Part 5

A DOG THAT SCORNED TO BE JEALOUS.

[_Jan. 5, 1895._]

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

C. E. S.

_DOGS AND THE ARTS._

MUSIC AND DOGS.

[_Oct. 24, 1891._]

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

O. H. G.

[_Oct. 24, 1891._]

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

C. F. HARRISON.

[_Oct. 24, 1891._]

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

D.

RECOGNITION OF LIKENESSES BY DOGS.

[_May 5, 1894._]

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

JULIA ANDREWS.

_May 19, 1894._

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

FRANK WRIGHT.

[_May 19, 1894._]

Apropos of the recognition of pictures by dogs (_Spectator_, May 5th), I think you may be interested in the two following facts which came under my notice a few years ago. A sagacious but quite uneducated old terrier came with his master to call for me, and coiled himself on the hearthrug while we talked. Turning himself round in the intervals of slumber, his eye caught an oil-painting just over his head (a life-size half-length of a gentleman). He immediately sat up, showed his teeth, and growled--not once, but continually--as both angry and mortified that neither eyes nor nose had given him notice of the arrival of a stranger! The next instance was similar, except that the chief actor was a young, intelligent collie, who, on the sudden discovery of a man looking at him from the wall, barked long and furiously. In both instances, after their excitement had subsided, I led the dogs to look at another picture similar in size, and also of a gentleman, but neither of them would take the smallest notice of it. I need only add that the picture which the dogs appreciated was painted by Sir Henry Raeburn--the other was not. Might not a few sagacious canine members be a useful addition to the Royal Academy Hanging Committee?

B. THOMSON.

[_May 26, 1894._]

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

G.

[_June 2, 1894._]

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

LOUISA STARR CANZIANI.

RECOGNITION BY ANIMALS OF PICTURES.

[_Sept. 7, 1889._]

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

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

J. M. HULBERT.

_DOG FRIENDSHIPS._

DOG FRIENDS.

[_Feb. 16, 1889._]

The following story of friendship between two dogs may, I think, interest some of your readers. Some time ago I used often to stay with a friend in Wiltshire, whose park is separated from the house by a lake which is about a hundred and fifty yards broad at the narrowest part. Being extremely fond of animals, I soon became intimate with two delightful dogs belonging to my hostess, a large collie, called Jasper, and a rough Skye terrier, Sandie. The pair were devoted friends, if possible always went out together, and, sad to relate, even poached together. One afternoon I called them, as usual, to go for a walk, and making my way to the lake, I determined to row across and wander about in the deer-park. Without thinking of my two companions, I got into the boat and pushed off. Jasper at once jumped into the water and gaily followed the boat; half way across he and I were both startled by despairing howls, and stopping to look back, we saw poor little Sandie running up and down the bank, and bitterly bewailing the cruelty of his two so-called friends in leaving him behind. Hardening my heart, I sat still in silence, and simply watched. Jasper was clearly distressed; he swam round the boat, and looking up into my face, said unmistakably with his wise brown eyes, "Why don't you go to the rescue?" Seeing, however, that I showed no signs of intelligence, he made up his mind to settle the difficulty himself, so turned and swam back to forlorn little Sandie; there was a moment's pause, I suppose for explanations, and then, to my surprise and amusement, Jasper stood still, half out and half in the water, and Sandie scrambled on to his back, his front paws resting on Jasper's neck, who swam across the lake and landed him safely in the deer-park! I need not describe the evident pride of the one, or the gratitude of the other.

ROY.

FRIENDSHIPS OF DOGS WITH OTHER ANIMALS.

A LESSON.

[_Feb. 23, 1889._]

Your correspondent "Roy's" very interesting account of "A Canine Friendship" tempts me to send you the following about two Dandy Dinmonts in this neighbourhood.

Friends of mine in Dumfriesshire had in their house two Dandie Dinmont dogs who were inseparable friends and constant companions in all that was going on. One day one of these dogs disappeared unaccountably, and nothing was seen of it for a week. His owners were very vexed, thinking he must have got within the range of some keeper's gun or met with some other accident.

But the absentee's home-keeping companion was greatly distressed; he moped about, and would not touch any food for several days; till, unexpectedly on my friend's part, the truant suddenly reappeared and showed himself in the house. The dog who had remained at home, when he saw the arrival of his former friend, looked steadily at him for a few seconds, and then, without further parley, went at him and gave the truant a thoroughly sound thrashing. I always explain this to myself by supposing that the home-keeping dog decided that the truant had caused him for several days needless anxiety and abstinence from food, and that the truant must learn by painful experience that such behaviour could not be lightly condoned by his inseparable companion.

J. G.

CONSCIOUS AUTOMATA.

[_July 31, 1875._]

I have lately heard a story that I hope you may think worthy of a place among your illustrations of the thoughtful intelligence of "Conscious Automata." Many years ago, a family having a house in Grosvenor Square, and a place in the country (I think in Warwickshire), owned a terrier, who, in the country, made great friends with a large Newfoundland. When they came to town they brought the terrier, and he resided in a mews where he was much annoyed by a cur who lived next door, and attacked him whenever he came out. One day the terrier disappeared, but after a little time returned, bringing with him his big friend, who gave the vulgar bully a satisfactory thrashing--not attempting to kill him. This has been told me by an old servant, who was then a young man, living in service in London, close to the owners of the dogs. He answers for the facts of the story as he heard them at the time.

F. C.

DOG AND PIGEON.

[_Sept. 22, 1888._]

The _Spectator_ does not disdain anecdotes of dogs and their doings, and I think the following history, to which I can bear personal testimony, may be found not uninteresting to your readers. At this delightful house in Perthshire, where I am on a visit, there is a well-bred pointer, named Fop, who, when not engaged in his professional pursuits on the moor, lives chiefly in a kennel placed in a loose-box adjoining the other stables attached to the house. Nearly a year ago there were a pair of pigeons who lived in and about the stable yard. One of the birds died, and its bereaved mate at once attached itself for society and protection to the dog, and has been its constant companion ever since. On the days when the sportsmen are not seeking grouse the dog is in his kennel, and the pigeon is always his close attendant. She roosts on a rack over the manger of the stable, and in the day-time is either strutting about preening her feathers, taking her meals from the dog's biscuit and water tin, or quite as often sitting in the kennel by his side, nestling close to him. Fop, who is an amiable and rather sentimental being, takes no apparent notice of his companion, except that we observe him, in jumping into or out of his kennel while the pigeon is there, to take obvious care not to crush or disturb her in any way. The only other symptom Fop has shown of being jealous for the pigeon's comfort and convenience is that when of late two chickens from the stable-yard wandered into the apartment where the dog and pigeon reside, he very promptly bit their heads off, as if in mute intimation that one bird is company, and two (or rather three) are none.

The story is rather one of a pigeon than a dog, for it is quite evident that she is the devoted friend, and that he acquiesces in the friendship. On the days when Fop is taken, to his infinite delight, on to the moor, the pigeon is much concerned. She follows him as far as she dare, taking a series of short flights over his head, until a little wood is reached, through which the keeper and dogs have to take their way. At this point her courage fails her, and she returns to the stable, to wait hopefully for her comrade's return.

This singular alliance is a great joy and interest to the keepers, coachmen, and grooms of the establishment, and as the keeper gave me a strong hint that the story ought to be told in print, adding that he had seen much less noteworthy incidents of animal life promoted to such honour, I have ventured to send it to you. I may add that the pigeon is of the kind called "Jacobin," and is white, with a black wing. Is there any precedent for such close intimacies between animals so widely separated in kind and habit?

ALFRED AINGER.

A HEN AND PUPPIES.

[_Sept. 29, 1888._]

In reply to Mr. Ainger's question as to there being "any precedent for such close intimacies between animals so widely separated in kind and habit" as the dog and pigeon mentioned in his interesting letter, I can mention two cases which have come under my notice this last summer at my farm in Berkshire. In one case the friendship existed between a pullet and a pig. The pullet never left the farmyard to join in the rambles of the other fowls, but kept near the pig all day, occasionally roosting on its friend's back when taking its afternoon nap.

The other case was more remarkable. A hen, with strong motherly instincts, but no family of her own, acted for several weeks as foster-mother to eight spaniel puppies. The real mother, a very gentle creature, soon acquiesced in the arrangement. The hen covered the puppies with her wings just as though they had been chickens, and remained with them day and night. When they began to walk she was still their constant attendant; when they learned to lap and eat a little she would "call" them and break up their food. As they grew older the poor foster-mother had her patience sorely tried. They barked and capered around her, leading her altogether a sad life. After the puppies deserted her she was often seen sitting close to their mother, the pair apparently quite understanding each other. My children were naturally delighted to watch these strange sights, and the hen, though not at other times very tame, maintained perfect equanimity while they played with the puppies around her.

F. C. MAXWELL.

A DOG AND A RABBIT.

[_Sept. 29, 1888._]

Mr. Ainger, in giving his interesting incident of strange friendships between animals, asks if there are any precedents for such incongruous intimacy as he saw between a dog and a pigeon. To most close observers of animals, such curious cases, though always noteworthy, are well known; naturalists like Buckland and many others have frequently recorded them.

With the view of adding to the lore on this matter, permit me to cite the following. Two Scotch terriers are lying before the fire. Prince is an amiable sort of dog; Jack is rather surly; both good vermin-killers and fond of hunting. I bring in a common buck rabbit, and place it beside the dogs, with the intimation they were not to touch it. Trust, and then alliance, quickly grew between it and Prince, whilst Jack shows unmistakable hatred. In a few days the two friends, with their paws absurdly clasping each other's necks, sleep happily on the rug; they play together, they chase each other up and down the stairs and all over the house at full speed, and when tired come back to the rug. Jack refusing all this sort of thing, makes the rabbit look at him with a sort of awe. Does Bunny make no mess in the house? None whatever; he goes into the garden as the dogs do, and like them, scratches at the door when he wants to return. All this he does without any instruction from us. After a while, being very fond of him, we put on the floor a pretty pink-eyed doe as a present. He stares, sniffs her all over, kills her on the spot, and goes for a romp with his dear Prince. Jack always sleeps under my bed from choice, and just before I put out the light as I lie, stands up against the bed for his last pat and "good-night." Bunny has observed all this, and quietly creeps into the room, which he refuses to leave; then likewise always asks for his "good-night," and sleeps somewhere near his great "ideal."

Another instance, published in "Loch Creran" by my friend Mr. Anderson Smith. I punished my cat for killing a chicken. The next day he is seen to carry a live chicken in his mouth and lay it down to the hen he had previously robbed. He and the chicken afterwards were frequently observed leaving the orchard together, and travelling through the courtyard and back passages, find their way to the kitchen fireplace, where they would sleep in good fellowship. This chicken, I discovered, had been stolen nearly two miles away. It is important to remark that the cat, though a cruel bird-killer, never touched another chicken. Was the idea of compensation in the cat's mind? If not that, all the circumstances are singularly coincident. And why did the chicken prefer the cat's companionship to that of its fellows?

E. W. PHIBBS.

ANOTHER PIGEON STORY.

[_Oct. 6, 1888._]

Mr. Ainger's letter in the _Spectator_ of September 22nd reminds me of an almost identical friendship that existed some years ago at Grove House, Knutsford. A long-haired mastiff was kept chained as a watch-dog, and when a white fantail pigeon's mate died, it attached itself to the mastiff, and was continually with it in the kennel. When the dog had its breakfast of porridge and milk, the pigeon would eat out of the bowl at the same time; and when the dog had finished, it would lie flat on its side while the pigeon perched on its head and pecked off the grains of oatmeal that stuck to the long hair round its mouth. The only danger to the pigeon seemed to be that when the dog rushed out of the kennel suddenly to bark, it seemed to forget the pigeon, and we used to fear that the heavy chain might hurt it; but it never was hurt. This friendship lasted many years, till one of the two, I forget which, died.

ISABEL JAMISON.

DOG AND KITTENS.

[_July 1, 1893._]