Chapter C: Harper

CANINE JEALOUSY.

[_Dec. 12, 1891._]

I am not versed in dog-lore, and it may be that my love for the animal makes me an ill judge of the importance of the following story; but a friend vouches for its truth, and to my mind it has its importance, not from its display of jealousy, but from the dog's deliberate acceptance of the undoubtedly changed condition, and the clearly metaphysical character of his motive.

The story is this. A young man had owned for some years a dog who was his constant companion. Recently the young man married, and moved with his bride and his dog into a house on the opposite side of the street from his father's house, his own former home. The dog was not happy, for the time and attention which had formerly been his was now given to the young wife. In many ways he showed his unhappiness and displeasure, in spite of the fact that the master tried to reconcile him and the bride to win him. One day when the master came home, his wife sat on his knee, while Jack was lying by the fire. He rose from his place, came over to the couple, and expressed his disapproval. "Why, Jack," said the master, "this is all right, she's a good girl," and as he spoke, he patted her arm. Jack looked up at him, turned away, and left the room. In a moment they heard a noise, and going into the hall, they found Jack dragging his bed downstairs. When he reached the front door, he whined to be let out, and when the door was opened, he dragged his bed down the steps, across the street to his old home, where he scratched for admittance. Since then he has never been back to his master, refusing all overtures.

CHAS. MORRIS ADDISON.

A JEALOUS DOG.

[_Jan. 12, 1895._]

I was greatly interested in the story of the generosity shown by a dog, as related in the _Spectator_ of January 5th, because of a similar case within my own knowledge, and yet so different, as to prove that the dispositions of animals are as varied as those of human beings. A friend of mine had two fox-terriers, inseparable companions, and both equally devoted to their mistress. On one occasion, when the family had been away from home for some time, and were returning, one of these pets, not being well, was brought back with its mistress, while the other was left to follow with the horses, &c., and did not arrive for three days. On entering the house, the dog had a very sullen appearance, took no notice of any one, but searched everywhere till he found his companion; then flew at his throat, and would have killed him but for timely succour! Could any human being have indulged in a more rankling jealousy?

E. A. K.

A DOG THAT SCORNED TO BE JEALOUS.

[_Jan. 5, 1895._]

The following history of canine sympathy may interest your readers. I was once the happy owner of a large and beautiful bull-terrier, Rose, and at the same time of a still dearer, though less beautiful, little mongrel, Fan, both passionately attached to a member of my household, commonly called their best friend. A certain shawl belonging to this adored friend was especially sacred in Fan's eyes. She never allowed any one to touch it without remonstrance--Rose least of all--and when her best friend was in bed, it was Fan's custom to ensconce herself in her arms, and not to allow any dog, and only the most favoured of human beings, to approach without violent growlings, if not worse. Fan was a tiny grandmother who had long ruled the household; Rose, an inexperienced newcomer. One day, in a fit of youthful folly, Rose jumped over a gate and spiked herself badly, and was consigned for ten days to the care of the veterinary surgeon. On her return, she was cordially welcomed by Fan and myself; but when she rushed upstairs to the room of her best friend (then confined to her bed), my mind forboded mischief. We followed, and I opened the door. With one bound Rose flew into her best friend's arms, taking Fan's very own place, and was lost in a rapture of licking and being caressed. Fan flew after her, but to my amazement, instead of the fury I expected, it was to join with heart and tongue in the licking and caressing. She licked Rose as if she had been a long-lost puppy, instead of an intruder; and then, of her own accord, turned away, leaving Rose in possession, and took up a distant place on the foot of the bed, appealing to me with an almost human expression of mingled feelings--the heroic self-abnegation of new-born sympathy struggling with natural jealousy. The better feelings triumphed (not, of course, unsupported by human recognition and applause), till both dogs fell asleep in their strangely reversed positions. After this, there was a slight temporary failure in Fan's perhaps overstrained self-conquest; but on the next day but one she actually, for the first (and last) time in her life, made Rose welcome to a place beside her on the sacred shawl; where again they slept side by side like sisters. This, however, was the last gleam of the special sympathy called forth by Rose's troubles. From that day Fan decidedly and finally resumed her jealous occupation and guardianship of all sacred places and things, and maintained it energetically to her life's end.