CHAPTER VII.

THE DOG FAMILY.--THE DOMESTIC DOG.[91]

Section _Cynoidea_--Geographical Distribution--Skull of Dog--Teeth--Legs--Walk--Claws--Internal Anatomy--The Cæcum, or “Cul de sac” of the Intestine--Size--THE DOMESTIC DOG--Its Fidelity and Love--Differences between the Domesticated and Natural Species of the Family--Barking a Civilised Habit--Antiquity of the Dog--The Dog among the Hebrews and Egyptians--The Dog in the Bible--“Dog” as a Term of Reproach--Venerated by many Ancient Nations--The Dog among the Greeks and Romans--Pre-historic Dogs--Dogs in the New World--Peruvian Dogs--Superstitions about the Dog--The Dog as an article of Diet--Origin of the Dog--Identity of Structure of Wild and Domestic Dogs--The independent Training of Wild _Canidæ_ by Savages in many parts of the World--Voice--Results of the whole question as to Origin--Anecdotes about Instinct, Reason, Docility--Muscles of Dog’s Head--Consociation of Dogs--Anecdotes of Sense of Right, Wrong, Duty, Conscience, Sensitiveness, Honesty, Theft, Cunning, Quarrelsomeness, Magnanimity, the reverse, Revenge, Hatred--Conjugal Affection--Devotion to Man--Fickleness--Despair--Rabies and Hydrophobia--Wonderful Variety of Breed.

We now come to the first and only family of the section _Cynoidea_, the most compact of the three divisions of split-footed flesh-eaters, and the one which contains the smallest number of forms. Only four genera, in fact, are contained in the group, namely, the Dogs, Wolves, and Foxes (_Canis_), the Long-eared Fox (_Megalotis_), the Racoon-dog (_Nyctereutes_), and the curious Hyæna-like _Lycaon_.

But the group is none the less interesting for the small number of forms included in it; for containing, as it does, the Dog, the animal of all others entitled to the name domestic, it yields in importance to neither of the larger groups, notwithstanding the varied series of creatures enclosed within their pale. Members of the Dog family are found in nearly all parts of the world, being absent only in the West Indian Islands, Madagascar, the eastern islands of the Malayan Archipelago, New Zealand, and the Polynesian Islands. When we say that the Dog is absent from those places, we mean, of course, _as a true native_. Wherever civilised man has penetrated, there his four-footed friend is sure to be found; but in the places just mentioned no Dog, Wolf, or Fox occurs as a true aboriginal. Very probably, the gigantic island of Australia should be added to the above list, as it is by no means certain that the Dingo, or wild Dog found there, has not been introduced by man.

The Dogs form a sort of connecting link between the Cat-like species on the one hand, and the Bear-like group on the other. In the matter of being digitigrade, they agree with the Cats; the number of their teeth agrees with that of the Bears; in the character of the skull they come just half-way between the two.

On the under surface of the Dog’s skull there is found, in a corresponding position to the ear-drum swelling of the Cat (see p. 11), a similar rounded swelling, which, however, is smaller in proportion to the size of the skull, rougher in texture, and not so regular in shape, but sloping towards its outer aperture. Moreover, the margins of its outer aperture, round which the external ear is fixed, are produced outwards into a short tube or spout, thus making a small bony ear-passage beyond or external to the rim to which the drum membrane is attached. In the Cat, it will be remembered, there was no bony tube of this sort, but the drum parchment was flush with the margins of the opening of the drum cavity. Then the partition, which was so large in the Cat, dividing the cavity into two compartments, is here reduced to quite a low wall. Lastly, the bony clamp, which we mentioned in the Cat as being fixed quite closely against the hinder face of the bulla, is here separated from it by a small valley. These skull characters are very characteristic of the Cynoidea, and are therefore of great importance in the grouping of the Carnivora.

The great arches of bone beneath the eye are, in the Dog, nothing like so large as in the Cat, owing to the smaller size of the jaw muscles which pass under them. The snout, however, is much longer, in correspondence with the increased number of the teeth.

There will be no difficulty in making out the teeth of the Dog now we have studied those of the Cat. We shall find, as before, that there are in the small front bones of the upper jaw three teeth on each side, and the same number in the corresponding part of the lower jaw: these are, of course, the incisors. They are followed by the canines, or great eye teeth, of which, as in the Cat, there is one on each side of each jaw. After the canines, however, come no less than six teeth on each side of the upper jaw, and seven on each side of the lower. It is found that the first four of these are represented in the jaw of the young Dog by milk molars; therefore, as we explained in treating of the teeth in the Cat, these four are premolars, and the remaining three, molars. A likeness to what we find in the Cat exists in the fact that the last premolar of the upper jaw and the first molar of the lower jaw are very large teeth, and bite against one another. These are the _carnassials_ of the respective jaws. Thus the dental formula of the Dog is--incisors, (3-3)/(3-3), canines, (1-1)/(1-1), premolars, (4-4)/(4-4), molars, (2-2)/(3-3) = 42.

The form of the teeth, as well as their number, comes much nearer to that of an ordinary Mammal, or is much less specially carnivorous than in the Cats. The incisors are proportionally larger than in our first section; their crowns are distinctly divided into three cusps--a large central and two small lateral ones; and the outermost incisors of the upper jaw approach tolerably nearly in shape and size to the canines, being nearly half as long as the latter, and having almost lost their lateral cusps. The canines have much about the same form and relative size as in the Cat, as also have the premolars, except that the first of these, though smaller than its successor, is not so markedly so as in the Cats, while, on the other hand, the last (the carnassial) is proportionally larger.

But in the molars, or at least in all but the lower carnassial, we find something quite different, namely, an interesting approximation to the semi-herbivorous type of dentition of the Bears. Both molars in the upper jaw, and the two last in the lower, have become _bonâ fide_ “grinders.” The scissor-like cutting edge has disappeared, and in place of it we have a hard crushing surface, raised into four cusps--two large external and two smaller internal ones. This has relation, of course, to the mixed character of the Dog’s food. The sectorial molar of the lower jaw still, however, retains its distinctive characters; its crown has much the same shape as in the Cat, but in addition possesses an extra lobe, in the shape of a large heel-like process projecting from its hinder border, and formed by a modification of its posterior cusp.

The Dog family have, as a rule, longish legs. They walk on the tip of their toes, like the Cats; but unlike the latter, their claws are not retractile. Curious to relate, however, the elastic ligament by which the drawing back of the feline claw is effected is present, but in so feeble a condition as to be quite incapable of antagonising the great flexor muscles.

In consequence of this, the paw of a Dog is by no means such a perfect weapon as that of a Cat; and, as a matter of fact, the Dogs are distinguished from the Cats by their habit of always attacking the prey at once with their teeth, and never beginning the attack with a blow of the paw.

In the matter of internal anatomy, the Dog family differ from all other Carnivores in possessing a large “blind gut,” or cæcum. The intestines, which are proportionally longer than a Cat’s, are, as usual, divided into large and small, and, at the place where the large and small intestines join one another, there goes off a folded sac, communicating with the intestine at one end, but quite closed at the other, forming, in fact, a small _cul-de-sac_. The use of this curious appendage is not properly understood, nor why it should be so well developed in the Dog family, while it is very small indeed in Cats, and wholly absent in Bears.

No member of this family attains the size reached by some of the _Felidæ_, such as the Lion and Tiger, or some of the _Ursidæ_, such as the Grizzly or Polar Bear; the Mastiff is the largest of the tribe, no wild species of which is larger than an ordinary Shepherd’s Dog.

THE DOMESTIC DOG.[92]

We have now to consider an animal which has more interest for us than any member of the animal kingdom, with the single exception of _Homo sapiens_; indeed, many people, if asked to name the creature which feels for them the most disinterested friendship, the most devoted love, and which shows the most constant and untiring kindness and attention, would without hesitation name the humble Carnivore rather than the arrogant and self-asserting Primate. It was not his servants who recognised Ulysses on his return from his long voyage; it was not even his faithful Penelope; it was the old Dog Argus, who

“---- ---- soon as he perceived Long-lost Ulysses nigh, down fell his ears Clapp’d close, and with his tail glad sign he gave Of gratulation, impotent to rise And to approach his master as of old.”

Where shall we find an instance of human devotion, unaltered and unalterable by death, greater than that recorded by our great Lake poet of the Dog whose ill-fated master was killed in passing Helvellyn?--

“The Dog, which still was hovering nigh, Repeating the same timid cry, This Dog had been through three months’ space, A dweller in that savage place. Yes, proof was plain, that since the day On which the traveller thus had died, The Dog had watched about the spot, Or by his master’s side. How nourished here through such long time, He knows who gave that love sublime, And gave that strength of feeling, great Above all human estimate.”

No animal has been so universally or so thoroughly domesticated as the Dog; in none have the moral and intellectual faculties been so largely developed; and there is certainly none which the human race could so ill spare. We might possibly, with a proper amount of practice, become vegetarians, and so do without our sheep and cattle, our pigs and poultry. The Cat we might easily dispense with, for she is, after all, a very passive sort of creature, and rarely condescends to express either emotion or affection, whatever her feelings may be; but to lose the Dog would be to lose a friend, and a friend so faithful and true that his loss would be a veritable plucking out of the right eye and a cutting off of the right hand. As Mr. Darwin observes: “It is scarcely possible to doubt that the love of man has become instinctive in the dog,” which it can hardly be said to have done, as yet, in man!

Wherever man of any degree of civilisation is found, there the Dog is to be found too--everywhere invaluable, though often grossly and brutally ill-treated. In all probability, too, Dogs occur as true natives in all parts of the world, except in the Australian region--Australia, New Zealand, and the surrounding islands; in these places he has, in all probability, been introduced by man.

The likeness of the domestic Dog to his more immediate relatives is very close. Except in the want of obliquity in the eyes, and in the curling of the tail, so different to the straight “brush” of a Wolf or wild Dog, there is really no definite character which can be given as separating _Canis familiaris_ from the wild species of the genus. Moreover, the difference between the varieties of the Dog itself is so great, that it is impossible to frame anything like a good definition which will include the Bulldog, the Greyhound, the Newfoundland, and the Terrier, and, at the same time, exclude the Dingo and the Búansú. The one constant difference is the habit of barking, “which is almost universal with domesticated Dogs, and which does not characterise a single natural species of the family.”

The Dog certainly took its origin at a very remote period, for we find undoubted evidence of his existence and regular domestication in the very earliest records. Among the early Hebrews, he seems to have been unknown, or rather, despised; and it strikes one as a most remarkable circumstance that this astute nation of shepherds should never have domesticated so useful an assistant. Possibly this is partly owing to the prejudice the grand old Theists of Palestine must have felt against an animal held in great veneration as an emblem of the Divine Being by the idolatrous Egyptians; and yet this objection can hardly have had much weight, as the Hebrews kept Oxen, animals which were regularly worshipped by the Egyptians. Throughout the Old and New Testaments the Dog is spoken of with scorn and contempt as “an unclean beast,” so that probably the Israelites had the misfortune only to know this friend of man in the character in which he now appears in Constantinople--as the common scavenger of the neighbourhood. The only instance in the Bible in which the Dog is mentioned as a domesticated animal is in that magnificent drama, the Book of Job, a poem of great antiquity, and very possibly not of Hebrew origin. The suffering patriarch, after recounting to his “friends” the greatness of his former prosperity, says: “But now they that are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I would have disdained to have set with the dogs of my flock.” This passage is extremely remarkable, as showing at what an early period of the world’s history the Dog was sufficiently domesticated to be capable of the arduous task of guarding Sheep--a task, the proper performance of which necessitates the total suspension of the true canine instinct, which is not to guard and protect the Sheep, but to worry and devour them.

The prejudice of the Jews against the Dog is shown at the present day by the Hindoos and by the Mahometans, with whom “Dog” is the greatest possible term of reproach, and who never think of the animal as anything but a semi-useful, degraded beast, good for nothing but to clear off the offal of the streets. Among many ancient nations, however, the Dog was held in great veneration, and was even worshipped as a god. In the passage--“Howbeit every nation made gods of their own ... and the Avites made Nibhaz,”[93] the word _Nibhaz_ is supposed to signify a _barker_, and it is thought that this idol had the form of a Dog. “The Egyptians had several breeds of Dogs, some solely used for the chase, others admitted into the parlour, or selected as the companions of their walks; and some, as at the present day, selected for their peculiar ugliness. All were looked upon with veneration, and the death of a Dog was not only lamented as a misfortune, but was mourned by every member of the house in which it occurred.”

It is certain that the Egyptians selected their Dogs in such a manner as to produce well-marked varieties, for, as Mr. Youatt states, “there are to be seen on the Egyptian temples representations of Dogs with long ears and broad muzzle, not unlike the old Talbot Hound.” This is extremely interesting as showing at what an early period the Dog had been completely differentiated from other _Canidæ_, by acquiring definite characters, quite distinct from those of his wild relations. The Assyrians, too, had advanced considerably in the art of seizing upon important varieties in the structure of their Dogs, and perpetuating them as Hounds. Mr. Darwin informs us that an undoubted Mastiff of enormous size is figured on the tomb of Esar Haddon, about 640 B.C., and he goes on to say, “I have looked through the magnificent works of Lepsius and Rosellini, and on the monuments from the fourth to the twelfth dynasties (_i.e._, from about 3400 B.C. to 2101 B.C.) several varieties of the Dog are represented; most of them are allied to Greyhounds. At the later of these periods a Dog resembling a Hound is figured, with drooping ears, but with a large back, and more pointed head than in our Hounds. There is, also, a Turnspit, with short and crooked legs, closely resembling the existing variety.”[94]

Both the Greeks and Romans made much of the Dog, and among the latter, Greyhounds, Hounds, House Dogs, and Lap Dogs existed. Some of them are preserved in sculpture. The Greeks had a Dog closely resembling our Newfoundland, as is made certain from a piece of sculpture, “said to have been the favourite Dog of Alcibiades, and to have been the production of Myron, one of the most skilful artists of ancient times.” Dogs “were sacrificed at certain periods by the Greeks and Romans to almost all their deities, and particularly to Mars, Pluto, and Pan, to Minerva, Proserpine, and Lucina, and also to the moon, because the Dog by his barking disturbed all charms and spells, and frightened away all spectres and apparitions. The Greeks immolated many Dogs in honour of Hecate, because by their baying the phantoms of the lower world were disturbed. A great number of Dogs were also destroyed in Samothrace in honour of the same goddess. Dogs were periodically sacrificed in February, and also in April and in May; also to the goddess Rubigo, who presided over the corn, and the Bona Dea, whose mysterious rites were performed on Mount Aventine. The Dog Cerberus was supposed to be watching at the feet of Pluto, and a Dog and a youth were periodically sacrificed to that deity. The night when the capital had nearly been destroyed was annually celebrated by the cruel scourging of a Dog in the principal public places, even to the death of the animal.”[95]

Homer, like the modern English, frequently uses the word “Dog” as an epithet of contempt--“thou Dog in forehead;” but the Dog was man’s companion everywhere amongst those old Greeks. When the “God of the silver bow” strikes beasts and men with pestilence, it is said--

“Mules first and Dogs he struck, but at themselves, Dispatching soon his bitter arrows keen, Smote them.”

Yet, mixed with these friendly Dogs there were evidently Pariah Dogs; cowards are threatened thus:--

“The Vulture’s maw Shall have his carcase, and the Dogs his bones.”

Two nobler breeds are also indicated, viz., Shepherd Dogs and Hounds:--

“As Dogs that careful watch the fold by night, Hearing some wild beast in the woods, which Hounds And hunters with tumultuous clamour drive Down from the mountain-top, all sleep forego.”

Homer also makes indubitable reference to another breed, viz., the Boarhound:--

“As when Dogs and swains In prime of manhood, from all quarters rush Around a Boar, he from his thicket bolts, The bright tusk whetting in his crooked jaws; They press him on all sides, and from beneath Loud gnashings hear, yet firm, his threats defy.”

But more ancient than any of these records are the evidences which prove the existence of the domestic Dog among the pre-historic savages of Northern Europe. In the Danish “kitchen-middens,” or heaps of household refuse, piled up by the men of the newer stone period--a time when our Scandinavian forefathers used chipped or polished flints instead of metal for their weapons--are found bone-cuttings belonging to some species of the genus _Canis_. Along with these remains are some of the long bones of birds, all the other bones of the said birds being absent. Now it is known that the bird-bones here found are the very ones which Dogs cannot devour, while the absent ones are such as they can bolt with ease, and it has been ingeniously argued from this that the remains in question did really belong to a domestic Dog, as, if the animals to which they appertained had been Wolves, they would have made short work of the long bones as well as of the others. Other Dog-bones are found in Denmark in later periods. At the time when the flint knives were succeeded by bronze a large Dog existed, and at the time when iron was used one larger still. In Switzerland, during the newer stone period, a Dog existed, which is probably the oldest of which we have any record. It “partook of the character of our Hounds and Setters or Spaniels,” and, in the matter of its skull, “was about equally remote from the Wolf and Jackal.” This Dog, too, like its Danish contemporary, was succeeded in the bronze period by a larger variety. Thus we see that, at a time when our ancestors were living “in dens and caves of the earth,” in a state of civilisation about equal to that of the African or Australian aborigines of the present day, the Dog was already systematically kept, and “selected,” that is, any good varieties which appeared were taken note of, and kept up.

We have mentioned above the common practice amongst the Greeks and Romans of offering Dogs as sacrifices to the numerous deities. The same custom was prevalent in early times in Scandinavia, where the Dog was often used as a sacrificial victim. Mr. Youatt says:--“Before Christianity was established among the Danes, on every ninth year, at the winter solstice, a monstrous sacrifice of ninety-nine Dogs was effected. In Sweden the sacrifice was still worse. On each of nine successive days ninety-nine Dogs were destroyed. This sacrifice of the Dog, however, gave way to one as numerous and as horrible. On every ninth year ninety-nine human victims were immolated, and the sons of the reigning tyrant among the rest, in order that the life of the monarch might be prolonged.

“On the other hand, the Dog was frequently the executioner; and, from an early period, whether in the course of war, or the mock administration of justice, thousands of poor wretches were torn to pieces by animals trained to that horrible purpose.

“As a counterpart to much of this, the ancient Hyrcanians may be mentioned, who lived near the Caspian sea, and who deemed it one of the strongest expressions of respect to leave the corpse of their deceased friends to be torn and devoured by Dogs. Every man was provided with a certain number of these animals, as a living tomb for himself at some future period, and these Dogs were remarkable for their fierceness.”

In the New World, the Dog is, or was, held as an object of adoration by many of the natives; and dog-worship seems to have been a more ancient _culte_ than the sun-worship practised by the Mexicans. Humboldt informs us that “when the Inca Pachacutec, in his religious wars, conquered the Indians of Xanxa and Huanca (the present valley of Huancayo and Juuja), and compelled them by force to submit to the worship of the sun, he found that Dogs were made the objects of their adoration, and that the priests used the skulls of these animals as wind instruments. It would also appear that the flesh of this canine divinity was eaten by the believers. The veneration of Dogs in the valley of the Huancaya is probably the reason why the skulls, and even whole mummies, of these animals are sometimes found in the Huacas, or Peruvian graves of the most ancient period. Von Tschudi, the author of an admirable treatise on the _Fauna Peruana_, has examined these skulls, and believes them to belong to a peculiar species, which he calls _Canis ingæ_, and which is different from the European Dog. The Huancas are still, in derision, called ‘dog-eaters’ by the inhabitants of other provinces.” Humboldt also tells us that “the Peruvian Dogs were made to play a singular part during eclipses of the moon, being beaten as long as the darkness continued.” But he says nothing about the origin of so curious a custom.

An animal of such intelligence as the Dog, one so necessary to the welfare of man, and devoted to him by so many ties, is certain to have a number of curious superstitions current regarding him. An excellent account of some of the most curious of them is given by the Rev. J. Gardner.

“Among the Hyperborean tribes, with whom the Dog is reckoned a very valuable animal, it occupies a conspicuous place in their traditions, being considered--as, for instance, among the Eskimo, according to the accounts given by Franklin and Parry, and other Arctic navigators--as the father of the human family. The Chippewayan Indians had a tradition that they were sprung from a Dog; and hence they neither ate the flesh of that animal themselves, nor could they look with any other feeling than horror upon those nations who fed upon it. In all these cases, probably, the Dog is the symbol of the sun. A strange notion prevails among the Greenlanders that an eclipse is caused by the sun being pursued by his brother the moon. Accordingly, when this phenomenon takes place, the women take the Dogs by the ears, believing that, as these animals existed before man was created, they must have a more certain presentiment of the future than he has; and therefore, if they do not cry when their ears are pulled, it is an infallible sign that the world is about to be destroyed.

“The inhabitants of Japan have a superstitious regard for Dogs. Thus, we learn from Picart, in his ‘Religious Ceremonies of all Nations,’ ‘The emperor who sat on the throne when Kaempfer resided in Japan was so extravagantly fond of them, that there has been a greater number of them in that kingdom ever since his reign (if we may depend on the veracity of this traveller) than in any other nation in the whole world. Every street is obliged to maintain a fixed and determinate number of them. They are quartered upon the inhabitants, and in case of sickness they are obliged to nurse and attend them. When they die, they are obliged to inter them in a decent manner in the mountains and hills peculiarly appropriated for the interment of the people. It is looked upon as a capital crime not only to kill them, but barely to insult and treat them ill; and no one but the legal proprietor is allowed so much as to correct any of them. All this reverence and respect are owing to a celestial constellation which the Japanese call the Dog, under the influence whereof the aforesaid Emperor of Japan was born.’”

By most people the Dog is valued only during his life; his skin is not particularly valuable, and his flesh is little esteemed. This is by no means, however, the case everywhere. It is well known that the Chinese use the Dog as a regular article of food. Many of the North American tribes look upon an _entrée_ of Dog as the greatest possible _bonne bouche_ they can set before a stranger. Sir Leopold McClintock relates that, in the Sandwich Islands, he had most profuse apologies offered to him because there was no puppy to be had for a feast to which he was invited. The Eskimo, too, look upon a dish of young Dog as a great treat; and it is related that a Danish captain provided his friends with a feast of this kind, and when they _praised his mutton_, sent for the skin of the beast, and exhibited it to them! The Greeks and Romans also used the Dog as an article of diet, and many ancient writers, such as Galen and Hippocrates, represent Dog-meat as a highly desirable dish.

It is a remarkable circumstance, when we come to consider the probable origin of the Dog, that there is evidence of his domestication at such early periods, and by so many savage tribes in different parts of the world. As we have already seen, tame Dogs were possessed by savages in the neolithic, or newer stone period, by the Assyrians, Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, and the ancient inhabitants of North and South America, to say nothing of the numerous savage tribes at the present day, such as the Australians and the inhabitants of Guiana. Now the important question arises, had all these Dogs a common origin? Did the great neolithic Dog, the Sheep-dog of Job’s time, the Greyhounds, Turnspits, and Hounds of the Assyrians and Greeks, the divinely-honoured animals of Peru, and the supposed ancestors of the Eskimo and the Chippeways, spring from a single pair? or have various wild species of _Canidæ_ been tamed and converted into true domestic Dogs, by different people in different parts of the world, these various species having since been crossed and re-crossed with one another and with their parent forms, until a species has been produced as complex in its origin as the English nation, which has flowing in its veins the blood of ancient Briton, Roman, Anglo-Saxon, Dane, Norman, and Fleming?

Until recently it was thought that all the evidence which could be brought to bear on the matter pointed to a separate origin of the Dog. It was argued, for instance, that as we have evidences of distinct breeds existing in far-back periods of the world’s history, there was actually no time, prior to those periods, for him to have diverged from a savage ancestor, such as a Wolf or a Jackal. It was also thought highly unlikely that a number of primitive races of man should have separately tamed different wild _Canidæ_. Mr. Youatt, one of our best authorities on the Dog, writing in 1845, says: “This power of tracing back the Dog to the very earliest periods of history, and the fact that he then seemed to be as sagacious, as faithful and as valuable as at the present day, strongly favours the opinion that he descended from no inferior and comparatively worthless animal; that he was not the progeny of the Wolf, the Jackal, or the Fox; but he was originally created, somewhat as we now find him, the associate and friend of man.”

A few years ago there was no gainsaying arguments such as these, for then nearly everybody believed that the world was literally only six thousand years old, and that species were absolutely unchangeable. But Sir Charles Lyell and Mr. Darwin have “_changé tout cela_.” The argument from time fails utterly, and other facts have to be taken into consideration.

There is, first of all, the fact of identity of structure. There is absolutely no definition framable which will include all the varieties of the domestic Dog, and exclude all the wild species--none even which will include all the Dogs properly so called, both wild and tame, and at the same time exclude the Wolf and Jackal. It is the same as regards habits, instincts, mental endowments, &c. Wolves and Jackals can be and have been tamed. Domestic Dogs can become, and have again and again become, wild, and in no way better than true aborigines; and to assert that the Dog is not descended from a Jackal because his manners and customs are better, his tail more curly, and his voice a bark instead of a howl, is about as just as to assert that Englishmen cannot possibly be descended from ancient Britons, because they wear clothes instead of a coating of blue paint.

With regard to the opinion that many races of men are not likely independently to have tamed wild _Canidæ_, there are certain facts which show that the exact contrary is the case. Savages in all parts of the world are fond of making pets of various kinds, and would have been certain to come across Wolf or Jackal pups in their wanderings through the woods. Then, again, as Mr. Darwin remarks, “At an extremely ancient period, when man first entered any country, the animals living there would have felt no instinctive or inherited fear of him, and would consequently have been tamed far more easily than at present. For instance, when the Falkland Islands were first visited by man, the large Wolf-like Dog (_Canis antarcticus_) fearlessly came to meet Byron’s sailors, who, mistaking this ignorant curiosity for ferocity, ran into the water to avoid them. Even recently a man, by holding a piece of meat in one hand and a knife in the other, could sometimes stick them at night.” Another important point is the readiness with which many wild species of _Canidæ_ breed in confinement, so that the difficulty of perpetuating the newly-acquired characteristics of the tamed animal is, in this case, obviated. Furthermore, it is perfectly well known that savages at the present day do actually tame, and make useful to themselves, the wild Dogs of their particular countries: “the savages of Guiana catch, and partially tame and use the whelps of the wild species of _Canis_, as do the savages of Australia those of the Dingo.”

These statements certainly tend to show that there is no actual improbability in supposing that many wild species of _Canidæ_ have at different times, and by different nations, been tamed and gradually modified into true domestic Dogs. But the most significant fact bearing upon the multiple origin of the Dog is the often-occurring close resemblance between the domestic Dog of a savage tribe and the wild species of _Canis_ inhabiting the same district. Of this most important circumstance there are far too many instances to allow of its being looked upon as a mere coincidence. Sir John Richardson says: “The resemblance between the Wolves and the Dogs of those Indian nations who still preserve their ancient mode of life continues to be very remarkable, and it is nowhere more so than at the northern extremities of the Continent, the Eskimo Dogs being not only extremely like the Grey Wolves of the Arctic circle in form and colour, but also nearly equalling them in size. The Dog has generally a shorter tail than the Wolf, and carries it more frequently curled over the hip, but the latter practice is not totally unknown to the Wolf, although that animal, when under the observation of man, being generally apprehensive of danger or on the watch, seldom displays this mark of satisfaction.” And again, “The resemblance between the northern Wolves and the domestic Dog of the Indians is so great, that the size and strength of the Wolf seem to be the only difference. I have more than once mistaken a band of Wolves for the Dogs of a party of Indians; and the howl of the animals of both species is prolonged so exactly in the same key, that even the practised ear of an Indian fails at times to discriminate them.”

As the Eskimo and Indian Dogs resemble the North American Wolf (_C. lupus_), so the Dog of the Hare Indians, a very distinct breed (see below), resembles the Prairie Wolf (_C. latrans_). So great is this resemblance that Richardson says, “I could detect no marked difference in form except the smallness of its [the Dog’s] cranium, nor in the fineness of its fur, and arrangement of its spots of colour. The length of the fur on the neck, back part of the cheeks, and top of the head, was the same in both species. It, in fact, bears the same resemblance to the Prairie Wolf that the Eskimo Dog does to the great Grey Wolf.” Another observer remarks that, except in the matter of barking, there is no difference whatever between the black Wolf-dog of the Indians of Florida and the Wolves of the same country. The Dogs also breed readily with the wild animals they so closely resemble. The Indians often cross their Dogs with Wolves to improve the breed, and in South America the same process is resorted to between the domesticated and the wild Dogs.

The same phenomenon is seen in many kinds of Dog in the Old World. The Shepherd Dog of the plains of Hungary is white or reddish-brown, has a sharp nose, short erect ears, shaggy coat, and bushy tail, and so much resembles a Wolf, that Mr. Paget, who gives the description, says he has known a Hungarian mistake a Wolf for one of his own Dogs. There is also a close resemblance between some of the Indian Pariah Dogs and the Indian Wolf. Some of the domestic Dogs of Egypt, both at the present day and in the condition of mummies, closely resemble the Wolf of that country; “whereas the domestic Dogs of Nubia, and certain other mummied Dogs, have the closest relation to a wild species of the same country ... which is only a form of the common Jackal.” Dogs have, moreover, been known to cross with Jackals as well as with Wolves. Lastly, in Africa, some of the natives assert that their half-tamed Dogs are derived from Foxes; and the Dogs of the Bosjesman have a striking resemblance to the black-backed Jackal (_C. mesomelas_), which, as we shall see, is a South African variety.

These facts are so significant and so important that they in reality leave only one difficulty to be settled, and that is the question of voice. As we stated above, all domestic Dogs bark, while all wild _Canidæ_ express their feelings only by howls. But the difficulty here is not so great as it seems. Some domestic Dogs left on the island of Juan Fernandez entirely lost the habit of barking in thirty-three years, and a few individuals removed after that period only re-acquired it very slowly; thus, domestic Dogs allowed to run wild forget how to bark. On the other hand, Jackals, wild Dogs, and Wolf-pups reared by bitches, readily acquire the habit. Thus the last stumbling-block in the argument disappears, and we are forced to agree with Mr. Darwin, from whom many of the above facts are taken,[96] that “it is highly probable that the domestic Dogs of the world have descended from two good species of Wolf (_C. lupus_ and _C. latrans_), and from two or three other doubtful species of Wolves (namely, the European, Indian, and North African forms); from at least one or two South American Canine species; from several races or species of the Jackal; and perhaps from one or more extinct species;” and that the blood of these, “in some cases mingled together, flows in the veins of our domestic breeds.”

There is no animal so interesting as the Dog for the study of the relation between man and the lower animals in the matter of instinct, reason, conscience, and the like. As no animal has been so thoroughly domesticated, and so systematically trained and educated, so none has developed in the same degree those higher endowments which are often considered as the exclusive attributes of humanity, such as reasoning power, a sense of right and wrong, of property, and of number.

For the study of instinct, it is impossible to find an animal in any way approaching to him for interest, for not only does he exhibit, to a wonderful degree, the instincts common to all the higher animals, but almost every kind of Dog possesses some special instinct, imparted from a remote ancestor, and absent, or nearly so, in other varieties. We may instance the mode of “pointing” game peculiar to the Pointer, the marvellous power of following scent of the Bloodhound or Foxhound, and the acute generalship of the Shepherd’s Dog, who, with comparatively little teaching, guards, drives, and keeps together a whole flock of foolish animals, which, to the Dog mind, must seem intended by Providence to be worried and eaten. These special instincts we shall consider when we come to speak of the various breeds; but we must now say a few words on those instincts which are common to the whole species.

Unlike the Lion and Tiger, the male Dog takes no interest whatever in his offspring, who are taken care of during the weeks of their helplessness entirely by the mother. She, however, quite makes up for paternal neglect by the assiduity with which she tends and cares for her feeble offspring. It is one of the most touching, and, at the same time, almost amusing sights, to see a bitch with her first litter; how jealously she watches the blind, fat, slug-like little creatures. At first she will growl and snap even at her beloved master, if he approaches too near her treasures. When they have grown a little, how fussy she becomes when they are noticed; she will even drag them by the leg, one by one, upstairs, to exhibit their perfections! For several weeks this care continues, but by the time the pups have grown half as big as their mother, and can see and run about, her solicitude diminishes. She begins to quarrel with them over bones and other titbits, and, before long, takes no more notice of them than if they were the commonest stray Dogs in the street. It is this evaporation of mother-love which so distinguishes a Dog-parent from, at any rate, a great number of human parents.

Like most animals, the female Dog, if deprived of the natural objects of her affection, will lavish her care on almost any young and helpless thing with which she may be brought in contact.

Dr. Sclater,[97] whilst visiting the Zoological Gardens at Antwerp, in 1875, noticed a curious instance of the blindness of maternal love in a Dog. Among other objects of attraction were “three young Tiger-cubs, born in the Gardens on the 14th of October, 1873,” that had been “most successfully foster-mothered by a large bitch.”

We have stated that the male Dog is perfectly oblivious of his paternal duties; we have, however, met with one instance of a Dog, who, whatever may have been his qualities as a parent, discharged with great fidelity the part of guardian, and that, too, not to one of his own species, but to one of an alien and hostile race. This curious instance of canine affection was exhibited by a small male pet Spaniel, belonging to some friends of ours, who brought up a kitten. The _food_, certainly, was supplied by the family, but the brooding and tendance were done most faithfully. On warm days, the Dog would carry the kitten and lay it in the sun, choosing some snug place out of the wind, in the garden. The kitten, a female, lived to become a very beautiful Cat; but her unsuspecting innocence led to her death. Not fearing any of the Dog-kind, she made no attempts to escape from them, and was worried to death by a strange stray Dog.

One of the most striking circumstances with regard both to the general and the special instincts of the Dog, namely, those instincts common to the whole species, and those possessed by particular breeds, is the way in which they are transmitted from parent to child. The Pointer points the first time he is taken out; the Shepherd’s Dog learns his duties with astonishingly little teaching. Not only are instincts transmitted in pure breeds, but in cross-breeds the special characteristics of both parents come out with the most marvellous accuracy. “... It is known that a cross with a Bull-dog has affected for many generations the courage and obstinacy of Greyhounds; and a cross with a Greyhound has given a whole family of Shepherd-dogs a tendency to hunt Hares. Le Roy describes a Dog, whose great grandfather was a Wolf, and this Dog showed a trace of its wild parentage only in one way--by not coming in a straight line to his master when called.” The tendency to attack Poultry, Sheep, &c., “has been found incurable in Dogs which have been brought home as puppies from countries, such as Tierra del Fuego and Australia, where the savages do not keep these domestic animals. How rarely, on the other hand, do our civilised Dogs, even when quite young, require to be taught not to attack Poultry, Sheep, and Pigs!”[98]

A most astonishing account of an inherited mental peculiarity--an instinctive dislike--is related by Dr. Huggins, to whose researches the science of astronomy owes so much. He writes:--

“I possess an English Mastiff, by name Kepler, a son of the celebrated Turk, out of Venus. I brought the Dog, when six weeks old, from the stable in which he was born. The first time I took him out, he started back in alarm at the first butcher’s shop he had ever seen. I soon found that he had a violent antipathy to butchers and butchers’ shops. When six months old, a servant took him with her on an errand. At a short distance before coming to the house she had to pass a butcher’s shop. The Dog threw himself down (being led with a string), and neither coaxing nor threats would make him pass the shop. The Dog was too heavy to be carried; and as a crowd collected, the servant had to return with the Dog more than a mile, and then go without him. This occurred about two years ago. The antipathy still continues, but the Dog will pass nearer to a shop than he formerly would. About two months ago, in a little book on Dogs published by Dean, I discovered that the same strange antipathy was shown by his father, Turk. I then wrote to Mr. Nicholls, the former owner of Turk, to ask him for any information he may have on the point. He replied--‘I can say that the same antipathy exists in King (the sire of Turk), in Punch (son of Turk, out of Meg), and in Paris (son of Turk, out of Juno). Paris has the greatest antipathy, as he would hardly go into a street where a butcher’s shop was, and would run away after passing it. When a cart with a butcher’s man came into the place where the Dogs were kept, although they could not see him, they all were ready to break their chains. A master-butcher, dressed privately, called one evening on Paris’s master to see the Dog. He had hardly entered the house before the Dog (though shut in) was so excited that he had to be put into a shed, and the butcher was forced to leave without seeing the Dog. The same Dog, at Hastings, made a spring at a gentleman who came into the hotel. The owner caught the Dog and apologised, and said he never knew him to do so before, except when a butcher came to his house. The gentleman at once said that was his business. So you see that they inherit these antipathies, and show a great deal of breed.’”[99]

A gentleman on reading this account of Dr. Huggins’s Dog, wrote to say that he possessed a son of Sybil, daughter of Turk, who possessed the family antipathy in a marked degree, and another stated that he also possessed a grandson of the redoubted Mastiff, in whom the same peculiarity was developed. Thus we see that this most remarkable instinctive dread, arising no one knows how, existed not only in Dr. Huggins’s Dog, but in his father, grandfather, brothers, and nephews! It was suggested, and it seems highly probable, that the feeling in this case first arose from the fact of some ancestor of the Turk family being ill-treated by a butcher; but it is quite possible that it may have arisen spontaneously. Boswell, in his life of Johnson, quotes the “Great Lexicographer” as attributing a similar dislike to butchers noticed in the Dogs of some savage countries, where the animal was used for food, not to horror at the butcher’s cruelty, but merely to the smell of carnage.

A very remarkable _trait_ in the Dog’s character, which has undoubtedly become instinctive, and is consequently transmitted from generation to generation, is his love of human society. A well cared-for Dog will always prefer his master’s company to that of his own kind, and will take any amount of trouble, and give up any amount of personal ease, that he may not be parted from him.

But, undoubtedly, the most wonderful canine instinct is the sense of direction, the power possessed by so many Dogs of finding their way back to an old and well-loved home, after being forcibly removed from it to a new place of abode. Instances are numerous in which Dogs, taken from their usual habitation, shut up in a basket, or by night, or in a swift railway train, have unerringly found their way back, greatly to the surprise of both their new and their old masters. Mr. Wallace has suggested that this was not a true case of instinct, but that the Dog, in all probability, found his way back by smell; that he, as it were, takes a note of every smell he passes--a stagnant pool here, a haystack there, a wayside inn, a stable, &c. &c.--and, remembering not only the smells, but the order in which he smelt them, he follows the scent until he arrives at his destination. There is no doubt that the Dog’s olfactory sense is wonderfully acute, but this is certainly carrying it too far. Moreover, as has been remarked, the direction of the wind was quite likely to change between the Dog’s two journeys, and if one of his odoriferous landmarks happened to be movable, like a flock of Sheep, where would he be? But the one fact which completely disposes of the smell theory of the phenomenon is, that there is no evidence of a Dog’s ever returning to his old home by the way he was taken from it; he invariably takes a different route, usually a short cut. For instance: “A Hound was sent by Charles Cobbe, Esq., from Newbridge, county Dublin, to Maynalty, county Meath, and thence, long afterwards, conveyed to Dublin. The Hound broke loose in Dublin, and the same morning made his way back to his old kennel at Newbridge, thus completing the third side of a triangle by a road he had never travelled in his life.” Again, Mr. Romanes narrates the case of a Dog who, when taken by his master from Oban to Greenock, by sea, was grievously sea-sick. The next time the journey had to be made, the Dog, remembering his former trouble, jumped off the boat and disappeared. His master continued his voyage, and was greatly surprised, when he arrived at Greenock, to find the Dog waiting for him on the wharf! The distance from Oban to Greenock is fifty miles in a straight line, and this straight course the Dog is not likely to have taken, as his way would then have lain across mountains, a lake, and an arm of the sea. Thus it would seem that the Dog must have some sort of notion of direction, must possess, as it were, a special sense of the nature of a mariner’s compass, and that, so far from his sense of locality being due in any way to power of smell, it is perhaps the most striking example of a pure instinct which it is possible to conceive.

We have not given many instances of instinct in the Dog, for it is a faculty of which no one denies the existence, but of reasoning power it is necessary to treat more fully, as many persons are disposed wholly to deny the presence of that faculty in all the lower animals, and to make it the exclusive prerogative of man. Every one who has kept a Dog must have seen it perform actions which, in a human being, would unhesitatingly be put down to reason; every one must have heard of cases in which a choice of two or more courses was presented to a Dog, and in which he has, after due reflection, chosen the best.

We are indebted to Mr. Hugh Miller, F.G.S., for a good instance of reasoning power in a Dog belonging to his brother, Captain Miller. This Dog, “Tara” by name, a Greyhound with a dash of Pointer, was one day taken out with a carriage for a run of forty miles. Now, it is estimated that a Dog, by his uncontrollable habit of “meandering,” usually goes over about three times, the ground of the horse or man he accompanies, so that on this occasion Tara must have run considerably over a hundred miles, and was in consequence rather done up when she reached home. She usually slept in the dining-room, whence she was always ejected at 7 A.M. by the housemaid who cleaned the room. On this occasion, however, no amount of persuasion could induce Tara to occupy her accustomed sleeping-place; she positively insisted upon following her master upstairs to his bedroom, where she evidently expected she could remain undisturbed for a good long rest, and where she did actually remain till 2 P.M. on the following day.

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.

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.”

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.