Dog Stories from the "Spectator" Part 12

HAIN FRISWELL.

DOG CONSCIOUSNESS.

[_Nov. 2, 1872._]

Our terrier Crib took upon himself yesterday to add his testimony to your view of "dog-consciousness," as expressed in the _Spectator_ of the 19th ult. Crib verges on perfection, save that he is frantically jealous of any other animal who may receive attention, but yesterday he rebelled against the injustice of being compelled to eat all his dinner, and refused to swallow one special piece of bread; but finding that his refusal was not accepted, apparently made a virtue of necessity, and gulped down the bread with a look and wag of the tail, giving me to understand that I ought to be satisfied, which I was not, as I observed a slight swelling in one cheek. So concealing my suspicion I furtively watched. Crib also occasionally eyed me, lying down and then walking round the room, and sniffing in the corners, as he is wont to do. In a few minutes, and when I appeared safely absorbed in my paper, he made his way slowly to where p.u.s.s.y was lapping her saucer of milk; pa.s.sing her without stopping, he cleverly discharged the hated mouthful into p.u.s.s.y's milk, and continuing his walk to the rug, laid himself down and slept the sleep of the just.

C. S.

A DOG STORY.

[_June 1, 1895._]

Perhaps you will allow me to add another to your interesting list of dog stories. In a house where I once boarded there was a large and remarkably sagacious St. Bernard mastiff, who used to come into my sitting-room and give me his company at dinner, sitting on the floor beside my chair, with his head on a level with the plates. His master, however, fearing that he was being over-fed, gave strict injunctions that this practice should no longer be permitted. On the first day of the prohibition the dog lay and sulked in the kitchen; but on the second day, when the landlady brought in the dishes, he stole in noiselessly close behind her, and while for the moment she bent over the table, he slipped promptly beneath it, and waited. No sooner had she retired than he emerged from his hiding-place, sat down in his usual position, and winked in my face with a look which seemed to say, "Haven't I done her!"

In due course, the good woman came to change the plates, and as soon as he heard her step, he slunk once more under the table; but in an instant, ere she had time to open the door, he came out again, as if he had suddenly taken another thought, and threw himself down on the rug before the fire--to all appearance fast asleep. "Ah, Keeper; you there, you rascal!" exclaimed his mistress, in indignant surprise, as she caught sight of him. The dog opened his eyes, half raised his body, stretched himself out lazily at full length, gave a great yawn as if awakened from a good long sleep, and then, with a wag of his tail, went forward and tried to lick her hand. It was a capital piece of acting, and the air of perfect guilelessness was infinitely amusing.

GEO. MCHARDY.

WOW: A STORY OF A CAT'S PAW.

[_March 23, 1872._]

I think you will be interested in the following anecdote of a distinguished foreigner. One of the happiest results of that abandonment of their ancient exclusiveness which has rendered us familiar with the j.a.panese, has been the arrival on these sh.o.r.es of a very pretty fluffy little dog, a born subject of the Mikado, who hails or rather barks from Nagasaki, and who is happily domiciled with a friend of mine, of a sufficiently elevated mind to esteem at its proper value the privilege of being the master of a clever and refined dog. The child of the sun and the earthquake has been named Wow, an ingenious combination of the familiar utterance of his kind with the full-mouthed terminals of the language of the merely human inhabitants of his country. My own impression is that Wow smacks rather of the melodious monosyllabic tongue of the Flowery Land than of that of the Dragon country; but this is a detail, and, as a young naval officer newly come from Nipon remarked to me lately, with much fervour, "Thank G.o.d! a fellow isn't obliged to learn their lingo." Wow has made himself at home and happy in his Northern residence with all the courtesy and suavity of a true j.a.panese, and has attached himself to his master with apparent resignation to the absence of pigtail and petticoat, articles of attire replaced in this case by the wig and gown of a Q.C. About this attachment there is, however, none of the exclusiveness which characterises the insular dog. Wow is a politician, or at least a diplomatist, and he desires to maintain friendly relations, with profitable results to himself, with everybody. He succeeds in doing so to an extraordinary extent, of which fact his master lately discovered evidence. Very strict orders, including the absolute prohibition of bones, had been issued with regard to Wow's diet. The ideas of a country in which little dogs eat, but are not eaten, require liberality in his opinion, and Wow made up his mind he would have his bones without incurring the penalties of disobedience, which his master, in the interests of the delicate foreigner, was determined to inflict. A commodious and elegant residence was fitted up in the study for Wow, and he was permitted free access to the upper floors of the house, but the line was drawn at the kitchen staircase. That way lay bones and ruin, and its easy descent was interdicted by stern command, which Wow understood as clearly as did its utterer, though he at first affected a simple and unconscious misapprehension. Then Wow was reproved and gently chastised, an administration of justice performed with the utmost reluctance by his master, but with the happiest results. Nothing could be more admirable than Wow's submission, more perfect than his obedience. He never looked towards the kitchen stairs, and would attend at the family meals without following the retiring dishes with a wistful gaze, or betraying a longing for the forbidden bones by so much as a sniff. Attached to the lower department of the household is a humble cat, a faithful creature in her way, but not cultivated by my friend as I could wish. With this meek and useful animal Wow contracted a friendship regarded by his master as a proof of his amiability and condescension. (In my capacity of narrator I am compelled to use the latter somewhat injurious term--as a private individual with an undying recollection, I repudiate it). But the single-minded Q.C. had something to learn of the four-footed exile from the Far East concerning this intimacy. Coming into his study one day at an unusual hour, he saw the cat--I do not know her name, I am afraid she has not one--stealthily depositing a bone behind a curtain. Presently she went downstairs, and returned with a second bone, which she conveyed to the same place of concealment, whence proceeded a gentle rustling and whisking, suggestive of the presence of Wow, whose house, or paG.o.da, was empty. Then arose the Q.C., and cautiously peeped behind the curtain, where he beheld Wow and his humble friend amicably discussing their respective bones, Wow's being the bigger and the meatier of the two.

Thus did the j.a.panese exile ill.u.s.trate the cosmopolitan story of the catspaw (with the improvement of making it pleasant for the cat), and accomplish the proverbially desirable feat of minding both his meat and his manners. If we could be secured against their imitation, it would be pleasant to ask our own domestic pets the problems:

"What do you think of that, my cat?"

"What do you think of that, my dog?"

A CONSTANT READER AND DISCIPLE.

THE BIOGRAPHY OF SPRIG.

[_Jan. 20, 1872._]

I dare not hope to equal the eloquent and most touching biography of Nero, with whom I had the honour of a slight acquaintance. But I was the possessor of an animal who, in his way as a dog, not a cat, for originality of character, reasoning power, talent, and devoted affection I have never seen equalled in his species, and you and your readers may possibly be interested by a sketch of his biography.

Where Sprig was born I do not know, nor had I any acquaintance with his parents. One morning several years ago I chanced to go down stairs early, and found the milk-boy at the hall door, delivering his daily supply to the cook. In the courtyard before my house was a bright-looking rough terrier of small size, frisking about very cheerfully, trying to catch the small stump of a tail which some cruel despoiler had left him. As he was engaged in this pastime, a large brown retriever entered the gate, to look on, I suppose, for he had an amused expression of face, and was wagging his tail amicably. Sprig, however, though but a mite in comparison, decidedly resented the intrusion, and flew at the retriever's throat, from which he had to be choked off by his owner, who brought him back in his arms. The little fellow was in the highest state of excitement and anger, his bright, intelligent eyes flashing, and his hair bristling. He was indeed most amusingly fierce, but was soon calmed when he was shown, and told, that his enemy had fled, whereupon the following colloquy ensued between myself and his owner: Myself: "And where did you get that dog, boy? You did not steal him, I hope?" Boy, in a rich Dublin brogue: "Ah, now! would I stale anythin', yer honner, an' me the poor milk-boy? Is it stale him? Bedad, it's my father's cuzin that's at the Curragh! Sure he's a corporal, so he is. He brought him, and he sez, 'Yez'll get me a pound for him, and no less.' So it's a pound I want for him, sur, and nothin' less. An'

sure John Lambert knows me well--so he does!" When John, my servant, was sent for, he gave a good account of the lad, and as he entirely approved of Sprig, I gave the sovereign, showing it to the dog, whose wondering eyes were glancing from one to the other. Then I said to the boy, "Put him into my arms, and tell him he belongs to me;" and he did so. The little fellow looked curiously and wistfully at the lad, who, to do him justice, had tears in his eyes, and then nestled into my breast, licking my hands and face. When my daughter came down stairs, I took up Sprig and placed him in my youngest daughter's arms, a process he appeared to comprehend perfectly, and told him she was his mistress; nor to the day of his death did he ever falter in his devoted allegiance to her. He was very fond of me and of us all, but his deepest love was for his mistress, and on many occasions was most affecting to see. She was often delicate, and once had a sharp attack of typhus fever. In this illness Sprig never left her. He would lie at the foot of her bed watching her, and would sometimes creep gently up to her, put his paws round her neck, and lick her hands softly, while the pleading of his large eyes looking from his mistress, in her unconscious delirium, to her sister and me, was touching in the extreme. Indeed, there were then many sad illnesses, but Sprig was always the same. As my child grew stronger and better her little friend would amuse her by the hour together; sit up, beg, preach, play with his ball, and try in humble doggie fashion to beguile her of her pain. But I am antic.i.p.ating.

Sprig was, I believe, what is called a Dandie Dinmont, and as he grew up he became, for his cla.s.s, a very handsome, as he was a st.u.r.dy, little fellow, with great strength for his size. He was a reddish-brown colour, more dark-red than brown, like a squirrel, with white below, and a delightfully fuzzy head, and a breast of long soft white hair. His eyes were that peculiar bright liquid "dog" brown which is capable of so much expression, and he grew to have a long moustache and beard. Even the most un-observant of dogs admired him, for he resembled no terrier I have ever seen. I think he would have won the prize of his cla.s.s at the Dublin Dog Show, had it not been for a terrible accident he met with in being wounded by a large foxhound in a neighbouring orchard. His neck was then torn open, and he was rescued by John only in time to prevent his being killed. As it was, it was weeks before he could walk--and how patient he was all the time! and as the wound healed it left a thickening of his skin which had an awkward look. Sprig was, however, "highly commended." In his youth he was perhaps rather short in his temper, and always resented in the most distinct manner any liberty that was taken with him. To tread upon his foot was perilous, but he was at once pacified if an apology was made that it was accidental; but to pull his tail wilfully was an insult which he resented bitterly, and for which much atonement was necessary, or he would go under the sofa and cry in his peculiar manner when offended.

As he grew up, Sprig developed various talents which were highly cultivated. His greatest pleasure, perhaps, was in an india-rubber ball, with which his gambols were indescribably pretty and constant. It was a great distress when he lost or mislaid his ball, and he was miserable till he found it, or another was brought him. It was a cruel thing to say, when one of us went to town, "Sprig, I will bring you a new ball,"

and as sometimes happened, to forget to do so. On return he would sniff about the person who had gone, poke his nose into his or her pockets, and if disappointed could hardly be soothed, but would go away and have his quiet cry to himself. Sometimes a kind friend who knew him might bring him a new ball; but it very much depended on who presented it whether it was accepted or not, and I am afraid that too frequently for his good manners he turned it over contemptuously with his nose and left it for the old one, which, gnawed, bitten, and broken, was still the favourite. I used sometimes to make a ball squeak by pressing the hole against my hand, and I believe he thought it was in pain, for he would whine piteously, and would not let me rest till he had it again in his possession. It was most amusing to see him when a parcel of new b.a.l.l.s arrived, he having been told beforehand that one was coming. He would find out directly who had it, and become impatient and cross indeed if he did not get it directly. When the parcel was given him, his great delight was to open it himself and select _one_. A red ball was usually preferred, but not always. All were subjected to the most varied trials--gnawed, smelt, and rolled, till the one which pleased his fancy was finally selected; of the rest he would take no notice whatever.

Sprig was thoroughly a gentleman, and on most occasions he was most attentive to lady visitors. He never noticed gentlemen. On one occasion, when my daughters were out, a dear friend called (Nero's mistress). She told us afterwards that Sprig had been a most attentive beau. He met her at the hall door, welcomed her in his odd fashion, trotted before her into the drawing-room, looking behind him to see if she followed. He then jumped upon the ottoman, inviting her to sit down; when she was seated he brought his ball and went through all his tricks with it, sat up on his hind legs, begged with his paws, preached to her in his own queer way, and kept her amused till, no longer able to remain, she bid him good morning and left, evidently to his disgust. "Could he have spoken," she said afterwards, "he would have told me to wait, for his mistresses would soon be back; the look was in his face, but the words were wanting." His attention to visitors was never omitted. When we had a ball or evening party, he would await, with John Lambert, the several arrivals at the hall door, welcome each new party, and usher them in a solemn manner into the drawing-room or tea-room, returning for a new set to his former place. Nor did he want for an occasional cake or biscuit at the tea-table; "he was so amiable," said the young ladies, "he could not be resisted."

As an instance of how perfectly he understood what was said to him, I may relate that one hot day I had walked out from town, and being thirsty went into the dining-room for a drink of water. I saw Sprig's ball under the table, and when I went into the garden where my girls were sitting they said, "Sprig has lost his ball, and is perfectly miserable." After I had sent him to look about for it, I said, "Now, Sprig, I know where it is; I saw it in the dining-room under the table; go fetch it." He looked brightly at me, and I repeated what I had said.

He trotted off, and while we were wondering whether he had understood me, he returned with it in his mouth quite delighted. I have mentioned his preaching, which may sound rather irreverent, but it was an accomplishment entirely of his own invention. When seated in a chair after dinner, and requested to preach, he would sit up, place his forepaws gravely on the table, and then lifting up one paw as high as his head, and then the other, deliver a discourse to the company in a sort of gurgling, growling manner, with an occasional low bark, which was indescribably ludicrous to see and hear. What he meant by it we could never find out, but I question whether he prized any of his accomplishments more than this.

Sometimes, but not often, he would go out by himself to take a walk, we supposed to see his friends, for I never heard that he had any love affairs. If we all, or my daughters, or myself, met him on his return, I, or they, or we all might call to him, notice him as he brushed past us, or ask him to come for a walk. No. He would have none of our company; he would cut us dead, and go toddling home, his tail more erect and quivering than ever; never hastening his sedate pace, and giving his usual kick-out with one hind leg every third or fourth step, as was his custom. He would have no connection with us; that was quite clear and decided. Sprig was very fond, too, of a walk with his mistresses or with me, and, though never taught it, would always wipe his feet clean on the hall mat as he came in. I am now going to relate an anecdote of Sprig which I know is almost beyond credibility, but the occurrence so displayed his power of thought and reason that I cannot withhold it. My usual haunt is my den, as I call it, a large room at one end of our old rambling house. There Sprig never came unless with his mistresses, and indeed never was easy when he was there. I had begun a large full-length picture of my daughters, and Sprig and Whisky, a small Skye puppy, were to be painted lying at their feet. As the picture progressed, Sprig seemed to understand all about it, and paid me the compliment of wagging his tail at the portraits. One day my girls had been sitting to me, and it was now Sprig's turn to sit. I put him into the proper position and told him to lie still, and he proved a most patient sitter. When the sketch of him was finished, I showed it to him; I think he was pleased with his likeness, for he licked my face; but as he smelt at his portrait, he did not like himself, and growled. Whisky was now put into position, but was very restless, although Sprig scolded her by snarling at her. Next day I had put the picture against the wall near the window, and before a few steps which led up into my bedroom, and was busy perched on a step-ladder with the after-portion of it. By and by I heard a great scratching at my bedroom door, which was closed, and Sprig whining to get in. I thought this odd, but it was too much trouble to come down from my perch, and I told him to go away. He, however, only whined and scratched the more. I therefore descended, and getting behind the picture, went up the steps and opened the door. Sprig did not notice me, but pushing past me hurried down the steps, and then, as I emerged into the room, looked up to me blandly, and actually sat down in the place in which I had put him the day before. I said to him gravely, though infinitely amused, "No, Sprig, I don't want you to-day; look, the colour is all wet, go away to your mistress." He looked very blank and greatly disappointed, and stood up with his tail drooped. Suddenly a bright thought seemed to strike him, as if he had said, "Now I have it!"

Whisky had got hold of one of my slippers, and was playing with it in my bedroom, and Sprig, rushing up the steps, seized her by the "scruff"

of her neck, dragged her howling down the steps, and put her, I can use no other words, into the place where she had been the day before. He then came to me frisking about, and could he but have spoken, would have said, "If you don't want me, you must her, and there she is!" He was quite triumphant about it; and dirty as I was, and palette in hand, I took him forthwith to the drawing-room and told them what had happened.

I could tell numberless other stories of the reasoning power and intelligence of our little pet, but I should trespa.s.s at too great length on your patience. I could describe a curious friendship which sprang up between him and a German friend who was staying some time with us; how he learned many new tricks from him, and was taught to hop on his hind legs from one end of the drawing-room to the other, with our friend hopping backwards before him; I could describe his evening romps with my dear father, never omitted while my father lived; and the many curious traits by which his great love for us was perpetually displayed--how he learned to crack nuts of all kinds, and to pick out the kernels like a squirrel--how he never went into the servants' hall or the kitchen, and refused to a.s.sociate with the servants, though friendly with them, and especially with John Lambert, his fast friend.

But I must bring this sketch to a close.

We had been absent about a year in Germany and the South of France.

After we left, Sprig was inconsolable, and would not eat; but the cook made him little curries and rice, and after a time he became more resigned. We only heard that he was well, and hoped we should find him so. The day we arrived I thought he would have died for joy. He gasped for breath, and lay down, and when taken up by his mistress lay in her arms almost insensible. It was long before he came to himself, and when he did revive, it is quite impossible to describe his delight, or what he did. He was, indeed, quite beside himself with joy, scouring about, dragging his mistress here and there, doing all his tricks in a confused manner, and, in short, behaving after a very insane fashion indeed. We noticed he had a slight cough; but he seemed otherwise quite well, and we thought it would go away; but it increased, and at that time there was an epidemic of bronchitis among dogs. We sent him to an eminent veterinary surgeon, who blistered him (and how patient the poor fellow was under the pain cannot be told), but though relieved for the time, the end was near. One morning he was seen to do an apparently quite unaccountable thing. He took his son Terry (whom he was never known to notice except by knocking him over and standing upon him, growling fiercely), all round our village, and visited all the dogs in it. John saw him doing this early in the morning, and told me of it. I suppose he was commending Terry to their favour. He coughed a great deal all day, and breathed heavily; but in the evening he was very bright, and to all appearance much better, and insisted on doing all his tricks till it was time to go to bed. Sprig never would go to bed willingly.

John used to come to the drawing-room door and call him, and he would go to it, but stand growling till he was caught up and carried off. That evening, as we remembered, he seemed more than ever unwilling to go, but was caught up and carried away.

In the morning, about six o'clock--it was summer-time--I was just about to get up, when John Lambert knocked at my door, and came in with Sprig in his arms. He did not speak, and I asked him whether Sprig was worse.

"He's dead, sir," said he, with the tears rolling down his face, and hardly able to speak. "Quite dead, sir; he must have died only a little while ago, for when I went to let him out, I found him dead and quite warm, as he is still." I am not ashamed to write that my eyes felt very blind, but there was no hope; the dear little fellow was quite dead; he had died calmly, and his eyes were bright; they had not glazed.

We buried him, John and myself, when he was quite cold and stiff, by a rose-tree at the end of the garden. Poor John could hardly dig the grave, and his tears fell fast and silently and upon dear old Sprig as we covered him up for ever. I wish I could write a fitting epitaph for a creature who, through his life, was a constant source of pleasure to all who knew him.

M. T.

A DOG STORY.

[_June 8, 1895._]

A friend thinks I ought to add to the collection of dog stories appearing in the _Spectator_, one which is within my own knowledge, and may appear deserving of publication. My uncle, a well-known Chairman of the Bench of Magistrates in a western county, had a tenant on his estates who occupied a farm not far from the River Severn. The farmer possessed a favourite dog, who slept at the foot of his bed every night.

When a brother emigrated to Canada, the farmer gave him the dog as a travelling companion. In the course of time the news arrived that the emigrant and his family, together with the dog, had safely reached their destination--a farm in the interior of Canada some days' journey from the port where they landed. At a later date the brother in Canada wrote to his family in England saying that the dog had disappeared. Some time afterwards the dog came back to the farm of his old master, about three miles from Gloucester, and though at first it could hardly be believed that he was returned from Canada, yet he soon established his ident.i.ty by taking his old place at the foot of his master's bed at night.

Inquiries were made, and the dog's course was traced backwards to the River Severn, thence to Bristol, and thence to a port in Canada. It appeared that, after running from his home in Canada to the seaport, he selected there a vessel bound for Bristol, and shipped on board. After arriving at the Bristol basin, he found out a local vessel trading up and down the River Severn (locally called a "trow"), and transferred himself to her deck. When he reached the neighbourhood of Gloucester, the dog must have jumped into the Severn and reached the sh.o.r.e nearest to his old home.

I can vouch for the truth of this story, from information received from my relations on the spot shortly after the occurrence took place. I knew the farm well, and the farmer who occupied it.

H. C. N.

A CAT-AND-DOG FRIENDSHIP.

[_June 8, 1895._]

The interesting letter, "A Canine Nurse," in the _Spectator_ of May 18th, recalls to mind an equally curious event in cat and dog life which occurred some years since in a house where I was living, but with the additional interest of a hen being also implicated.

In the back-kitchen premises of an old manor-house, amongst hampers, and such like odds and ends, a cat had a litter of kittens. They were all removed but one, and as the mother was frequently absent, a hen began laying in a hamper close by. For a time all things went well, the hen sitting on her eggs and the cat nursing the kitten within a few inches of each other. The brood were hatched out, and almost at the same time the old cat disappeared. The chickens were allowed to run about on the floor for sake of the warmth from a neighbouring chimney, and the kitten was fed with a saucer of milk, &c., in the same place, both feeding together frequently out of the same dish. The hen used to try to induce the kitten to eat meal like the chicks, calling to it and depositing pieces under its nose in the most amusing way; finally doing all in its power to induce the kitten to come, like her chicks, under her wings.

The result was nothing but a series of squalls from the kitten, which led to its being promoted from the back to the front kitchen, where it was reared until it was grown up. At this time a young terrier was introduced into the circle, and after many back-risings and bad language on p.u.s.s.y's part, they settled down amicably and romped about the floor in fine style. Eventually the terrier became an inveterate rabbit-poacher--killing young rabbits and bringing them home--a proceeding to which the cat gave an intelligent curiosity, then a pa.s.sive and purring approval, and finally her own instincts having a.s.serted themselves, she went off with the dog, hunting in the woods.

Our own keeper reported them as getting "simply owdacious," being found a great distance from the house; and keepers of adjacent places also said the pair were constantly seen hunting hedgerows on their beats. On one occasion I saw them myself hunting a short hedge systematically, the dog on one side, the cat on the other; and on coming near an open gateway a hare was put out of her form, and bounding through the open gate, was soon off; the dog followed, till he came through the gateway, where he stood looking after the hare; and the cat joining him, they apparently decided it was too big or too fast to be successfully chased, so resumed the hedge-hunting, each taking its own side as before.

They frequently returned home covered with mud, and p.u.s.s.y's claws with fur, and would lie together in front of the fire; the cat often grooming down the dog, licking him and rubbing him dry, and the dog getting up and turning over the ungroomed side to be finished. This curious friendship went on for six months or more, till the dog had to be kept in durance vile to save him from traps and destruction, the cat, nothing daunted, going on with her poaching until one day she met her fate in a trap, and so brought her course to an end. The dog was a well-bred fox-terrier, and the cat a tabby of nothing beyond ordinary characteristics, save in her early life having been fostered by a hen, and in her prime the staunch friend and comrade of poor old Foxie, the terrier. If there are "happy hunting-grounds" for the animals hereafter, and such things are allowed in them, no doubt they will renew their intimacy, if not their poaching forays, together there.