiplied indefinitely, and they appear to show a true faculty of reason or inferring.

Professor W. W. Bailey, writing from Brown University to 'Nature' (xxii., p. 607), says:--

A friend of mine, a naturalist, and a very
conscientious man, whose word can be implicitly
trusted, gives the following, to which he was an
eye-witness. His grandfather, then a very old but hale
and hearty man, had a splendid Newfoundland. There was
a narrow and precipitous road leading from the fields
to the house. It was regarded as a very dangerous
place. One day when the old gentleman was doing some
work about the farm his horse became alarmed, and
started off with the waggon along this causeway. The
chances were that he would dash himself and the empty
waggon to pieces. At once the dog seemed to take in
the situation, although until that time he had been
impassive. He started after the horse at full speed,
overtook him, caught the bridle, and by his strength
arrested the frightened creature until help could
reach him. My friend gives many other stories of this
fine dog, and thinks he had a decided sense of humour.
I will repeat that both of these tales come to me well
authenticated, and I could, by seeking permission,
give names and places.

Couch gives the following, which is worth quoting, as showing the intelligence of dogs in attacking unusual prey:--

On the first discovery of the prey (crabs) a terrier
runs in to seize it, and is immediately and severely
bitten in the nose. But a sedate Newfoundland dog of
my acquaintance proceeds more soberly in his work. He
lays his paw on it to arrest it in its escape; then
tumbling it over he bares his teeth, and, seizing it
with the mouth, throws the crab aloft. It falls upon
the stones; the shell is cracked beyond redemption,
and then the dainty dish is devoured at his
leisure.[270]