Chapter 6

The following story may, perhaps, interest some of your readers:--Willie is a small, rough-haired terrier, a truculent and aggressive character, the terror of tramps, in a skirmish with one of whom he has lost an eye. He rules the kitchen with a rod of iron, the inmate there admiring and fearing him. Next to tramps, Willie hates cats; he has been flogged again and again for chasing the neighbour's "Tom"; nothing can stop him rushing at the alien cat, however. But for his own domestic "Tabby" he has tolerance and a certain amount of affection; if another dog were to attack her, dire would be the warfare. A while ago, this cat had three kittens; two were taken by the maid and placed in a bucket of water, and left to their fate. Before that fate had come Willie perceived them; he snatched them from the bucket one by one, and carried them to his kennel. The maid attempted to get them away, but Willie flew at her with fury, and then returned to lick first one and then the other, to shove them up together, and lie down near them, and in every way to give the poor half-dead things a chance. This went on for some time; but when at last there was no sign of breath, and he saw that they were hopelessly dead, he marched out of the kennel, shook himself, and indicated to the maid that she might now proceed to bury them, that they were past intelligent treatment. He treats the remaining and living kitten with the indifference of the scientific for the normal.

L. H.

A CANINE NURSE.

[_May 18, 1895._]

Being a frequent reader of anecdotes of the sagacity of animals in your paper, I think you may consider the following trait of character in a dog worthy of notice. Jack, a rough-haired fox-terrier of quiet disposition, but a good ratter, and an inveterate enemy to strange or neighbouring cats, of whom, to my sorrow, he has slain at least one, became without effort the attached friend of a minute kitten introduced into the house last November. This friendship has been continued without intermission, and is reciprocated by the now full-grown cat. She, unfortunately, got caught in a rabbit-trap not long ago, but escaped with no further injury than a lacerated paw, which for some time caused her much pain and annoyance. Every morning Jack was to be seen tenderly licking the paw of the interesting invalid, to which kind nursing no doubt her rapid recovery may be attributed; and though she is now more than convalescent and able to enjoy her usual game of play, he still greets her each morning with a gentle inquiring lick on the injured paw, just to see if it is all right, before proceeding to roll her over in their accustomed gambols. This seems to me a marked instance of individual affection overcoming race-antipathy.

BLANCHE ROCHFORT.

A CURIOUS FRIENDSHIP.

[_Feb. 6, 1875._]

I have two dogs, two cats, and a kitten. Many years of experience have shown me, in the teeth of all proverbs, that cats and dogs, members of the same household, live together quite as amicably as human beings.

Only, like human beings, they have their dislikes and preferences for each other. At the present time, my dog Snow is on terms of hearty friendship with my grey cat Kitty, but of polite indifference with my black cat Toppy.

Toppy, for some years back, has been subject to fits, owing, it is considered, to the lodgment of some small shot near her spine, whilst out trespassing (or poaching).

Yesterday Snow rushed into the kitchen with face so anxious and piteous that my servants both exclaimed that something must have happened; gave signs, as he can do, that somebody was to go with him, and was followed into the drawing-room, where Toppy, left alone, had fallen under the grate in a fit, and was writhing amid the ashes and embers. She was rescued, and beyond a little singeing, does not seem much the worse.

To reach the kitchen, Snow must have pushed open a red-baize door, which he has never been known to open before, and before which he will stay barking for ten minutes at a time to be let through.

If any biped, supposing himself to be endowed with reason, humanity, and articulate speech, tells me that Snow is a conscious automaton, can I give him any other answer than, "You're another"?

J. M. L.

AN ACT OF CANINE FRIENDSHIP.

[_Nov. 6, 1880._]

I have read from time to time in the pages of the _Spectator_ instances of canine sagacity furnished by your correspondents, which have, no doubt, interested many others besides myself. The following incident occurred last Saturday, in my walk from the beach, which, perhaps, may amuse your readers, as it did me.

My curiosity was excited by seeing a young retriever on his hind legs licking very ardently the face of a nice-looking donkey, who was tethered on the bank. After licking his face all over for a long time, he began to frisk around him, evidently anxious to have a trot together; but, finding that his friend was tied by a rope, he deliberately began to gnaw it, and in a very short time succeeded in setting him free! The owner of the donkey, who happened to be at work close by, then interfered, and put a stop to their little game, or otherwise Master Neddy would, no doubt, have been seduced to join in a scamper. From the warmth of the dog's salutes, I imagine that he and the donkey were old friends.

S. RICHARDS.

DOG AND CANARY.

[_Nov. 20, 1880._]

I was much interested in the account of the friendship that existed between the young retriever and the donkey whom he released by gnawing the rope. The little incident I send of another retriever may also interest your readers. A friend of mine had a pet canary, while her brother was the owner of a retriever that was also much petted. One day the canary escaped from the house, and was seen flying about the grounds for a few days, and when it perched was generally on high elm-trees. At last it vanished from view, and this dear little pet was mourned for as lost or dead. But after the interval of another day or so, the retriever came in with the canary in his mouth, carrying it most delicately, and went up to the owner of the bird, delivering it into her hands without even the feathers being injured. Surely nothing could illustrate more beautifully faithful love and gentleness in a dog than this.

E. TILL.

CAT-AND-DOG LOVE.

[_April 13, 1878._]

Would you allow me, as a cat fancier of nearly thirty years' standing, to corroborate, by a personal experience, Mr. Balfour's testimony in your last issue to the possibility of a genuine attachment between a cat and a dog? A few weeks ago, I called upon a bachelor friend who has two pets, a handsome black female cat, of the name of Kate, and a bright little terrier, responding to the call of David. My friend assured me that they lived on the most affectionate terms. They were certainly not demonstrative, but they were importations from Scotland, and refrained from "spooning" before folk. The character of the attachment was soon tested. Another acquaintance entered the room, accompanied by a terrier of about the same size as David, although not of the same variety. This dog made at once for the cat, then resting in front of the fire. She backed against the wall, and prepared for a fight, in which, if I may judge from her size, she would have been victorious. But she was saved the trouble of using her claws. Before she could utter a feline equivalent for "Jack Robinson," before the door could be closed, David rushed at the intruder, and literally ran him out of the room and down two flights of stairs, with a rapidity worthy of a member of the Irish Constabulary. By the time he returned, his Dulcinea had arranged herself for another nap, but she opened one eye as her companion took his place by his side, and--

"Betwixt her darkness and his brightness, There passed a mutual glance of great politeness."

I witnessed a similar scene some years ago in a country inn in the north of Scotland. On that occasion, one dog defended against another a favourite cat and a favourite hen.

Speaking of cats, can any one say what has become of the late Pope's black cat, Morello? Did he die before his master, or has some one adopted him? Châteaubriand, as everybody knows, adopted Micetto, the grey favourite of Leo XII.

WILLIAM WALLACE.

_CURIOUS HABITS OF DOGS._

THE DOG THAT BURIED THE FROGS.

[_Feb. 2, 1895._]

Knowing your love of animals, and the interest so often shown in your columns in their ways, I venture to send you the following story I have lately heard from an eye-witness, and to ask whether you or any of your readers can throw any light upon the dog's probable object. The dog in question was a Scotch terrier. He was one day observed to appear from a corner of the garden carrying in his mouth, very gently and tenderly, a live frog. He proceeded to lay the frog down upon a flower-bed, and at once began to dig a hole in the earth, keeping one eye upon the frog to see that it did not escape. If it went more than a few feet from him, he fetched it back, and then continued his work. Having dug the hole a certain depth, he then laid the frog, still alive, at the bottom of it, and promptly scratched the loose earth back into the hole, and friend froggy was buried alive! The dog then went off to the corner of the garden, and returned with another frog, which he treated in the same way. This occurred on more than one occasion; in fact, as often as he could find frogs he occupied himself in burying them alive. Now dogs generally have some reason for what they do. What can have been a dog's reason for burying frogs alive? It does not appear that he ever dug them up again to provide himself with a meal. If, sir, you or any of your readers can throw any light on this curious, and for the frogs most uncomfortable, behaviour of my friend's Scotch terrier, I should be very much obliged.

R. ACLAND-TROYTE.

AN EXPLANATION.

[_Feb. 9, 1895._]

I think I can explain the puzzle of the Scotch terrier and his interment of the frogs, for the satisfaction of your correspondent. A friend of mine had once a retriever who was stung by a bee, and ever afterwards, when the dog found a bee near the ground, she stamped on it, and then scraped earth over it and buried it effectually--presumably to put an end to the danger of further stings. In like manner, another dog having bitten a toad, showed every sign of having found the mouthful to the last degree unpleasant. Probably Mr. Acland-Troyte's dog had, in the same way, bitten a toad, and conceived henceforth that he rendered public service by putting every toad-like creature he saw carefully and gingerly "out of harm's way," underground.

A great number of the buryings and other odd tricks of dogs must, however, I am sure, be considered as Atavism, and traced to the instincts bequeathed by their remote progenitors when yet "wild in the woods the noble _beastie_ ran." Such, I believe, is generally admitted to be the explanation of the universal habit of every dog before lying down to turn round two or three times and scratch its intending bed--even when that bed is of the softest woollen or silk--apparently to ascertain that no snakes or thorns lurk in its sleeping-place.

A dog which I once possessed exhibited such reversion to ancestral habits in a noteworthy way. She was a beautiful white Pomeranian; and when a litter of puppies was impending, on one occasion she scratched an enormous hole in our back-garden in South Kensington, where her leisure hours were passed--a hole like the burrow of a fox. It was not in the least of the character of the ordinary circular punch-bowl so often scooped out by idle or impatient dogs, but a long, deep channel running at a sharp angle a considerable way underground. Obviously, it was Yama's conviction that it was her maternal duty to provide shelter for her expected offspring, precisely as a fox or rabbit must feel it, and as we may suppose her own ancestresses did on the shores of the Baltic some thousand generations ago. When the puppies were born, Yama and the survivor were established by me in a most comfortable kennel in the same garden, with a day nursery and a night nursery (covered and open) for the comfort and safety of the puppy. But one fine morning, when the little creature had begun to crawl over the inclosure of its small domain, I happened to go into the garden while Yama was absent in the house, and discovered that my little friend was missing. The puppy had disappeared altogether; and at the same time I noticed that the flower-bed in which Yama had made her excavation had been nicely smoothed over by the gardener, who was putting the place in order. A suspicion instantly seized me, and I exclaimed, "You have buried my puppy!" I ran to the spot where the hole had been made, and, having swept aside the gardener's spadeful of soil, found the deeper part of the hole, running slanting underground, still open. I knelt down and thrust in my arm to its fullest stretch, and then, at the very end of the hole, my fingers encountered a little soft, warm, fluffy ball. The puppy came out quite happy and uninjured, freshly awakened from sleep, having shown that his instinct recognised the suitability of holes in the ground for the accommodation of puppies; just as the hereditary instinct of his mother had led her to prepare one for him, even in a South Kensington garden!

FRANCES POWER COBBE.

A DOG AND HIS DINNER.

[_Feb. 16, 1895._]

I knew a dog in Ireland--a large retriever--who had been taught always to bring his own tin dish in his mouth, to be filled at the late dinner. For some reason his master wished to make a change, and to feed him twice a day instead of once, to which he had always been accustomed. The dog resented this, and when told to bring his dish, refused, and it could nowhere be found; on which his master spoke angrily to him, and ordered him to bring the dish at once. With drooping tail and sheepish expression he went down the length of the garden, and began scratching up the soil where he had buried the bowl deep down, to avoid having to bring it at an hour of which he did not approve.

A LOVER OF DOGS.

DOGS AND LOOKING-GLASSES.

[_June 23, 1894._]

You are fond of odd actions of dogs, so perhaps the following may be acceptable. I have two fox-terriers--young dogs--Grip and Vic. In the morning, at early tea in our bedroom, Vic gets angry with Grip's reflection in the long glass of the wardrobe, barks at him furiously as he moves about, and scratches at the glass, quite regardless of her own face between her and his reflection. And when he assaults her from behind, to make her play with his real self, she turns round and snaps at him viciously, and then returns to her attack on his reflection. He jumps upon the window-sill, and fancies he sees a squirrel in the garden, and dashes past her to the door; she follows the motion of the reflection till she is past the edge of the glass, and loses it, when she dashes back to the glass again. This has occurred several days in the last week, and seems to me almost absurd. The dogs are just about a year old, and so beyond puppy folly, though very lively and playful still.

A. M. B.

_THE SENSE OF HUMOUR AND CUNNING IN DOGS._

DOGS' SENSE OF HUMOUR.

THE POWER OF IMITATION IN DOGS.

[_Oct. 22, 1882._]

The following anecdote may interest those of your readers who are accustomed to observe the characteristic actions of dogs. I can vouch for its accuracy, as I was an amused eye-witness, and several members of my family were also present, and have often told the story.

A friend of ours and his wife were spending a musical evening with us, and an old, black, English terrier, who belonged to the house, had been in the drawing-room, which was upstairs. The dog had been kindly noticed by our friend, who was partially lame from paralysis. On leaving the drawing-room the dog followed him to the top of the staircase (we, with his wife, were waiting below in the hall), and with cocked tail and ears stood gravely watching his slow, limping descent. When the invalid was nearly at the foot of the stairs the dog began to follow, limping on three legs (he was quite sound), in humorous imitation of our poor, afflicted friend, and this assumed lameness was gravely kept up till he arrived on the mat. It was impossible to repress a smile, though our politeness was at stake, and the unconsciousness of our friend added to the difficulty.

A. R.

SENSE OF HUMOUR IN DOGS.

[_July 28, 1888._]

A recent anecdote from one of your correspondents about a dog and a hen brought to my mind an incident, related to me by an eye-witness, of a dog who had a constant feud with the fowls, which were prone to pilfer from the basin containing his dinner. On one occasion he was lying in front of his kennel, quietly watching a hen as she made stealthy and tentative approaches to his basin, which at length she reached and looked into, finding it perfectly empty. The dog wagged his tail.

J. R.

A DOG'S SENSE OF HUMOUR.

[_March 9, 1895._]

Does the following dog-story show a sense of humour? A retriever was in the habit of leaving his bed in the kitchen when he heard his master descending the stairs in the morning. On one occasion a new kitchen-maid turned him out of his bed at a much earlier hour than usual. He looked angrily at her, but walked out quietly. Time passed, and he was nowhere to be found. At last, in going to her bedroom, the kitchen-maid found him coiled up in her own bed.

B. B.

CUNNING DOGS.

A DOG AND A WHIP.

[_May 18, 1889._]

You have lately published several dog stories. Allow me to send you another for publication should you think it worthy. It was told me to-day by a lady whom I cross-examined to get full details:--"Some twenty years back we had a poodle--white, with one black ear. After the manner of his race, he was never quite happy unless he carried something in his mouth. He was intelligent and teachable to the last degree. The great defect in his character was the impossibility of distinguishing _meum_ from _tuum_. Anything he could get hold of he seemed to think, according to his dogged ethics, to be fairly his own. On one occasion he entered the room of one of the maidservants and stole her loaf of bread, carefully shutting the door after him with his feet--the latter part being a feat I had taught him. The woman--Irish--was scared, and thought that the dog was the devil incarnate. The necessity of discipline on the one hand, and of occupation on the other, induced me one day to enter a saddler's shop, situated in a straight street about half a mile from our house, and buy a whip. Shortly after my return home he committed some act of petty larceny, so I gave him a beating with the whip he had carried home. Going for a walk next day the dog, as usual, accompanied me, and was entrusted with the whip to carry. Directly we got outside the door he started off at his best pace straight down the street, paying no attention whatever, to my repeated calls. He entered the saddler's shop and deposited the whip on the floor. When I arrived the saddler showed me the whip lying exactly where the dog had deposited it."

HENRY H. MAXWELL.

A RUSÉ DOG.

[_March 21, 1885._]

A story which came to my knowledge a few months ago may be of interest in connection with the _Spectator's_ series of anecdotes illustrating the intelligence of animals.

One summer afternoon a group of children were playing at the end of a pier which projects into Lake Ontario, near Kingston, New York, U.S.A. The proverbial careless child of the party made the proverbial backward step off from the pier into the water. None of his companions could save him, and their cries had brought no one from the shore, when, just as he was sinking for the third time, a superb Newfoundland dog rushed down the pier into the water and pulled the boy out. Those of the children who did not accompany the boy home took the dog to a confectioner's on the shore, and fed him with as great a variety of cakes and other sweets as he would eat. So far the story is, of course, only typical of scores of well-known cases. The individuality of this case is left for the sequel.

The next afternoon the same group of children were playing at the same place, when the canine hero of the day before came trotting down to them with the most friendly wags and nods. There being no occasion this time for supplying him with delicacies, the children only stroked and patted him. The dog, however, had not come out of pure sociability. A child in the water and cakes and candy stood to him in the close and obvious relation of cause and effect, and if this relation was not clear to the children he resolved to impress it upon them. Watching his chance, he crept up behind the child who was standing nearest to the edge of the pier, gave a sudden push, which sent him into the water, then sprang in after him, and gravely brought him to shore.

To those of us who have had a high respect for the disinterestedness of dogs, this story may give a melancholy proof that the development of the intelligence, at the expense of the moral nature, is by no means exclusively human.

CLARA FRENCH.

DOG DECEIVERS.

[_Feb. 9, 1895._]

Your fondness for dogs induces me to send you the following anecdote, which shows their power of acting a part for purposes of their own. Some years ago a fox-terrier of mine was condemned by a veterinary surgeon to consume a certain amount of flour of sulphur every day. He was at all times a fanciful and dainty feeder, and every conceivable ingenuity on my part was exhausted in the vain endeavour to disguise the daily portion and to give it a more tempting appearance. Each new device was invariably detected. However hungry he might be he turned from the proffered morsel in disgust, and it ended almost invariably in my having to put it down his throat. One morning, after keeping him for many hours without food, and having neatly wrapped the powder in a most appetising piece of raw meat, I offered it him in the vain hope that hunger might prevail over prejudice. But no. With averted head and downcast look he steadily and determinedly declined to partake of it. I encouraged him in vain. Deep dejection on his part; despair, but persistence, on mine. All of a sudden his whole manner changed. He assumed a brisk and cheerful demeanour, joyfully accepted the hitherto rejected offering, and running merrily through the open door, disappeared swiftly a few yards off round the corner of the building. Inside the room I ran as quickly to a window, whence I could view his proceedings, and there watched him while he deposited the hated morsel on the ground, dug a hole in the flower-bed, and buried it. His jaunty, triumphant air as he returned I shall never forget.

F. E. WYNNE.

_USEFUL DOGS._

GUARDIAN DOGS.

[_July 15, 1892._]

Having read for years your interesting letters and articles on animals in the _Spectator_, I feel sure you will like to have a thoroughly authentic account of a dog in this neighbourhood. I am allowed to give the name of the owner, who is living at Lyme Regis, where I was staying last week. The two incidents happened within a few weeks of each other.

Mrs. and Miss Coode were alone in their house (except the servants); and one night Miss Coode was awakened by hearing two knocks at her door and a slight whine. It was between three and four o'clock in the morning. She rose and opened the door to find the dog there, and at the same time noticed and heard a stream of water running down the stairs. She went up the staircase to its source, and aroused the servants to attend to it. As soon as the dog saw that the matter was being remedied, he quietly went back to the mat in the hall and went to sleep again. The dog is a large one, a cross between a retriever and a greyhound--a very beautiful creature, resembling a poacher's lurcher.