Part 10

The cunning of the fox is proverbial and if only one half of the stories told about him are true, there are quite sufficient to invest him with a degree of artfulness which is apparently unique. The extraordinary way in which he will feign himself dead, whether when hunting or being hunted, is a proof of this, as are also the various tricks he will resort to, to throw his pursuers off the scent. Captain Brown tells a story of a fox who leapt a high wall and crouched under it on the further side until the hounds had passed over, and then quietly returned, giving them the slip. Another fox who suddenly baffled two blood hounds who were in hot pursuit, was discovered lying full length upon a log of wood from which at first it was difficult to distinguish him. When feigning death he is said sometimes to hold his breath and hang out his tongue. He will sometimes baffle his pursuers by hanging on to a branch of a tree.

The Fox as a Hunter.

Mr. St. John tells the following story of the fox as a hunter:--"Just after it was daylight I saw a large fox come very quietly along the edge of the plantation. He looked with great care over the turf wall into the field, and seemed to long very much to get hold of some of the hares that were feeding in it, but apparently knew that he had no chance of catching one by dint of running. After considering a short time, he seemed to have formed his plans, examined the different gaps in the wall, fixed upon one which appeared to be most frequented, and laid himself down close to it in an attitude like that of a cat at a mouse hole. In the meantime I watched all his plans. He then with great care and silence scraped a small hollow in the ground, throwing up the sand as a kind of screen. Every now and then, however, he stopped to listen, and sometimes to take a most cautious peep into the field. When he had done this, he laid himself down in a convenient posture for springing on his prey, and remained perfectly motionless, with the exception of an occasional reconnoitre of the feeding hares. When the sun began to rise, they came, one by one, from the field to the plantation: three had already come without passing by his ambush, one within twenty yards of him; but he made no movement beyond crouching still more flatly to the ground. Presently two came directly towards him, and though he did not venture to look up, I saw, by an involuntary motion of his ear, that those quick organs had already warned him of their approach. The two hares came through the gap together and the fox, springing with the quickness of lightning, caught one and killed her immediately; he then lifted up his booty and was carrying it off, when my rifle-ball stopped his course."

A Fox Hunt.

Captain Brown tells an amusing story of the resource shown by a fox who was hard pressed near Tamary, Ireland, which is as follows. "After a short chase, Reynard disappeared, having cunningly mounted a turf stack, on the top of which he lay down flat. Finding himself, at last, perceived by one of the hounds, he left his retreat, closely pursued by the pack, ran up a stone wall, from which he sprang on the roof of an adjoining cabin, and mounted to the chimney-top. From that elevated situation he looked all around him, as if carefully reconnoitring the coming enemy. A cunning old hound approached, and, having gained the summit of the roof, had already seized the fox in imagination, when, lo! Reynard dropped down the chimney, like a fallen star into a draw-well. The dog looked wistfully down the dark opening, but dared not pursue the fugitive. Meantime, whilst the hound was eagerly inspecting the smoky orifice of the chimney, Reynard, half enrobed in soot, had fallen into the lap of an old woman, who, surrounded by a number of children, was gravely smoking her pipe, not at all expecting the entrance of this abrupt visitor. 'Emiladh deouil!' said the affrighted female, as she threw from her the black and red quadruped: Reynard grinned, growled, and showed his fangs; and when the sportsmen, who had secured the door, entered, they found him in possession of the kitchen, the old woman and the children having retired, in terror of the invader, to a corner of the room. The fox was taken alive."

The Arctic Fox.

The Arctic Fox, which is of a beautiful white colour, is found, according to Captain James Ross, in the highest northern latitudes, even in the winter. In the late autumn the younger generation make their way south and congregate in the neighbourhood of Hudson's Bay, returning north in the early spring of the following year. They are gregarious, living in companies in burrows in sandy places.

Wild Dogs.

Wild dogs abound in various parts of the world, of which the Dingos of Australia, the Dholes of India and the Aguaras of South America are examples. The wild dogs of the East are familiar to all readers of Eastern travels. A writer in the Times newspaper describes the dogs of Constantinople, as "omnipresent, lawless, yet perfectly harmless dogs," which perform valuable but ill requited service as scavengers of the city. He says:--"In shape, in countenance, in language, in their bandy legs, pointed noses, pricked up ears, dirty yellow coats, and bushy tails, they could be hunted as foxes in Gloucestershire. They are," he continues, "up and doing from sunset to sunrise, and enjoy the refreshment of well-earned, profound sleep almost throughout the day. They are not only homeless and masterless but have also a sovereign contempt for bed or shelter. There is a time it would seem, when sleep comes upon them--all of them--like sudden death; when all squat down, coil themselves up, nose to tail, wherever they chance to be--on the footpath, in the carriage way, in the gutter--and there lie in the sunshine, in the pelting rain, yellow bundles, hardly distinguishable from the mud. The Constantinople dog never learns to wag his tail; he never makes up, never looks up to a human being, never encourages or even notices men's advances. He is not exactly sullen, or cowed, or mistrustful; he is simply cold and distant as an Englishman is said to be when not introduced."

"The Dingo, the wild dog of Australia," says Mrs. Bowdich "roams in packs through that vast country; has a broad head; fierce oblique eyes; acute muzzle; short, pointed, erect ears; tail bushy, and never raised to more than a horizontal position. He does not bark, but howls fearfully; is extremely sagacious, and has a remarkable power of bearing pain. When beaten so severely as to be left for dead, he has been seen to get up and run away. A man proceeded to skin one, not doubting that life was extinct, and after proceeding a little way with the operation, he left the hut to sharpen his knife. When he returned, the poor animal was sitting up, with the loose skin hanging over one side of his face." The Dhole of India, similarly hunts in packs, attacking and destroying even the tiger. Their sense of smell is very acute, their bark similar to that of a hound, their colour red or sandy. They have long heads, oblique eyes, long erect ears; and very powerful limbs. The Aguaras of South America, says Mrs. Bowdich, resemble foxes. "They are silent if not dumb, and appear to congregate in families rather than packs. They have a peculiar propensity to steal and secrete without any apparent object in so doing."

The Dog.

The dog divides with the horse the honour of being the most intimate and devoted of the servants of mankind. "His origin," says Mr. Jesse "is lost in antiquity. We find him occupying a place in the earliest pagan worship; his name has been given to one of the first-mentioned stars of the heavens, and his effigy may be seen in some of the most ancient works of art. Pliny was of opinion that there was no domestic animal without its unsubdued counterpart, and dogs are known to exist absolutely wild in various parts of the old and new world." Whether the dog of civilization is a descendant of these wild dogs, or whether the wild dog is the progeny of domestic varieties relapsed into a condition of savagery, and whether both are descended from the wolf and the jackal has often been discussed. Certain it is that many of the species which now obtain are in certain characteristics at least the result of artificial breeding. In its domestic state, the dog is remarkable for its usefulness, obedience, and attachment to its master; and the great variety of breeds that are trained and educated for our benefit or amusement, are almost too numerous to be mentioned. The principal are, the _greyhound_, noted for his speed; the _Newfoundland dog_, remarkable for his size, sagacity, and benevolence; the _shepherd's dog_, perhaps the most useful of all; the _spaniel_, the _barbel_, and the _setter_, useful in hunting; the _pointer_, the staunchest of all dogs; the _Dalmatian_ or _coach-dog_, with a skin beautifully spotted; the _terrier_, useful for destroying vermin; the _blood-hound_, formerly used for tracing criminals; the _harrier_, _beagle_, and _foxhound_, distinguished for their quick sense of smell; and the _bull-dog_, and _mastiff_, which are our watch-dogs.

The Dog's Understanding.

Many marvellous instances are on record of the dog's capacity for understanding not only the direct commands of his master, to which of course he may be easily trained, but also, sometimes, the drift of conversations in which his master may engage.

The Rev. James Simpson of Edinburgh had a fine Newfoundland dog of which some good stories are told. On one occasion, however, Mr. Simpson happening to remark to a friend in the dog's hearing that, as he was about to change his residence, he would have to part with his dog, the dog took the hint, left the house and was never heard of again. Sheep dogs have been known to take very apparent interest in conversations upon the subject of their profession, and to anticipate the word of command by their perception of the drift of the remarks. Mr. St. John, in his "Highland Sports", gives a remarkable illustration of the way in which a shepherd's dog understood the conversation of his master:--"A shepherd once, to prove the quickness of his dog, who was lying before the fire in the house where we were talking, said to me, in the middle of a sentence concerning something else, 'I'm thinking, sir, the cow is in the potatoes.' Though he purposely laid no stress on these words, and said them in a quiet, unconcerned tone of voice, the dog, who appeared to be asleep, immediately jumped up, and leaping through the open window, scrambled up the turf roof of the house, from which he could see the potato field. He then (not seeing the cow there) ran and looked into the byre, where she was, and finding that all was right, came back to the house. After a short time the shepherd said the same words again, and the dog repeated his look-out; but on the false alarm being a third time given, the dog got up, and wagging his tail, looked his master in the face with so comical an expression of interrogation, that we could not help laughing aloud at him, on which, with a slight growl, he laid himself down in his warm corner, with an offended air, as if determined not to be made a fool of again."

The well known story of Sir Walter Scott's dog, supplied by him to Captain Brown, is another illustration. "The wisest dog I ever had," said Sir Walter, "was what is called the bull-dog terrier. I taught him to understand a great many words, insomuch that I am positive that the communication betwixt the canine species and ourselves might be greatly enlarged. Camp once bit the baker, who was bringing bread to the family. I beat him, and explained the enormity of his offence; after which, to the last moment of his life, he never heard the least allusion to the story, in whatever voice or tone it was mentioned, without getting up and retiring into the darkest corner of the room, with great appearance of distress. Then if you said, 'the baker was well paid,' or, 'the baker was not hurt after all,' Camp came forth from his hiding-place, capered, and barked, and rejoiced. When he was unable, towards the end of his life, to attend me when on horseback, he used to watch for my return, and the servant would tell him 'his master was coming down the hill, or through the moor,' and although he did not use any gesture to explain his meaning, Camp was never known to mistake him, but either went out at the front to go up the hill, or at the back to get down to the moor-side. He certainly had a singular knowledge of spoken language."

One of the most remarkable illustrations of the dog's capacity for understanding is probably that given by Mrs. Bowdich, as follows:

"Professor Owen was walking with a friend, by the side of a river, near its mouth, on the coast of Cornwall, and picked up a small piece of sea-weed. It was covered with minute animals; and Mr. Owen observed to his companion, throwing the weed into the water, 'If this small piece affords so many treasures, how microscopically rich the whole plant must be! I should much like to have one.' The gentlemen walked on, but hearing a splashing in the water, turned round, and saw it violently agitated. 'It is Lion!' both exclaimed; 'what can he be about? He was walking quietly enough by our side a minute ago.' At one moment they saw his tail above the water, then his head raised for a breath of air, then the surrounding element shook again, and at last he came ashore, panting from his exertions, and laid a whole plant of the identical weed at Mr. Owen's feet. After this proof of intelligence, it will not be wondered at, that when Lion was joyfully expecting to accompany his master and his guest on an excursion, and was told to go and take care of and comfort Mrs. Owen, who was ill, he should immediately return to the drawing-room and lay himself by her side, which he never left during the absence of his owner, his countenance alone betraying his disappointment, and that only for a few minutes."

The Dog's Sense of Locality.

Dogs have a remarkable sense of locality, and will find their way to a spot they have once visited with an unerring instinct under circumstances which make it impossible for them to rely entirely upon their sense of scent. Some of the stories told of the extraordinary journeys made by dogs, apparently without anything to guide them but their natural instinct, seem almost incredible.

Captain Brown tells a story of a gentleman of Glasgow, who was unfortunately drowned in the river Oder while bathing during a continental tour. A Newfoundland dog, who was his travelling companion, made every effort to save him, but failing to do so, found his way either to Frankfort, or Hamburgh, where he went on board a vessel bound for England, from which he landed somewhere on the coast, finding his way ultimately to the person from whom he had been originally purchased, and who lived near Holyrood palace.

Another dog who, on arriving in England from Newfoundland, was given to a gentleman in London, was sent by him to a friend in Scotland, by water. The dog, however, made his escape and found his way back to his old master at Fish Street Hill, London, though as Mr. Jesse puts it "in so exhausted a state that he could only express his joy at seeing his master and then die."

This instinct seems to be common to many varieties of dogs. Captain Brown tells of a Dalmatian or coach-dog which Lord Maynard lost in France, and which he found at his house on his return to England, though how it had got there he never could trace. It is not necessary, says Captain Brown, that the dog shall have previously travelled the ground by which it returns. A person who went by sea from Aberdeen to Leith, lost his dog at the latter place, and found it on his return at Aberdeen. It must have travelled over a country unknown to it, and have crossed the firths of Forth and Tay.

Illustrations might easily be multiplied. Mr. Jesse tells of a dog which was presented to the Captain of a collier by a gentleman residing at Wivenhoe in Essex and which on being landed at Sunderland found its way back to its old master, and also of a spaniel belonging to Colonel Hardy which after accompanying him from Essex to Bath in a post chaise, found its way back through London, a distance of 140 miles in three days.

Perhaps a more remarkable instance is that recorded of his dog by M. d'Obsonville. This animal accompanied his master and a friend from Pondicherry to Bengalore, a distance of more than nine hundred miles. M. D'Obsonville says, "Our journey occupied nearly three weeks; and we had to traverse plains and mountains, and to ford rivers, and go along bypaths. The animal, which had certainly never been in that country before, lost us at Bengalore, and immediately returned to Pondicherry. He went directly to the house of my friend, M. Beglier, then commandant of artillery, and with whom I had generally lived. Now, the difficulty is not so much to know how the dog subsisted on the road (for he was very strong, and able to procure himself food), but how he should so well have found his way after an interval of more than a month! This was an effort of memory greatly superior to that which the human race is capable of exerting."

Dog Friendships and Enmities.

That dogs make very strong friendships among themselves is attested by many an affecting story. A Radnorshire lady, who married and went to reside in Yorkshire, afterwards paid a visit to her old home where her father, before her marriage, had kept two or three sheep-dogs of whom she was very fond. Having retired from business, her father had disposed of all but one dog, and upon her arrival this one met the lady with every demonstration of delight and, that same night, went a distance of seven miles to a farmhouse where one of the other dogs who had become blind, then lived. In the morning when the lady went to the door she saw not only the dog which had given her such a glad reception on the previous day, but also the old blind one, which had evidently been brought by the other dog to welcome her. When the second night came the old blind dog was taken back to its home by the same dog, which afterwards returned, having travelled a distance of twenty-eight miles to give pleasure to his old blind friend.

Instances might easily be multiplied but we must content ourselves with one of a very different character from Colonel Hamilton Smith's "Cyclopædia of Natural History." "In the neighbourhood of Cupar, in the county of Fife, there lived two dogs, mortal enemies to each other, and who always fought desperately whenever they met. Capt. R---- was the master of one of them, and the other belonged to a neighbouring farmer. Capt. R----'s dog was in the practice of going messages, and even of bringing butchers' meat and other articles from Cupar. One day, while returning, charged with a basket containing some pieces of mutton, he was attacked by some of the curs of the town, who, no doubt, thought the prize worth contending for. The assault was fierce, and of some duration; but the messenger, after doing his utmost, was at last overpowered and compelled to yield up the basket, though not before he had secured a part of its contents. The piece saved from the wreck he ran off with, at full speed, to the quarters of his old enemy, at whose feet he laid it down, stretching himself beside it till he had eaten it up. A few snuffs, a few whispers in the ear, and other dog-like courtesies, were then exchanged; after which they both set off together for Cupar, where they worried almost every dog in the town; and, what is more remarkable, they never afterwards quarrelled, but were always on friendly terms." This story also illustrates another characteristic of the dog family. Dogs combine for purposes of offence and defence. Cats stand or fall alone.

Dog Language.

The foregoing is also a proof of the faculty by which animals can communicate their ideas to each other which in dogs is particularly remarkable. There are many curious anecdotes recorded, illustrative of this faculty. "At Horton, England, about the year 1818, a gentleman from London took possession of a house, the former tenant of which had moved to a farm about half a mile off. The new inmate brought with him a large French poodle dog, to take the duty of watchman, in the place of a fine Newfoundland dog, which went away with his master; but a puppy of the same breed was left behind, and he was instantly persecuted by the poodle. As the puppy grew up, the persecution still continued. At length, he was one day missing for some hours; but he did not come back alone; he returned with his old friend, the large house-dog, to whom he had made a communication; and in an instant the two fell upon the unhappy poodle, and killed him before he could be rescued from their fury. In this case, the injuries of the young dog must have been made known to his friend; a plan of revenge concerted; and the determination to carry that plan into effect formed and executed with equal promptitude. The following story, which illustrates, even in a more singular manner, the communication of ideas between dogs, was told by a clergyman, as an authentic anecdote. A surgeon of Leeds found a little spaniel who had been lamed. He carried the poor animal home, bandaged up his leg, and, after two or three days, turned him out. The dog returned to the surgeon's house every morning, till his leg was perfectly well. At the end of several months, the spaniel again presented himself, in company with another dog, who had also been lamed; and he intimated, as well as piteous and intelligent looks could intimate, that he desired the same kind assistance to be rendered to his friend, as had been bestowed upon himself. A similar circumstance is stated to have occurred to Moraut, a celebrated French surgeon."

The Dog's Intelligence.