II
“The dogge, a natural, kind, and loving thing,
As witnesseth our histories of old.”
IF we accept the fact that the powers of intelligence shown by the dog are of the same kind as, though of a lower degree of development than, those that form our own mental processes, we start with a premise that clears many difficulties from our path. But even so, if we would penetrate the secrets that lie behind the engaging variety of his actions, we must take into account many things that cause the dog’s outlook on life to be different from our own. We must ever bear in mind that it is only in considering our friend’s surroundings as they appear to him we can hope to grasp the effect of those surroundings on his mind. We are apt to conclude hastily that, because such and such a thing strikes us in a particular way, our dog will be affected by it in a precisely similar manner. And the delusion is fostered by the broad general characteristics of our mental resemblance to him. But if we would have more than a superficial understanding of our dogs, we must bring a sympathetic comprehension of life as it appears to them, to mark the differences, as well as grasp the affinities, of the mental and moral conditions that are in a general sense common to us both.
Yet with all the difficulties that lie in our path we can write the life history of the dog as we can of no other animal. More sympathetic than the cat, more constantly our companion than the horse, we can study him under conditions that obtain with no other of his kind. From the first days of his puppyhood to the closing hours of his life we can trace the gradual unfolding of his powers and the widening of his knowledge of life. This, too, we can do with but an ordinarily intelligent interest brought to bear on the little life that is at once so near our own, and yet cut off from us by the impassable barrier of want of human speech. “How much he could tell us if he could only speak,” a devoted attendant of a little dog used often to say, when in his own way and by his own limited powers of language the intelligent creature had made his friends understand that his surroundings were in some way not suited to the needs of the moment.
It is in the physical conditions of our life that we must seek for the first points of contact with the dog. In both our own and canine life we have, of course, the same foundation of bodily activity in the marvellous machinery of the nervous system. But this bond we have in common with all living creatures, and it has therefore no special value when we are studying our relations with the dog. Above this, we have the power of instinct, or, as it has been called, “material intelligence.”
Then we come face to face with a power in the dog that cannot be explained by the wonders of reflex action as we learn them in the study of physiology. The motive power of the action must be sought in the intangible essence of mind, and not in the material organs of the body. It is when this motive power has passed under the full sway of the mind, and we have advanced from the realm of instinct into the regions where the evidences of higher mental power are before us, that we recognise the dog as our fellow in the comradeship of life. For though in the dog we do not find the more highly differentiated powers of instinct, his inferiority in this respect to insects that come far lower in the scale of life is counterbalanced by his powers of mind, that in their higher expression we claim to be akin to our own. We hail the evidences of disinterested affection, of sympathy, of fortitude, and of trust, as links in the chain that binds our dog friend to us in a close mental and moral fellowship.
When “the one” among all dogs will give up his daily walk—the one delight that never fails—to watch by our sick-bed, or comfort us by his presence in our sorrow, the simple act of self-denial appeals to us as an evidence of the perfect comradeship of disinterested affection.
We do not need to be told of the dark hours that come to us when one whom we love has been taken from us, or of the craving for the companionship that is lost that takes possession of us. Our interest in our daily pursuits is gone, and a blank feeling of desolation saps our energies. When a dog shows grief in the same way, sitting alone and desolate, refusing food and all the joys of his daily life, the link of sympathy is strong between us, as we recognise that he is afflicted with a sense of loss akin to that which has saddened our own life.
My first dog came to me, and indeed made his place good in my affection, while he was suffering the keenest grief at the loss of his owner. In the many changes of life in India, Jell’s mistress was called to join her husband in a distant station and, the heat in the plains still being great, she did not wish to take her dog with her. Knowing that I was wanting a dog, she offered hers to me. But Jell was not prepossessing in appearance, and indeed well deserved the epithet of “thoroughbred mongrel.” As I have a predisposition in favour of well-bred dogs, I declined the proffered gift. But on the morning of my friend’s departure the large, white, leggy, and bullet-headed terrier—so called—made its appearance in my verandah, with a note explaining his presence. No home had offered for him, and he was thrown on my generosity to provide him with one. This I determined to do elsewhere, as soon as might be, but in the meantime I was confronted with the problem of reconciling Jell to his present quarters, so far at least as to preserve his life. In the first moment of my displeasure at his arrival, I had ordered him off to the compound in the charge of the mehtar who had brought him to me. But I distrusted a native’s methods with dogs, and something in the dejected appearance of Jell as he was being led away softened my heart so far that I decided to take charge of him myself.
He lay in my room, crying for hours together. He would take no interest in anything, showed a fine disregard of all attempts to win his favour, and refused to touch his food. At the end of the second day I began to wonder what I should do with him, and was heartily wishing that he had not been cast on my hands, when I became aware that two soft eyes were watching me from the far corner of the room. There was an expression of dawning confidence in the look, that gave me hope of better things in store. I waited, and in a little time Jell raised his head and sat up, with his gaze still fixed on my face. Presently he rose and came to my side, and made the first advances of friendship. To these he suffered my response with a far from flattering lack of eagerness. Nevertheless, the first step had been taken, and I was admitted to a place in his affections. This place I never forfeited; for Jell, in spite of his want of good looks, did not find another home, but remained my constant and devoted attendant to the day of his death.
With a small terrier named Floss a friend had a similar experience, though this little dog had a far more chequered history in her English life than Jell had in India. Floss came to her future mistress with only an announcement by telegraph that she might be expected on a certain day. The man who sent her promised her history later, and in due course both the terrier and the story of her deeds arrived. First, Floss reached her new home just as the house was being closed for the night. The basket, when opened in the kitchen, disclosed a small terrier with black and tan head and black spot and fiery eyes, of a most uncompromising expression of countenance. The little thing sat up, glared at the strangers round her, and defended herself with her teeth from all attempts to touch her. At last, in despair, the basket was turned over and Floss rolled on to the floor. She then put her back against the dresser, and showed that she still meant to keep off intruders. All thought of taming her was for the time given up, and her basket being righted, Floss was allowed to take possession of it, and both were then carried up to her new owner’s bedroom. As the little thing had been travelling for twenty-four hours, she was offered food and water; but she would have none of them, and continued to sit up straight in her basket, a very forlorn and vigilant little figure. Many times during the night her mistress roused herself to see how Floss was getting on, and always the same watchful and sad-looking terrier gazed back at her, showing by a low growl her displeasure at the interest displayed.
Suspicion
FLOSS
In the morning things were no better. Floss refused all advances made to her, and would neither drink nor eat. Basket and all, she was carried down to the kitchen garden, from which she could not escape. Here she condescended to walk about a little, but whenever she met her mistress’s eye she marked her disapproval of the situation by a growl. Carried back to the bedroom, she sat in melancholy wrath for the rest of the day, and was as uncompromising as ever whenever her basket was touched or moved. The last thing at night her owner tried to soften her by turning her out on the foot of her bed; but Floss refused all advances, and only growled at every movement of her companion.
In the morning, when my friend awoke, she found Floss also awake and watching her. Without moving, she said in a low tone, “Floss;” and the dog immediately crawled up the bed and licked her face. Then Floss lay down and submitted to a good deal of stroking and petting; and when breakfast made its appearance she showed a gracious tolerance of things as they were by making a good meal. From the moment when she responded to her name dated Floss’s love for her mistress, which seemed to grow and strengthen with every year of her life.
The first use the latter made of the establishment of good relations between them was to attend to some ugly wounds on the face and head that Floss had brought with her. When the promised story of her life came, these wounds were explained. It appeared that the terrier had belonged to a miner in South Wales, and had taken part in badger baiting. It was the custom for the miners to meet on Sunday afternoon for this more than doubtful amusement. Each miner brought a dog, and the performance was to see which of the dogs could bring the badger out of his box in four minutes. But the badger was large and fierce, and one dog after another—bull-terriers among them—tried in vain to draw him. Then one of the miners opened his coat, and brought out the tiny Floss, who was only eighteen months old and weighed ten pounds. In less than four minutes the game little terrier drew her formidable opponent, and her exploit was so much talked of that she was bought and sent off to a home where good terriers are ever welcome, before the marks of her conflict had healed. Under gentler care Floss developed a touching devotion to her owner, and for many years was one of the reigning household pets in her new home.
How many similar instances of mourning for lost friends occur to us! Every one who knows anything of dogs can recall some touching story that tells at once of the love that flooded, and the pain of separation that darkened, the dog’s life as he passed from the secure confidence of requited affection to the desolate uncertainty of the care of strangers.
We cannot, however, remind ourselves too often that our attempts to understand the workings of the dog’s mind, and the explanations that commend themselves to us of the reasons for his methods of action, are all based on our own consciousness of cause and effect. And here we must take into account the difference in the outlook on life between the dog and ourselves. The effects of environment we know count for much with us. Change of scene and surroundings will give us fresh mental vigour as well as renewed bodily activity when both need recuperation. But the change of surroundings that will give to us advantages that go far to prolong our span of life is as nothing compared to the difference that separates our own normal outlook on life from that of the dog. The four-footed friend that trots at our side, or scampers at large in wild enjoyment of strength and freedom, is marked off from us by his mode of locomotion and the position and bearing of his head and body. His outlook is limited by his bodily structure, in spite of his strength of vision and his marvellous sense of smell. In the latter case, indeed, we look up to the dog from a lower plane, for our limited development of the sense of smell tells us but little of the power it gives him. That it not only differs in degree but in quality is shown by the delight with which a well-bred, cleanly house or sporting dog will roll in some evil-smelling refuse that fills us with disgust. The possession of such an organ, at once so different and so much more sensitive than our own, must make for much in the influence of his surroundings on the dog, and thus adds to the many difficulties we have in understanding and entering into his outlook on life.
Doubtless the sense was given him to enable him to hold his own in the battle of life. He retains it in the artificial conditions of domestic life, but in the days when he depended for his supply of food on the success that crowned his efforts in the chase, it was necessary to his existence. Without it he must have fallen a prey to his enemies in the jungle and the forest, instead of turning the tables on superior brute force by the delicacy of his organs and his superior powers of combination.
The traits that have come to our household friend from his wild forebears are often shown even in the most highly domesticated inhabitants of our home. How far these inherited qualities may influence the dog’s outlook on the surroundings of his present life, who can say? As we watch our favourite turn round and round on the hearthrug, and scratch at the unresponsive rug before he curls himself up to sleep, we know that he is doing what his progenitors did in the wilds, when the action had a use that is wanting to it now in securing the comfort of his rest.
A strange habit of the same nature was shown by a fox terrier that formed one of a pack of sporting dogs. This terrier, from the time she took her place in the kennels with the older dogs, was observed to turn round sharply whenever her food was put before her. The action aroused attention, though no one could say at what stage of her puppy life it had been developed. She was watched, and never did she omit the rapid turn round as on a pivot before she tasted her food. Her mistress, who had kept her pack of terriers for years, and who studies the characters of her little kennel friends as but few people do, made inquiries of her keeper, and found that when he fed the dogs, Amora always went through the same little performance as a preliminary to the business of eating. Up to the last day of her life it was continued, but so far as is known none of her children have shown the same peculiarity. Certainly those that I have known in my friends’ kennels have not had it, and no one has been able to give a satisfactory explanation of the habit.
A very charming reason for the unusual action was given by a little girl, the niece of the owner of the kennels. The child was delighted with the terrier’s performance, and always begged to be allowed to be present at feeding time, so as to enjoy the sight of Amora’s turn. Being of a thoughtful nature, she one day gave the result of her speculations on the matter. “Auntie,” she said, with the engaging directness of the youthful thinker, “I know why Amora turns round before her dinner. She means it for her grace.” With such a solution of the mystery who would venture to quarrel?
We might well bring the same gentle sympathy to bear on our own dealings with the dog. For we often forget that the patience we give as a matter of course to the as yet untrained intelligence of the child is doubly wanted when we have to do with the dog. Intelligent as the latter is, he never rises to our level of expansion of the powers of mind, and in reading our thoughts into his we must ever remember that the higher paths of reason’s play are closed to him.
That the dog has the dawning of a moral sense is clear to me, and the possession brings him near to us on the outskirts of the higher life, of which we alone have full enjoyment. But to give him credit for powers that in their full expansion are denied him is to bring discredit on the wonderful gifts that are undoubtedly his, and for the development of which he is dependent on his intercourse with us. The deeper the sympathetic insight we bring to bear on our study of his mental and bodily activities, the fuller will be his response to our training, and the greater our own delight in his companionship.