Chapter VII: The Dog Family.--The Domestic Dog.91 (3)

Of equally intense devotion to man, instances are so numerous that one hardly knows which to mention. None is, perhaps, more wonderful or more affecting than that we have already mentioned, of the Dog who watched for three months by the corpse of his dead master on Helvellyn. There is also a tale of a Newfoundland Dog, whose master--a soldier--returned to his home, after an absence of many years, when the Dog recognised him at once, “leaped upon his neck, licked his face, and died.” He must have retained, during the whole of the time his master was away, the memory of his care and friendship. One cannot doubt that he often thought of and longed for him; and the rush of joy and hope fulfilled was too much for the great heart of the noble animal. He succumbed to the intensity of his feelings, thereby showing himself to be superior in one of the highest and grandest of qualities to by far the greater proportion of the human race. How many men, or even women, of one’s own acquaintance, are _capable_ of dying of joy?

But there is a dark side to this picture. A very large proportion of Dogs possess but little of this virtue of fidelity, but have greatly developed the contrary vice of extreme fickleness. They will change masters without the slightest objection, and be “off with the old love and on with the new” absolutely without a pang. Froissart, the chronicler, tells a curious tale respecting the treachery of Richard II.’s Dog, “a Grayhounde, called Mithe, who always wayted upon the kynge, and woulde knowe no man els. For where so ever the kynge did ryde, he that kept the Grayhounde dyd lette him lose, and he wolde streyght mime to the kynge, and faune uppon hym, and leape with his fore fete uppon the kynge’s shoulders. And as the kynge and the Erle of Derby (Bolingbroke, afterwards Henry IV.) talked togyder in the courte, the Grayhounde, who was wonte to leape uppon the kynge, left the kynge, and came to the Erle of Derby, Duke of Lancastre, and made to him the same friendly continuance and chere as he was wonte to do to the kynge. The duke, who knewe not the Grayhounde, demanded of the kynge what the Grayhounde would do? ‘Cousin,’ quod the kynge, ‘it is a greate goode token to you, and an evyl signe to me.’ ‘How knowe you that?’ quod the duke. ‘I knowe it well,’ quod the kynge. ‘The Grayhounde acknowledgeth you here this day as Kynge of England, as ye shall be, and I shall be deposed; the Grayhounde hath this knowledge naturally; therefore take hym to you: he wyll follow you and forsake me.’ The duke understood well these words, and cherished the Grayhounde, who wolde never after follow Kynge Richard, but followed the Duke of Lancastre.” This anecdote, curious, if true, would seem to show that rats and men are not the only animals who make haste to leave a sinking ship.

We have made mention of a certain quarrelsome Dog, fond of picking a quarrel, who always took care, with the true instinct of a cowardly bully, to pick out old or infirm persons as objects of his attacks. We are glad to say that we have found a notice of a Setter who showed a becoming respect for age. His owner says:--

“One other curious fact may here be mentioned about this Dog. Although naturally a very vivacious animal, and, when out for a walk with myself or any other young person, perpetually ranging about in search of game, yet, if taken out for a walk by an elderly person, he keeps close to heel all the time, pacing along with a slow step and sedate manner, as different as possible from that which is natural to him. This curious behaviour is quite spontaneous on his part, and appears to arise from the sense of the respect that is due to age.”

We need hardly say that this Dog belongs to Mr. Romanes, amongst whose animals specimens of all the Christian gifts and graces seem to be found.

We thus see that a very large proportion of our own virtues and vices are developed in our canine “fellow-mortals”; there is, however, one state of mind which we should hardly expect to find in any animal, viz., despair. With man it is, alas! sufficiently common to feel that he has had enough of “life’s fitful fever,” and that the only thing left is to make haste

“---- to be hurled
Anywhere, anywhere, out of the world.”

But who would expect a dumb quadruped to have feelings of this sort? Yet that such may be the case is rendered probable by the following remarkable story:--

“A day or two since, a fine Dog, belonging to Mr. George Hone, of Frindsbury, near Rochester, committed a deliberate act of suicide by drowning in the Medway at Upnor, Chatham. The Dog had been suspected of having given indications of approaching hydrophobia, and was accordingly shunned, and kept as much as possible from the house. This treatment appeared to cause him much annoyance, and for some days he was observed to be moody and morose. On Thursday morning he proceeded to an intimate acquaintance of his master’s at Upnor, on reaching the residence of whom he set up a piteous cry on finding that he could not obtain admittance. After waiting at the house some little time, he was seen to go towards the river close by, when he deliberately walked down the bank, and, after turning round and giving a kind of farewell howl, walked into the stream, where he kept his head under water, and in a minute or two rolled over dead. This extraordinary act of suicide was witnessed by several persons. The manner of his death proved pretty clearly that the animal was not suffering from hydrophobia.”[108]

The last statement of the writer of this anecdote may be called in question, as it is a well established fact that a mad Dog will often plunge its head into water, and make violent though ineffectual efforts to drink; and it is very likely that the Dog in question had no real intention of committing suicide, but was drowned while attempting to slake his insatiable thirst. This seems a probable explanation, though it takes the point from our tale.

Of that most horrible and fatal disease--rabies--little need be said here. It is accompanied in the Dog by inflammation, inability to swallow, insensibility to pain, even to severe blows or burns, and usually great ferocity, and a disposition to bite everything that comes in its way. The gait, the glance, and also the howl of a mad Dog are very characteristic. But the most terrible thing about rabies is that it can be communicated to man, producing in him the special human form of the disease, hydrophobia. This latter, like rabies, never arises except by inoculation with the saliva of a rabid Dog, so that both these terrible, and it is to be feared increasing diseases, might be stamped out by the adoption for a few months of a rigorous quarantine.[109] When a human being is bitten, symptoms of rabies usually occur in from a fortnight to three months; but a case is on record in which the disease did not appear for twelve years! When the poison is once established in the system a cure seems to be utterly impossible. The only remedy is at once either to cut out the wound or to rub it deeply and thoroughly with lunar caustic (nitrate of silver), which Mr. Youatt states to be far more efficacious than actual cauterising or burning with a red-hot iron.

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The varieties or breeds of the Dog are extremely numerous, and differ from each other to a wonderful degree. In the matter of size, we have the Mastiff, as large as a pony, at one end of the series, and the Toy-terrier, a few inches long, at the other. As to the development of hair, there is every gradation, from the hairless Turkish Dog to the Skye-terrier or the Poodle; as to running powers, there are the Greyhound and the Turnspit; in the matter of mental and moral characteristics, we have the intelligent Shepherd’s Dog, the obstinate and courageous Bull-dog, the silly Italian Greyhound, and the lazy Lap-dog. Never was animal so thoroughly, so unanimously, and so successfully selected: never did any show such endless variation in so many particulars.