Dog Stories from the "Spectator" Part 6

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 pa.s.sionately 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.

C. E. S.

_DOGS AND THE ARTS._

MUSIC AND DOGS.

[_Oct. 24, 1891._]

Dogs, as well as horses, can recognise tunes. Many years ago a friend, during a short absence from our station on the Kurrumfooler, lent my sister a pet dog. Cissie was constantly in the room while playing and singing went on, without taking any notice; but whenever the temporary mistress began singing one favourite song of the absent mistress's, the dog would jump on a chair by her side with evident pleasure.

O. H. G.

[_Oct. 24, 1891._]

I have read with much interest your correspondent's letter on the capability of animals to distinguish tunes. I had a small dog who, when first I got him, would have howled incessantly during singing. This, however, he was not allowed to do, except to one tune, which he soon knew and always joined in, not attempting to "sing" other songs. We tried every sort of experiment to see if he would recognise his own tune, which he invariably did, and would whine if the air was hummed quite quietly.

C. F. HARRISON.

[_Oct. 24, 1891._]

Anent "Orpheus at the Zoo," the following facts may interest you. Of two dogs of mine, one showed a great fondness for music. She (though usually my shadow) would always leave me to go to a room where a piano was being played, and the more she liked the music, the closer she crept to the player, even if a stranger to her. If, however, one began to play scales or exercises, she would get up, walk to the door, sit down, and, after waiting a bit, go away out of sight, but not out of hearing, for she soon appeared again on the resumption of music to her taste. On the other hand, mere "strumming" very quickly obliged her to go right away out of hearing. I confess that I have many times plagued the poor dog by thus sending her backwards and forwards. Her looks were often very comical. The other dog evidently hated music--would try to push a player from the piano, go out of hearing, and show other unmistakable signs of dislike. A band would draw one dog out to listen, while the other rushed away to hide. In one house the dog first mentioned had, for some reason or other, a particular objection to the room where the piano was, and never willingly stayed there. Music would bring her in, but only to sigh and moan, evidently in great pity for herself at being obliged to listen under such (to her) trying conditions. From these and other observations I am convinced that there is the musical dog as well as the unmusical, just as with human beings.

D.

RECOGNITION OF LIKENESSES BY DOGS.

[_May 5, 1894._]

In the _Spectator_ of April 21st there is an article on Apes, in which the following occurs:--"Monkeys, we believe, alone among animals can recognise the meaning of a picture." It may interest some of your readers to hear that certain other animals can also do this, two instances having come under my own observation. A cat belonging to a little girl I know was on the child's bed one morning, and made a spring at a picture of a thrush, about life-size, which was hanging near. The other case is that of a dog--a female Irish terrier--who is in the habit of running with her mistress's pony carriage. When she sees the pony being harnessed, she often shows her delight by jumping up at its head and barking. In a certain shop to which she sometimes goes with her mistress there is a picture of a horse hanging. The dog invariably behaves in exactly the same manner to this, jumping up and barking at it, thus showing unmistakably that she recognises its meaning.

JULIA ANDREWS.

_May 19, 1894._

The following instance bears on the subject discussed in the _Spectator_ of May 5th. We had for a newcomer to our circle a little terrier dog. I was informed it had been seen in the library facing a large-sized portrait of myself, and barking furiously. I was somewhat sceptical until a day or two later I saw it repeat the performance. I have wondered whether it was because the dog thought it a good or bad representation of the original, and so was complimenting or otherwise the artist.

FRANK WRIGHT.

[_May 19, 1894._]

Apropos of the recognition of pictures by dogs (_Spectator_, May 5th), I think you may be interested in the two following facts which came under my notice a few years ago. A sagacious but quite uneducated old terrier came with his master to call for me, and coiled himself on the hearthrug while we talked. Turning himself round in the intervals of slumber, his eye caught an oil-painting just over his head (a life-size half-length of a gentleman). He immediately sat up, showed his teeth, and growled--not once, but continually--as both angry and mortified that neither eyes nor nose had given him notice of the arrival of a stranger!

The next instance was similar, except that the chief actor was a young, intelligent collie, who, on the sudden discovery of a man looking at him from the wall, barked long and furiously. In both instances, after their excitement had subsided, I led the dogs to look at another picture similar in size, and also of a gentleman, but neither of them would take the smallest notice of it. I need only add that the picture which the dogs appreciated was painted by Sir Henry Raeburn--the other was not.

Might not a few sagacious canine members be a useful addition to the Royal Academy Hanging Committee?

B. THOMSON.

[_May 26, 1894._]

Many years ago I had a similar experience to Mr. Frank Wright. A likeness of myself, head and shoulders, drawn in chalk from a photograph, and enlarged to nearly life size, hung on the dining-room wall of a house I then occupied. One evening my wife silently called my attention to a young English terrier, who had not been very long with us, looking up at it very steadfastly. He regarded it for about a minute in silence, and at last broke out into a loud bark, which I supposed to mean that in his opinion the wall was not my proper place, and that only an evil genius could have set anything like me in such a position.

G.

[_June 2, 1894._]

You were so good as to insert my little account of the politeness of a parrot in the _Spectator_, will you now allow me also to bear witness to the recognition of a likeness by a dog? Some time ago I was painting two portraits in the country, and one day by chance I placed the picture of my hostess on the ground. Immediately her old spaniel came and gazed intently at the face for several seconds. Then he smelt at the canvas, and, unsatisfied, walked round and investigated the back. Finally, having discovered the deception, he turned away in manifest disgust, and nothing that we could do or say, on that day or on any other, would induce that dog to look at that picture again. We then tried him by putting my portrait of his master also on the ground, but he simply gave it a kind of casual contemptuous side-glance and took no further notice of it. We attributed this not to any difference in the merits or demerits of the two portraits, but simply to the fact that the dog felt he had been deceived once, but was not to be so taken in again.

LOUISA STARR CANZIANI.

RECOGNITION BY ANIMALS OF PICTURES.

[_Sept. 7, 1889._]

Thirty years ago I was staying at Langley, near Chippenham, with a lady who was working a large screen, on which she depicted in "raised" work (as it was then called) a life-sized cat on a cushion. The host, a sportsman now dead, was much struck with the similarity to life of the cat, so he fetched his dog (alas! like too many of the species), a cat-hater. The animal made a dead set at the (wool) cat, and but for the master's vigorous clutching him by the collar, the cushion would have been torn into atoms. I related this tale lately in Oxford, and my hearer told me that a friend in the Bevington Road had just painted a bird on a fire-screen, and her cat flew at it.

My own old dog, Scaramouch (a pet of the Duke of Albany's in his undergraduate days), disliked being washed, and when I showed him a large _Graphic_ picture of a child scrubbing a fox-terrier in a tub, he turned his head away ruefully, and would not look at his brother in adversity.

J. M. HULBERT.

_DOG FRIENDSHIPS._