Chapter VII: The Dog Family.--The Domestic Dog.91 (2)

Another and more striking instance of the exercise of reasoning power is given in the _Quarterly Journal of Science_ for April, 1876. It is there stated that a Newfoundland Dog was “sent across a stream to fetch a couple of hats, whilst his master and friend had gone on some distance. The Dog went after them, and the gentlemen saw him attempt to carry both hats, and fail, for the two were too much for him. Presently he paused in his endeavour, took a careful survey of the hats, discovered that one was larger than the other, put the small one in the larger, and took the latter in his teeth by the brim!”

In the face of facts such as these, the question as to whether Dogs possess the power of reasoning becomes merely one of words. No one would say that a human being who did as this Dog did acted from blind instinct. One can easily call to mind several persons of one’s acquaintance, to whom it would be the height of presumption to deny the possession of reason, and who yet would never have thought of putting the hats one inside the other. It is related that the great Newton made, in his study door, a big hole for his Cat and a little one for the kitten. In doing this he showed far less exercise of reason than the Dog; and it is quite conceivable that if he had been sent to fetch the hats he would have brought them over separately! We shall give other instances of reason in the Dog when we come to speak of conscience, cunning, revenge, &c., as exhibited by him. Any book of Dog-anecdotes will furnish the reader with many more, so that, on the whole, one is forced to the conclusion that, to prove the absence of reason in the Dog, one must argue something after this fashion:--Dogs often perform actions which, in man, would undoubtedly be attributed to reason. But man is the only member of the animal creation which possesses the reasoning faculty. Therefore, all actions in the Dog which simulate reason are, in reality, due to blind instinct. Therefore, Dogs do not possess the reasoning faculty. Which was to be demonstrated.

One of the most interesting points in the Dog’s character, and one in which many of his human masters would do well to imitate him, is his teachableness. A good Dog may be taught almost anything, no matter how difficult or distasteful, or how foreign to his nature. And not only will he learn to do anything, but to understand anything, for there can be no doubt whatever that Dogs actually do understand what is said to them, in many cases, quite irrespectively of tone or gesture. Of course, with an ordinary Dog who has received no special and systematic training, it is the tone of his master’s voice or his gestures which convey meanings to him, far more than the actual words; but with many Dogs, whose intelligence is great, and whose education has been thorough, this _acme_ of culture is attained, and the animal does, undoubtedly, understand the actual words said to him. As an instance, we may mention the well-known case of “Sirrah,” the Ettrick Shepherd’s Dog, who wanted only the words “Sirrah, my man, they’re a’ awa’!” to proceed immediately in search of the missing flock. It is a matter of the commonest observation how soon even ordinary Dogs learn to understand certain words or phrases, such as “Rats!” “Cats!” “Set them off!” “Beg!” “Trust!” and so forth; and, although certainly in many of these cases tone and gesture have a great deal to do with the animal’s comprehension, yet there can be no sort of doubt that a Dog of fair intelligence learns, after a time, to recognise the words, if spoken in the most ordinary tone of voice. The following account--a truly marvellous one--illustrates not only the most perfect understanding of words, but capacity for a high degree of education, great intelligence, extensive memory, and reasoning faculties of no mean order:--

“Two fine Dogs, of the Spanish breed, were introduced by M. Léonard, with the customary French _politesse_, the largest by the name of M. Philax, the other as M. Brac (or Spot). The former had been in training three, the latter two, years. They were in vigorous health, and having bowed very gracefully, seated themselves on the hearth-rug side by side. M. Léonard then gave a lively description of the means he had employed to develop the cerebral system in these animals--how, from having been fond of the chase, and ambitious of possessing the best trained Dogs, he had employed the usual course of training--how the conviction had been impressed on his mind that by gentle usage, and steady perseverance in inducing the animal to repeat again and again what was required, not only would the Dog be capable of performing that specific act, but that part of the brain which was brought into activity by the mental effort would become more largely developed, and hence a permanent increase of mental power be obtained.

“After this introduction, M. Léonard spoke to his Dogs in French, in his usual tone, and ordered one of them to walk, the other to lie down, to run, to gallop, halt, crouch, &c., which they performed as promptly and correctly as the most docile children. Then he directed them to go through the usual exercises of the _manège_, which they performed as well as the best trained ponies at Astley’s.

“He next placed six cards of different colours on the floor, and, sitting with his back to the Dogs, directed one to pick up the blue card, and the other the white, &c., varying his orders rapidly, and speaking in such a manner that it was impossible the Dogs could have executed his commands if they had not had a perfect knowledge of the words. For instance, M. Léonard said, ‘Philax, take the red card and give it to Brac, and, Brac, take the white card and give it to Philax.’ The Dogs instantly did this, and exchanged cards with each other. He then said, ‘Philax, put your card on the green, and Brac, put yours on the blue;’ and this was instantly performed. Pieces of bread and meat were placed on the floor, with figured cards, and a variety of directions were given to the Dogs, so as to put their intelligence and obedience to a severe test. They brought the meat, bread, or cards, as commanded, but did not attempt to eat or to touch unless ordered. Philax was then ordered to bring a piece of meat and give it to Brac, and then Brac was told to give it back to Philax, who was to return it to its place. Philax was next told he might bring a piece of bread and eat it; but, before he had time to swallow it, his master forbade him, and directed him to show that he had not disobeyed, and the Dog instantly protruded the crust between his lips.

“While many of the feats were being performed, M. Léonard snapped a whip violently, to prove that the animals were so completely under discipline, that they would not heed any interruption. After many other performances, M. Léonard invited a gentleman to play a game of dominoes with one of them. The younger and slighter Dog then seated himself on a chair at the table, and the writer and M. Léonard seated themselves opposite. Six dominoes were placed on their edges in the usual manner before the Dog, and a like number before the writer. The Dog, having a double number, took one up in his mouth, and put it in the middle of the table; the writer placed a corresponding piece on one side; the Dog immediately played another correctly, and so on until all the pieces were engaged. Other six dominoes were then given to each, and the writer intentionally played a wrong number. The Dog looked surprised, stared very earnestly at the writer, growled, and finally barked angrily. Finding that no notice was taken of his remonstrances, he pushed away the wrong domino with his nose, and took up a suitable one from his own pieces and placed it in its stead. The writer then played correctly; the Dog followed, and won the game. Not the slightest intimation could have been given by M. Léonard to the Dog. This mode of play must have been entirely the result of his own observation and judgment. It should be added that the performances were strictly private. The owner of the Dogs was a gentleman of independent fortune, and the instruction of his Dogs had been taken up merely as a curious and amusing investigation.”[100]

To give another instance of a Dog understanding actual words:--A woman expressed aloud a wish that a certain Cat, who plagued her greatly, was dead. Her favourite Dog went out of the house, found the Cat in the garden, and immediately slew it! This is quite a parallel case to the story of Henry II. and Thomas à Becket.

Another very unequivocal instance is given us by Mr. Hugh Miller. Pompey, a black Retriever, belonging to a lady at Morningside, Edinburgh, could not be kept because he was perpetually damaging the neighbours’ gardens. He was, therefore, sent to lodge with the family of an old servant, but there, too, he made his position untenable by fighting with the servant’s own Dog. At last, it was agreed that there was no use in trying to cure Pompey of his bad habits; he was condemned to death, and the butcher was ordered to hang him on a certain day. The children, who loved the poor beast, despite his crimes, kept throwing their arms round his neck and saying, “Oh, poor Pompey, you’re going to be hanged!” On the morning fixed for the execution Pompey disappeared, and kept clear until he imagined the storm had blown over. Another day was, therefore, fixed, but before that time the servant at whose house he was stopping mentioned Pompey’s case to a lady, who obtained a reprieve, and adopted him herself. He behaved very well with his new mistress for some time, although for a full year after his rescue he was much depressed in spirits, and wore quite a hang-dog look. But after some years, there was a general change of servants in the house, and Pompey, who disliked strangers, bit one of the new-comers. His mistress--without meaning a threat--said to him, “Oh, Pompey, you’ll be hanged after all!” whereupon Pompey decamped, and could by no means be heard of. At length, an advertisement in the _Scotsman_ was answered by a gentleman, who stated that an ownerless Dog, of the description given, had been caught _changing trains_ at Layton, Cumberland. Here he was detained, and, although at home rather averse to strangers, displayed at once extraordinary urbanity, and was soon a prime favourite. Evidently it was his intention to ingratiate himself with his new friends, that he might not be sent home and hanged. Subsequently, he was identified by a friend of his mistress’s who was travelling in Cumberland, and sent home. Besides illustrating a Dog’s knowledge of words, this anecdote furnishes a wonderful instance of acuteness, for this Dog knew nothing of the railway by which he travelled to Layton, except from having a short time before accompanied the cook to the station to see her off on a journey.

After finding that the Dog can understand what is said to him, one is always tempted to wish he could go one step further, and answer again, for to hear from a Dog’s own lips his opinion on “men and things” would be an entertainment of no small interest. Attempts have been made to teach Dogs to speak, but as one might imagine with very partial success. A curious account of an attempt of this kind was communicated by the great philosopher Leibnitz to the French Academy.

“A little boy, a peasant’s son, imagined that he perceived in the Dog’s voice an indistinct resemblance to certain words, and therefore took it into his head to teach him to speak. For this purpose he spared neither time nor pains with his pupil, who was about three years old when his learned education commenced, and in process of time he was able to articulate no fewer than thirty distinct words. He was, however, somewhat of a truant, and did not very willingly exert his talent, and was rather pressed than otherwise into the service of literature. It was necessary that the words should be pronounced to him each time, and then he repeated them after his preceptor. Leibnitz attests that he heard the animal talk in this way, and the French Academicians add, that unless they had received the testimony of so celebrated a person they would scarcely have dared to report the circumstance. It took place in Mesnia, in Saxony.”[101]

But “actions speak louder than words,” and although the Dog is not gifted with the power of articulate speech, he is yet capable of expressing his feelings by look and gesture as eloquently as most people. It is altogether wonderful to see how a Dog’s whole expression and demeanour are changed by a word or look either of praise or blame. The eye, the mouth, the ear, the tail, the whole trunk, all are called into requisition, and together speak a language which is unmistakable. Mr. Darwin gives a most interesting account of the mode of expression of two opposite states of mind in the Dog; an account which, like everything written by the same author, leaves nothing to be desired for clearness and accuracy.

“When a Dog approaches a strange Dog or man in a savage or hostile frame of mind, he walks upright and very stiffly; his head is slightly raised, or not much lowered, the tail is held erect and quite rigid; the hairs bristle, especially along the neck and back; the pricked ears are directed forwards, and the eyes have a fixed stare. These actions follow from the Dog’s intention to attack his enemy, and are thus to a large extent intelligible. As he prepares to spring, with a savage growl, on his enemy, the canine teeth are uncovered, and the ears are pressed close backwards on the head. Let us now suppose that the Dog suddenly discovers that the man whom he is approaching is not a stranger, but his master; and let it be observed how completely and instantaneously his whole bearing is reversed. Instead of walking upright, the body sinks downwards, or even crouches, and is thrown into flexuous movements; his tail, instead of being held stiff and upright, is lowered and wagged from side to side; his hair instantly becomes smooth; his ears are depressed and drawn backwards, but not closely to the head; and his lips hang loosely. From the drawing back of the ears the eyelids become elongated, and the eyes no longer appear round and staring.”

And again, “when a Dog is on the point of springing on his antagonist, he utters a savage growl; the ears are pressed closely backwards, and the upper lip is retracted out of the way of his teeth, especially of his canines.... If a Dog only snarls at another, the lip is generally retracted on one side alone, namely, towards his enemy.”

“The feeling of affection of a Dog towards his master is combined with a strong sense of submission, which is akin to fear. Hence Dogs not only lower their bodies and crouch a little as they approach their masters, but sometimes throw themselves on the ground, with their bellies upwards. This is a movement as completely opposite as is possible to any show of resistance.... A pleasurable and excited state of mind, associated with affection, is exhibited by some Dogs in a very peculiar manner, namely, by grinning.”[102]

It is extremely interesting to consider the means by which these various expressive movements are produced. If the skin be removed from the head of a Dog, there will be seen, lying beneath it, a quantity of red flesh, intermixed with a good deal of fat and fibrous substance. If this latter be carefully dissected away, the red flesh will be seen to resolve itself into a number of _muscles_, very definitely arranged, and each one designed for some special movement. There are, first of all, muscles which move the eye. One set of fibres closely encircle the aperture of the eyelids, and, when they act, close the eye, either entirely, as in actual sleep, or partially, as in that half sleepy state a Dog loves to be in on a hot afternoon, or before a blazing fire. Another set of eye muscles have an entirely different action to these. They radiate from the eyelids to the surrounding parts of the head, and when they act, “draw back the eyelids from the eyeball, and give a sparkling fierceness to the eye.” From this reason Sir Charles Bell, who first described them, called them _scintillantes_, or sparkling muscles. The ears have a number of muscular bands attached to them, some drawing them forwards, some backwards, others sideways. These are, therefore, highly important muscles, for a Dog hardly passes a moment without moving his ears. We ourselves possess representatives of these muscles, but in an entirely useless state in most persons, very few having the power of moving their ears. Other very important muscles pass from one of the face bones in front of the eye, and are attached to the lip just above the canine teeth. When these act, they draw the lips back from those teeth, thus baring the Dog’s chief weapon, and producing a snarl; they are, therefore, called the _ringentes_, or snarling muscles; and one has only to irritate a Dog to see their effect in altering the animal’s expression. Lastly, there are muscles which draw back the corners of the mouth and produce a sort of grin, an action which seems to be almost normal in the Wolf, but which is also frequently seen in Dogs. It will be readily observed how important these muscles are, and how every expressive look in a Dog’s countenance can be referred to the action of one or more of them.

_a_, Circular muscle round the eyelids; _b_, _d_, scintillantes;
_f_, _g_, _h_, muscles of the ear; _i_, _k_, ringentes; _m_,
circular fibres of the mouth; _n_, muscle drawing back the angle of
the mouth; _o_, cutaneous muscle, for moving the skin of the neck.]

There can be no doubt that Dogs are perfectly capable of communicating their thoughts to one another, and of understanding one another’s meaning as well as that of their masters. One often sees two Dogs, after a friendly sniff, carry on a small conversation, before trotting on their ways, evidently quite as fond of a little chat as Burns’s celebrated “twa Dogs,” who

“Foregather’d ance upon a time

* * * * *

Nae doubt but they were fain o’ ither,
An’ unco pack and thick thegither;
Wi’ social nose whyles snuff’d and snowkit;
Whyles mice and moudieworts[103] they howkit;
Whyles scour’d awa in lang excursion,
An’ worry’d ither in diversion;
Until wi’ daffin weary grown,
upon a knowe they sat them down,
And there began a lang digression
About the lords o’ the creation.”

The method of hunting in packs adopted by wild Dogs is an undoubted proof of the faculty of combining together for a definite end, a number of animals agreeing to hunt a quarry, which one alone would be powerless against. But there are many instances of civilised Dogs concocting plans in the cleverest way, and carrying them out with a care and circumspection perfectly wonderful in a “dumb animal.” For instance, Mr. Romanes says:--“A small Skye and a large Mongrel were in the habit of hunting Hares and Rabbits upon their own account, the small Dog having a good nose, and the large one great fleetness. These qualities they combined in the most advantageous manner, the Terrier driving the game from the cover towards his fleet-footed companion, which was waiting for it outside.” The same gentleman gives another and still more curious instance:--

“A friend of mine in this neighbourhood had a small Terrier and a large Newfoundland. One day a shepherd called upon him to say that his Dogs had been seen worrying Sheep the night before. The gentleman said there must be some mistake, as the Newfoundland had not been unchained. A few days afterwards the shepherd again called with the same complaint, vehemently asserting that he was positive as to the identity of the Dogs. Consequently, the owner set one watch upon the kennel, and another outside the sheep enclosure, directing them (in consequence of what the shepherd had told him) not to interfere with the actions of the Dogs. After this had been done for several nights in succession, the small Dog was observed to come at day-dawn to the place where the large one was chained. The latter immediately slipped his collar, and the two animals made straight for the Sheep. Upon arriving at the enclosure, the Newfoundland concealed himself behind a hedge, while the Terrier drove the Sheep towards his ambush, and the fate of one of them was quickly sealed. When their breakfast was finished, the Dogs returned home, and the large one, thrusting his head into his collar, lay down again as though nothing had happened. Why this animal should have chosen to hunt by stratagem prey which he could so easily have run down I cannot suggest; but there is little doubt that so wise a Dog must have had some good reason.”

In another case we have met with, a “solemn league and covenant” was made, for purposes of offence and defence, between a Dog and a Cat. A Blenheim Spaniel was taken to a strange house, and, shortly after his arrival, was attacked and severely scratched by the two Cats living there. The Spaniel was no match for both antagonists at once, and so judiciously beat a retreat into the garden. He there met with a Cat belonging to the gardener, and succeeded in making friends with her and prevailing on her to join with him against his cruel enemies. The two allies then went into the house, and finding one of the victorious Cats alone, attacked and defeated her. Shortly after she was put to flight, victor number two entered the room; she was also presently attacked and routed with great loss by the allied forces, who were thus left masters of the field. The narrator of this tale goes on to state that the Spaniel remained ever afterwards on terms of the firmest friendship with his feline helper.

It is a subject of great interest to consider which of the virtues and vices of man himself are exhibited by the Dog. We will take, first, his good qualities, and then shall “follow his vices--close at the heels of his virtues;” so that we may see how many of both he can be found to possess.

First, and most important of all, is a clear sense of right and wrong, without which no moral advancement is possible. That nearly all Dogs have this sense, and that many possess it in a very marked degree, there can be no doubt. Several instances of this faculty are given by the author we have already quoted, Mr. G. J. Romanes,[104] who writes of a little Dog in his possession:--

“For a long time this Terrier was the only canine pet I had. One day, however, I brought home a large Dog and chained him up outside. The jealousy of the Terrier towards the new-comer was extreme. Indeed, I never before knew that jealousy in an animal could arrive at such a pitch; but as it would occupy too much space to enter into details, it will be enough to say that I really think nothing that could have befallen this Terrier would have pleased him so much as would any happy accident by which he might well get rid of his rival. Well, a few nights after the new Dog had arrived, the Terrier was, as usual, sleeping in my bed-room. About one o’clock in the morning he began to bark and scream very loudly, and upon my waking up and telling him to be quiet, he ran between the bed and the window in a most excited manner, jumping on and off the toilette-table after each journey, as much as to say: ‘Get up quickly; you have no idea of what shocking things are going on outside!’ Accordingly I got up and was surprised to see the large Dog careering down the road: he had broken loose, and, being wild with fear at finding himself alone in a strange place, was running he knew not whither. Of course I went out as soon as possible, and after about half-an-hour’s work succeeded in capturing the runaway. I then brought him into the house and chained him up in the hall; after which I fed and caressed him, with the view of restoring his peace of mind. During all this time the Terrier had remained in my bed-room, and, although he heard the feeding and caressing process going on down-stairs, this was the only time I ever knew him fail to attack the large Dog when it was taken into the house. Upon my re-entering the bed-room, and before I had said anything, the Terrier met me with certain indescribable grinnings and prancings, which he always used to perform when conscious of having been a particularly good Dog. Now, I consider the whole of this episode a very remarkable instance in an animal of action prompted by a sense of _duty_. No other motive than the voice of conscience can here be assigned for what the Terrier did: even his strong jealousy of the large Dog gave way before the yet stronger dread he had of the remorse he knew he should have to suffer if next day he saw me distressed at a loss which it had been in his power to prevent. What makes the case more striking is, that this was the only occasion during the many years he slept in my bed-room that the Terrier disturbed me in the night-time. Indeed, the scrupulous care with which he avoided making the least noise while I was asleep, or pretending to be asleep, was quite touching: even the sight of a Cat outside, which at any other time rendered him frantic, only causing him to tremble violently with suppressed emotion, when he had reason to suppose that I was not awake. If I overslept myself, however, he used to jump upon the bed and push my shoulder gently with his paw.”

“The following instance is likewise very instructive. I must premise that the Terrier in question far surpassed any animal or human being I ever knew in the keen sensitiveness of his feelings, and that he was never beaten in his life. Well, one day he was shut up in a room by himself, while everybody else in the house where he was went out. Seeing his friends from the window as they departed, the Terrier appears to have been overcome by a paroxysm of rage, for when I returned I found that he had torn all the bottoms of the window-curtains to shreds. When I first opened the door he jumped about as Dogs in general do under similar circumstances, having apparently forgotten, in his joy at seeing me, the damage he had done. But when, without speaking, I picked up one of the torn shreds of the curtains, the Terrier gave a howl, and rushing out of the room, ran up-stairs screaming as loudly as he was able. The only interpretation I can assign to this conduct is, that his former fit of passion having subsided, the Dog was sorry at having done what he knew would annoy me; and not being able to endure in my presence the remorse of his smitten conscience, he ran to the farthest corner of the house, crying _peccavi_ in the language of his nature.

“I had had this Dog for several years, and had never--even in his puppyhood--known him to steal. On the contrary, he used to make an excellent guard to protect property from other animals, servants, &c., even though these were his best friends. Nevertheless, on one occasion he was very hungry, and in the room where I was reading and he was sitting there was, within easy reach, a savoury mutton chop. I was greatly surprised to see him stealthily remove this chop and take it under a sofa. However, I pretended not to observe what had occurred, and waited to see what would happen next. For fully a quarter of an hour this Terrier remained under the sofa without making it sound, but doubtless enduring an agony of contending feelings. Eventually, however, conscience came off victorious, for, emerging from his place of concealment, and carrying in his mouth the stolen chop, he came across the room and laid the tempting morsel at my feet. The moment he dropped the stolen property he bolted again under the sofa, and from this retreat no coaxing could charm him for several hours afterwards. Moreover, when during that time he was spoken to or patted, he always turned away his head in a ludicrously conscience-stricken manner. Altogether, I do not think it would be possible to imagine a more satisfactory exhibition of conscience by an animal than this; for it must be remembered, as already stated, that the particular animal in question was never beaten in its life.”

That extreme sensitiveness, so often an attribute of the highest kinds of mind, was developed to an extraordinary degree in this wonderful Terrier. His owner says:--“A reproachful word or look from me, when it seemed to him that occasion required it, was enough to make this Dog miserable for a whole day. I do not know what would have happened had I ventured to strike him; but once, when I was away from home, a friend used to take him out every day for a walk in the park. He always enjoyed his walks very much, and was now wholly dependent on this gentleman for obtaining them. (He was once stolen in London, through the complicity of my servants, and never after that would he go out by himself, or with any one whom he knew to be a servant.) Nevertheless, one day, while he was amusing himself with another Dog in the park, my friend, 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 friend 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 this, my friend could never induce the Terrier to go out with him again. It is remarkable, also, that this animal’s sensitiveness was not only of a selfish kind, but extended itself in sympathy for others. Whenever he saw a man striking a Dog, whether in the house or outside, near at hand or a distance, he used to rush to the protection of his fellow, snarling and snapping in a most threatening way. Again, when driving with me in a dog-cart, he always used to seize the sleeve of my coat every time I touched the Horse with the whip.”

Sensitiveness such as this generally goes along with the keenest susceptibility to ridicule; and here, again, the same Dog showed a dislike of being laughed at which is amusingly human, as is also the clever trick by which he tried to escape the gibes which were entering so deeply into his soul.

“The Terrier used to be very fond of catching flies upon the window-panes, and if ridiculed when unsuccessful, he 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 much ashamed of himself.”

Honesty is a virtue very commonly developed in good Dogs, and instances of it are numerous. In the family of a friend of ours there is a large Retriever--a long-faced, Puritanical-looking Dog--which, when the temptation to steal is ready to overpower him, will, to keep his virtue untarnished, turn his back upon the longed-for morsel, solemnly looking in the opposite direction. Evidently, like Coleridge’s “holy hermit,” he “prays where he does sit,” and thus overcomes the temptation. But, as usual, the best anecdote is given by Mr. Romanes, again _apropos_ of his wonderful Terrier.

“I have seen this Dog escort a Donkey, which had baskets on its back filled with apples. Although the Dog did not know that he was being observed by anybody, he did his duty with the utmost faithfulness; for every time the Donkey turned back its head to take an apple out of the baskets the Dog snapped at its nose; and such was his watchfulness, that, although his companion was keenly desirous of tasting some of the fruit, he never allowed him to get a single apple during the half-hour they were left together. I have also seen this Terrier protecting meat from other Terriers (his sons) which lived in the same house with him, and with which he was on the best of terms. More curious still, I have seen him seize my wristbands while they were being worn by a friend to whom I had temporarily lent them.”

In some Dogs, as in many people, honesty does not spring from high principle, but from mere conventionality. Actual dishonesty, too, is the commonest vice of untrained or badly-trained Dogs. It is, however, comparatively rare to meet with Dogs whose thefts are of a really artistic nature. Two of the best instances of this are furnished by Sir Walter Scott,[105] who gives a most interesting account of a Shepherd’s Dog and a Spaniel, both of whom had a perfect talent for thieving; they were not only afflicted with kleptomania in a high degree, but showed as much talent in the performance of their equivocal deeds as the most prominent member of the “swell mob.”

“I have heard of a sheep-stealer who had rendered his Dog so skilful an accomplice in his nefarious traffic, that he used to send him out to commit acts of felony by himself, and had even contrived to impress on the poor cur the caution that he should not, on such occasions, seem even to recognise his master if they met accidentally. There were several instances of this dexterity, but especially those which occurred in the celebrated case of Murdison and Millar in 1773. These persons, a sheep-farmer and his shepherd, settled in the vale of Tweed, commenced and carried on for some time an extensive system of devastation on the flocks of their neighbours. A Dog belonging to Millar was so well trained that he had only to show him during the day the parcel of Sheep which he desired to have, and when dismissed at night for the purpose, Yarrow went right to the pasture where the flock had fed, and carried off the quantity shown to him. He then drove them before him by the most secret paths to Murdison’s farm, where the dishonest master and servant were in readiness to receive the booty. Two things were remarkable. In the first place, that if the Dog, when thus dishonestly employed, actually met his master, he observed great caution in recognising him, as if he had been afraid of bringing him under suspicion; secondly, that he showed a distinct sense that the illegal transactions in which he was engaged were not of a nature to endure daylight. The Sheep which he was directed to drive were often reluctant, to leave their own pastures, and sometimes the intervention of rivers or other obstacles made their progress peculiarly difficult. On such occasions, Yarrow continued his efforts to drive his plunder forward until the day began to dawn, a signal which, he conceived, rendered it necessary for him to desert his spoil, and slink homeward by a circuitous road. It is generally said this accomplished Dog was hanged along with his master; but the truth is, he survived him long, in the service of a man in Leithen: yet was said afterwards to have shown little of the wonderful instinct exhibited in the service of Millar.

“Another instance of similar sagacity a friend of mine discovered in a beautiful little Spaniel, which he had purchased from a dealer in the canine race. When he entered a shop, he was not long in observing that his little companion made it a rule to follow at some interval, and to estrange itself from his master so much as to appear totally unconnected with him. And when he left the shop, it was the Dog’s custom to remain behind him till it could find an opportunity of seizing a pair of gloves, or silk stockings, or some similar property, which it brought to its master. The poor fellow probably saved its life by falling into the hands of an honest man.”

Equally good is the account given by Mr. Youatt of a pair of canine house-lifters, whose talents were really pre-eminent. One is almost tempted to wonder if an iron safe with all the most recent improvements would have been proof against their attacks.

“The writer of this work had a brace of Greyhounds as arrant thieves as ever lived. They would now and then steal into the cooking-room belonging to the kennel, lift the lid from the boiler, and, if any portion of the joint or piece of meat projected above the water, suddenly seize it, and before there was time for them to feel much of its heat, contrive to whirl it on the floor, and eat it at their leisure as it got cold. In order to prevent this, the top of the boiler was secured by an iron rod passing under its handle, and tied to the handle of the boiler on each side; but not many days passed ere they discovered that they could gnaw the cords asunder, and displace the rod, and fish out the meat as before. Small chains were then substituted for the cords, and the meat was cooked in safety for nearly a week, when they found that, by rearing themselves on their hind legs, and applying their united strength towards the top of the boiler, they could lift it out of its bed, and roll it along the floor, and so get at the broth, although the meat was out of their reach. The man who looked after them expressed himself heartily glad when they were gone; for he said he was often afraid to go into the kennel, and was sure they were devils and not Dogs.”

The foregoing Dogs were all dishonest in a tolerably open sort of way, and are comparable to human burglars and shop-lifters; but the animal of whom the following tale is told disdained plain dealing, and went in for something akin to the well-known “confidence dodge,” by which so many unsuspecting countrymen are every year taken in by London sharpers:--

“I once, under somewhat singular circumstances, made the acquaintance of a Dog, as arrant a vagabond and impostor as ever ran on four legs, but whose shortcomings were, I feel convinced, occasioned by circumstances entirely beyond his control. He was above the medium size, and of handsome proportions, except for one or two blemishes. There was an air of superior breeding about the animal; his coat was silky and genteel, and his bright eyes beamed with intelligence. Owing, however, to an accident of birth, a taint of the most objectionable cur kind had crept into his composition. It announced itself in distorting to bandiness his otherwise symmetrical fore-legs, and in a shapeless, club-like tail, which usurped the place of a wavy, graceful terminal appendage such as would have been his had not his breed been marred. A close observer might have remarked, as well as the peculiarities mentioned, a raffish-drooping of the left eyelid and an up-curving of the upper lip on the right side, as though the animal had been used to pot-house company; and they had taught him the trick of holding a short pipe there. But, on the whole; and at a cursory glance, he was quite a nice-looking Dog.

“The first occasion of our meeting was very late one wintry night, when the snow lay half a foot deep on the street pavement. I cannot say if he first caught sight of me or I of him, for he was crouched in the shadow of a lamp-post; seemingly on the chance of there coming that way a compassionate pedestrian who might be induced to give him a night’s lodging. Our eyes met, and had I been a long-lost relative he could not have been more suddenly inspired with joy. He bounded to his feet, and proclaimed his good-luck in tones that must have awakened all the babies in the neighbourhood. I quickened my step, but he appeared to regard this as a friendly response to his friskiness, and he barked the louder. For peace and quietness’ sake I adjured him as a ‘Good Dog.’ That did the business. He had no objection to trotting soberly by my side on that understanding, and so together we arrived at my domicile.

“It was altogether against the rules of the establishment to admit strange Dogs, but under such circumstances what could I do? His genteel appearance pleaded for him. The mere fact of his having, like a blundering, stupid, honest tyke, jumped to the conclusion that I looked just the sort of Man to befriend a houseless Dog, spoke in his favour. Every one was in bed as I opened the door with my latch-key, and not too deeply to compromise myself I pointed out to my canine intruder that his place for the night was the door-mat. I went down-stairs and searched for scraps, and got him together a tolerably good supper, and left him perfectly comfortable.

“I cannot believe that at that time he had it in his mind to abuse my confidence, or to act towards me in any way the reverse of honourable. It must have been that unfortunate one-eighth of cur that, made bold by beef-bones, rose against the animal’s better nature, and conquered it. Anyhow, when the outer door was opened to the newspaper-boy next morning, the servant was scared by the spectacle of a Dog taking the whole flight of steps at a leap, and making off with part of a leg of pork in its mouth. The villain had feloniously extracted it from the pantry, which I had inadvertently left open when I went foraging for him. Besides the pork he had carried off, he had helped himself during the night to a small steak-pie, about a pound of fresh butter, and a fine rasher of ham. I had but little expectation of encountering the canine traitor ever again; but I did so. About a week after, at dead of night, and in the pouring rain, once more I made out his crouching figure in the shadow of the identical lamp-post. Again our eyes met, and, as on the previous occasion, he instantly leapt to his feet. Not to cut capers about me. However, his guilty fears did not make of him a faltering, trembling coward. He took in the whole situation at a glance, including my vengefully-grasped umbrella, and, with one brisk bark of derision, made off at a speed which quickly carried him out of sight. Since then I have frequently encountered him, but it has been in the busy streets at daytime, but he does not run away. If he can avoid my eye he does so. If he cannot--and with his guilt haunting him I imagine it is not easy to do so--he assumes a puzzled expression of countenance, as though half convinced he has seen me before, though when and under what circumstances he could not say though his life depended on it.”[106]

Another very good instance of cunning, produced by a long course of back-slum life and manners, is given by the writer from whom the foregoing anecdote is taken, respecting “a Dog--a low-looking villain, blind of one eye, and, in consequence of his nefarious propensities, with never more than three sound legs to run on, who haunts the neighbourhood of Drury Lane. Nobody owns the brute, but he has contrived to scrape acquaintance with a kind-hearted cheesemonger, who keeps a shop there. I have the worthy tradesman’s own word for it that he always knows when the officer on the look-out for vagrant Dogs is about by the sudden appearance of Tinker and his peculiar behaviour. At ordinary times disdaining to be anything better than a Dog of the streets, his custom is to salute the cheesemonger from the pavement, and by a bark and a wag of his stump of a tail solicit an unconsidered trifle of bone or bacon-rind; but on the special occasion alluded to his tactics are quite different. He enters the shop with a sober and business-like air, and lies down on a mat by the parlour-door, with paws extended and his tail beating a contented tattoo on the floor, as though since his puppyhood that had been his home and abiding-place, and he had known and desired to know no other. It is a joke between the officer and the cheesemonger, and the former enters the shop and loudly demands to know if ‘that Dog lives here.’ I have not as yet had the pleasure of witnessing it, but the cheesemonger informs me that it is ‘as good as a play’ to observe the reassuring blink of his only eye which, at this juncture, Tinker bestows on the policeman, immediately afterwards curling himself round for a doze, as though to say, ‘Let this convince you.’ Tinker’s stay, however, is not protracted. As soon as, according to his calculation, the coast is clear, he is off, as unexpectedly as he came, and until he is again hard pressed by the law never thinks of crossing the cheesemonger’s threshold.”

We spoke just now of Dogs being honest from pure conventionality; there is no doubt that many of them soon acquire a very acute sense of the conventional, and perform certain actions, or assume a certain behaviour, simply because they feel it to be the right and proper thing. We have heard of a Bull-terrier who acquired perfectly that sense of decorum which in many human beings serves in lieu of religious feeling. When this Dog was bought, it was debated whether or not it would be advisable to let him remain in the room at prayers; the question was eventually decided in the affirmative, and the Dog almost immediately seemed to get a sense of what was meant, and to feel that he was expected to behave with propriety. He therefore adopted a particular mode of procedure--a sort of canine ritual--to which he always steadily adhered. While the Bible was being read, he sat straight up on his haunches on the hearth-rug, looking solemnly into the fire. This he continued until the family knelt to pray, when he immediately went off to a corner of the room, and stood there with lowered head until all was over. He did this with such perfect solemnity that the effect was indescribably ludicrous, and friends stopping in the house had to be warned of what to expect.

The tales of canine magnanimity are endless. Every one knows that of the big Newfoundland who, being long plagued by a number of little yelping curs, one of whom at last bit him, revenged himself only by dipping the offender in the quay hard by, and, after he was cowed, plunging in and bringing him safe to land. But all Dogs are not magnanimous. Some of them, like certain men one meets with, have quite a talent for taking offence, and will pick a quarrel on the slightest provocation, or, indeed, on no provocation at all. There are, of course, the wretched little curs one meets in the street, whose sole delight seems to be to rush out suddenly and bark furiously at every passer-by; but these miserable beings act as they do rather from lack of brain, and for want of something to do, than from real badness of heart. There are Dogs, however, who are naturally quarrelsome, and will do all in their power to get up a row, simply for the pleasure of the thing. “There is a well-authenticated instance of a Terrier, who, in picking a quarrel, contrived, as if trained in the Kanzellei of Prince Bismarck, to place himself technically in the right. He would time his movements so that some passenger should stumble over him, and would then fasten on the calf of his leg. With a most statesman-like aptitude, he selected the aged, the infirm, and the ill-dressed, as the objects of his cunningly-planned attacks.”[107]

Not only are instances of quarrelsomeness to be found Dogs, but also of the strongest desire to revenge real or supposed injuries, of the exercise of a wonderful amount of cunning and reasoning power to bring a hated rival to justice. The following anecdote forms a capital antithesis to that of Mr. Romanes’ Terrier, who prevented the escape of the Dog he disliked and was jealous of, although such an event would have brought him the greatest possible comfort:--

“A fine Terrier, in the possession of a surgeon, about three weeks ago, exhibited its sagacity in a rather amusing manner. It came into the kitchen and began plucking the servant by the gown, and in spite of repeated rebuffs, it perseveringly continued in its purpose. The mistress of the house hearing the noise, came down to inquire the cause, when the animal treated her in a similar manner. Being struck with the concern evinced by the creature, she quietly followed it up-stairs into a bed-room, whither it led her; there it commenced barking, looking under the bed, and then up in her face. Upon examination, a Cat was discovered there quietly demolishing a beef-steak, which it had feloniously obtained. The most singular feature in the whole case is that the Cat had been introduced into the house only a short time before, and that bitter enmity prevailed between her and her canine companion.”

Besides illustrating the desire for vengeance, this is as good an instance of reason as any we have given. The Dog evidently argued to himself in this wise:--“If I fly upon this wretched Cat and deprive her of her stolen goods by force, she will get nothing more than a fright, or, perhaps, a few tooth marks; but if I lodge a complaint against her before the proper tribunal, her guilt will be manifest to the whole household, and she will be got rid of, or even killed.” The Dog, by the way he conceived and acted on this plan, showed himself to be nearly as clever and almost as wicked as a great many men one reads about in history.

We have spoken of maternal love as exhibited by the Dog. This is, of course, a case of instinct; but instances are not wanting in which Dogs have shown the high faculty of devoted love towards other than their offspring, and of friendship like that of Ruth for Naomi. Mr. Darwin mentions a Greyhound bitch who, contrary to the usual custom of her race, fell deeply in love with a Pointer, and would have nothing to say to any other Dog during the life of her lover; and, stranger still, when he died, she showed a constancy equal to that of the best of her sex among the human race, and remained strictly faithful to his memory, never afterwards bearing pups.

Rarer than conjugal affection amongst animals, is friendship between individuals of the same sex; of this, too, instances are not wanting. Mr. Youatt relates the following:--“Two Dogs, the property of a gentleman at Shrewsbury, had been companions for many years, until one of them died of old age. The survivor immediately began to manifest an extraordinary degree of restless anxiety, searching for his old associate in all his former haunts, and refusing every kind of food. He gradually wasted away, and at the expiration of the tenth day he died, the victim of an attachment that would have done honour to man.”